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You better might employ your parts,
And aid the sempstress in her arts.
But tell me how the friendship grew,
Between that paltry flint and you?"

'Friend,' says the Needle, 'cease to blame; I follow real worth and fame.

Know'st thou the loadstone's pow'r and art, That virtue virtues can impart?

Of all his talents I partake,

Who then can such a friend forsake?

'Tis I direct the pilot's hand

To shun the rocks and treach'rous sand?
By me the distant world is known,
And either India is our own.
Had I with milliners been bred,

What had I been? the guide of thread:
And drudg'd as vulgar needles do,
Of no more consequence than you.'

FABLE XVII.

The Shepherd's Dog and the IVolf.

A WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold,
Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold:
Deep in the wood secure he lay,

The thefts of night regal'd the day.
In vain the shepherd's wakeful care

Had spread the toils, and watch'd the snare;
In vain the dog pursu'd his pace,

The fleeter robber mock'd the chase.
As Lightfoot rang'd the forest round,
By chance his foe's retreat he found.
'Let us awhile the war suspend,
And reason as from friend to friend.'
'A truce,' replies the Wolf.
The dog the parley thus begun:
'How can that strong intrepid mind
Attack a weak defenceless kind?

''Tis done.'

Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lion's blood.
Great souls with generous pity melt,
Which coward tyrants never felt.

How harmless is our fleecy care!

Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.'

'Friend,' says the Wolf, 'the matter weigh; Nature design'd us beasts of prey; As such, when hunger finds a treat, 'Tis necessary Wolves should eat. If mindful of the bleating weal, Thy bosom burns with real zeal: Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech; To him repeat the moving speech; A wolf eats sheep but now and then, Ten thousands are devour'd by men. An open foe may prove a curse, But a pretended friend is worse.'

FABLE XVIII.

The Painter who pleased nobody and every body.
LEST men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.

The trav❜ller, leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.

Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes ev'n his real courage doubted:
But flatt'ry never seems absurd;
The flatter'd always take your word:
Impossibilities seem just;

They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.
So very like a painter drew,
That ev'ry eye the picture knew:
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flatt'ry, with his colours laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid:
He gave each muscle all its strength:
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length,
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.

He lost his friends, his practice fail'd,
Truth should not always be reveal'd;

In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second

pay.

Two bustos, fraught with ev'ry grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,

He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these;
From these corrected ev'ry feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.
All things were set; the hour was come,
His pallet ready o'er his thumb;
My lord appear'd, and seated right
In proper attitude and light,

The painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;
'Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;
The features fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant, are very hard to hit;
But yet with patience you shall view
As much as paint and art can do.

'Observe the work.' My lord reply'd,
'Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Besides, my nose is somewhat long:
Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young.'

'O! pardon me,' the artist cry'd,

'In this, we painters must decide. The piece e'en common eyes must strikeI warrant it extremely like,'

My lord examined it anew;

No looking glass seem'd half so true.
A lady came; with borrow'd grace
He from his Venus form'd her face,
Her lover prais'd the Painter's art;
So like the picture in his heart!
To ev'ry age some charm he lent;
Ev'n beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd;
His custom grew, his price was rais'd,

Had he the real likeness shewn,
Would any man the picture own?

C

But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

FABLE XIX..

The Lion and the Cub.

How fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base!
These cannot bear an equal nighy
But from superior merit fly.

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
And lose their hours in ale and smoke.
There o'er some petty club preside;
So poor, so paltry is their pride!
Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will sit,
In hopes to be supreme in wit.
If these can read, to these I write,
To set their worth in truest light.
A Lion-cub, of sordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind;

Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;

With asses all his time he spent,

Their club's perpetual president.

He caught their manners, looks, and airs: An ass in ev'ry thing, but ears! If e'er his highness meant a joke, They grinn'd applause before he spoke, But at each word what shouts of praise! 'Good gods! how natural he brays!" Elate with flatt'ry and conceit, He seeks his royal sire's retreat! Forward and fond to shew his parts, His highness brays; the Lion starts. 'Puppy, that curs'd vociferation Betrays thy life and conversation : Coxcombs, an ever noisy race, Are trumpets of their own disgrace.” Why so severe?" the Cub replies; 'Our senate always held me wise” 'How weak is pride!" returns the sire, 'All fools are vain when fools admire!

But know, what stupid asses prize,
Lions and noble beasts despise."

FABLE XX.

The old Hen and the Cock,

RESTRAIN your child; you'll soon believe
The text which says, we sprung from Eve.
As an old Hen led forth her train,
And seem'd to peck to shew the grain;
She rak'd the chaff, she scratch'd the ground,
And glean'd the spacious yard around.

A giddy chick, to try her wings,
On the well's narrow margin springs,
And prone she drops. The mother's breast
All day with sorrow was possess'd.

A cock she met; her son she knew ;
And in her heart affection grew.

'My son,' says she, 'I grant your years
Have reach'd beyond a mother's cares..
I see you vig'rous, strong, and bold;
I hear with joy your triumphs told.
'Tis not from cocks thy fate I dread;
But let thy ever-wary tread
Avoid yon well; that fatal place
Is sure perdition to our race

Print this my counsel on thy breast;
To the just gods I leave the rest.

He thank'd her care; yet day by day
His bosom burn'd to disobey;

And every time the well he saw,
Scorn'd in his heart the foolish law:
Near and more near each day he drew,
And long'd to try the dangerous view.
'Why was this idle charge?' he cries:
'Let courage female fears despise.
Or did she doubt my heart was brave,
And therefore this injunction gave ?
Or does her harvest store the place,
A treasure for her younger race?
And would she thus, my search prevent?
I stand resolv'd, and dare th' event.”

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