Had you with judgment weigh'd the case,
Their genius thus had fix'd their place;
The Swan had learnt the sailor's art:
The Cock had play'd the soldier's part;
The spider in the weaver's trade
With credit had a fortune made:
But for the fool, in ev'ry class
The blockhead had appear'd an Ass.'
The Cook-maid, the Turnspit, and the Ox.
To a Poor Man.
CONSIDER man in ev'ry sphere,
Then tell me, is your lot severe?
'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
That makes you wretched. God is just.
I grant that hunger must be fed,
That toil too earns thy daily bread.
What then? thy wants are seen and known;
But ev'ry mortal feels his own.
We're born a restless, needy crew:
Shew me the happier man than you.
Adam, though bless'd above his kind,
For want of social woman pin'd.
Eve's wants the subtle serpent saw,
Her fickle taste transgress'd the law;
Thus fell our sire; and their disgrace
The curse entail'd on human race.
When Philip's son, by glory led,
Had o'er the globe his empire spread;
When altars to his name were dress'd,
That he was man, his tears confess'd.
The hopes of avarice are check'd:
The proud man always wants respect.
What various wants on pow'r attend!
Ambition never gains its end.
Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of surfeits and corporeal pain?
He, barr'd from ev'ry use of wealth,
Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
Another in a beauteous wife
Finds all the miseries of life:
Domestic jars and jealous fear
Embitter all his days with care.
This wants an heir; the line is lost:
Why was that vain entail engross'd?
Canst thou discern another's mind?
What is 't you envy? Envy's blind.
Tell Envy, when she would annoy,
That thousands want what you enjoy.
'The dinner must be dish'd at one,
Where's this vexatious Turnspit gone?
Unless the skulking cur is caught,
The sirloin's spoil'd, and I'm in fault.'
Thus said (for sure you'll think it fit
That I the Cookmaid's oaths omit),
With all the fury of a cook,
Her cooler kitchen Nan forscok.
The broomstick o'er her head she waves;
She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves.
The sneaking cur before her flies:
She whistles, calls; fair speech she tries:
These nought avail. Her choler burns;
The fist and cudgel threat by turns.
With hasty stride she presses near;
He slinks aloof, and howls with fear.
'Was ever cur so curs'd!' he cried,
'What star did at my birth preside?
Am I for life by compact bound
To tread the wheel's eternal round?
Inglorious task! Of all our race
No slave is half so mean and base.
Had fate a kinder lot assign'd,
And form'd me of the lap-dog kind,
I then, in higher life employ'd,
Had indolence and ease enjoy'd;
And, like a gentleman caress'd,
Had been the lady's fav'rite guest.
Or were I sprung from spaniel line,
Was his sagacious nostril mine,
By me, their never-erring guide,
From wood and plain their feasts supply'd,
Knights, 'squires, attendant on my pace,
Had shar'd the pleasures of the chase.
Endu'd with native strength and fire,
Why call'd I not the lion sire?
A lion! such mean views I scorn:
Why was I not of woman born?
Who dares with reason's pow'r contend?
On man we brutal slaves depend;
To him all creatures tribute pay,
And luxury employs his day.'
An Ox by chance o'erheard his moan, And thus rebuk'd the lazy drone; 'Dare you at partial fate repine?
How kind's your lot compar'd with mine!
Decreed to toil, the barb'rous knife
Hath sever'd me from social life;
Urg'd by the stimulating goad,
I drag the cumbrous waggon's load:
'Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain,
Break the stiff soil, and house the grain;
Yet I, without a murmur, bear
The various labours of the year.
But then consider that one day
(Perhaps the hour's not far away)
You, by the duties of your post,
Shall turn the spit, when I'm the roast:
And for reward shall share the feast;
shall pick my bones at least.'
'Till now,' th' astonish'd Cur replies,
'I look'd on all with envious eyes.
How false we judge by what appears!
All creatures feel their sev'ral cares.
If thus yon mighty beast complains,
Perhaps man knows superior pains.
Let envy then no more torment:
Think on the Ox, and learn content.'
Thus said; close following at her heel, With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel.
The Ravens, Sexton, and Earth-worm.
LAURA, methinks you're over-nice.
True. Flatt'ry is a shocking vice.
Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just,
One may commend without disgust.
Am I a privilege den y'd,
Indulg'd by ev'ry tongue beside?
How singular are all your ways!
A woman, and averse to praise!
If 'tis offence such truths to tell,
Why do your merits thus excel?
Since then I dare not speak my mind,
A truth conspicuous to mankind!
Though in full lustre ev'ry grace
Distinguish your celestial face;
Though beauties of inferior ray
(Like stars before the orb of day)
Turn pale and fade: I check my lays,
Admiring what I dare not praise.
If you the tribute due disdain,
The Muse's mortifying strain,
Shall, like a woman in mere spite,
Set beauty in a moral light.
Though such revenge might shock the ear
Of many a celebrated fair,
I mean that superficial race
Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face, What's that to you? I but displease
Such ever-girlish ears as these.
Virtue can brook the thoughts of age,
That lasts the same through ev'ry stage.
Though you by time must suffer more
Than ever woman lost before;
To age is such indiff'rence shewn,
As if your face were not your own.
Were you by Antoninus taught,
Or is it native strength of thought
That thus, without concern or fright,
You view yourself by reason's light?
Those eyes of so divine a ray,
What are they?-Mould'ring mortal clay:
Those features, cast in heavenly mould,
Shall, like my coarser earth, grow old;
Like common grass, the fairest flow'r
Must feel the hoary season's pow'r.
How weak, how vain is human pride!
Dares man upon himself confide?
The wretch who glories in his gain,
Amasses heaps on heaps in vain.
Why lose we life in anxious cares,
To lay in hoards for future years?
Can those (when tortur'd by d'sease)
Cheer our sick heart, or purchase ease?
Can those prolong one gasp of breath,
Or calm the troubled hour of death?
What's beauty?-Call ye that your own,
A flow'r that fades as soon as blown?
What's man in all his boast of sway?
Perhaps the tyrant of a day.
Alike the laws of life take place
Through ev'ry branch of human race.
The monarch of long regal line
Was rais'd from dust as frail as mine.
Can he pour health into his veins,
Or cool the fever's restless pains?
Can he (worn down in Nature's course)
New-brace his feeble nerves with force?
Can he (how vain is mortal pow'r!)
Stretch life beyond the destin'd hour?
Consider, man; weigh well thy frame;
The king, the beggar is the same.
Dust form'd us all. Each breathes his day, Then sinks into his native clay.
Beneath a venerable yew,
That in the lonely church-yard grew,
Two ravens sat. In solemn croak
Thus one his hungry friend bespoke:
'Methinks I scent some rich repast;
The savour strengthens with the blast;
Snuff then, the promis'd feast inhale:
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