FABLE XXIII.

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER CATS.

WHO friendship with a knave hath made,
Is judg'd a partner in the trade.
The matron, who conducts abroad
A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
And, if a modest girl is seen

With one who cures a lover's spleen,
We guess her not extremely nice,
And only wish to know her price.
"Tis thus that on the choice of friends
Our good or evil name depends.

A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
Beside a little smoky flame

Sat hovering, pinch'd with age and frost ;
Her shrivell'd hands, with veins emboss'd,
Upon her knees her weight sustains,
While palsy shook her crazy brains:
She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
An untam'd scold of fourscore years.
About her swarm'd a numerous brood
Of Cats, who, lank with hunger, mew'd.

Teas'd with their cries, her choler grew,
And thus she sputter'd: "Hence, ye crew!
Fool that I was, to entertain

Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
Had ye been never hous'd and nurs'd,
I for a witch had ne'er been curs'd.
To you I owe that crowds of boys
Worry me with eternal noise;

Straws laid across my pace retard,

The horseshoe's nail'd (each threshold's guard ;)
The stunted broom the wenches hide,
For fear that I should up and ride;
They stick with pins my bleeding seat,
And bid me show my secret teat."

"To hear you prate, would vex a saint;
Who hath most reason of complaint?"
Replies a Cat. "Let's come to proof.
Had we ne'er starv'd beneath your roof,
We had, like others of our race,
In credit liv'd as beasts of chase.
'Tis infamy to serve a hag,

Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
And boys against our lives combine,
Because 'tis said your Cats have nine."

FABLE XXIV.

THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL.

ALL upstarts, insolent in place, Remind us of their vulgar race.

As in the sunshine of the morn
A Butterfly (but newly born)
Sat proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bosom glows;
His wings (all glorious to behold)
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.

His now forgotten friend, a Suail,
Beneath his house, with slimy trail,
Crawls o'er the grass; whom, when he spies,
In wrath he to the gardener cries :

"What means yon peasant's daily toil,
From choking weeds to rid the soil?
Why wake you to the morning's care?
Why with new arts correct the year?
Why grows the peach with crimson hue?
And why the plumb's inviting blue?
Were they to feast his taste design'd,
That vermin of voracious kind!
Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,
So purge thy garden from disgrace."

"What arrogance!" the Snail reply'd;
"How insolent is upstart pride!
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain,

I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the scum of Earth:
For scarce nine Suns have wak'd the Hours,
To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life survey'd,

In base, in sordid guise array'd;

A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
You dragg'd a slow and noisome train;
And from your spider-bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and Suail shall end.
And what's a Butterfly? At best,
He's but a caterpillar drest;
And all thy race (a numerous seed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed."

FABLE XXV.

THE SCOLD AND THE PARROT.

.

THE husband thus reprov'd his wife: "Who deals in slander, lives in strife. Art thou the herald of disgrace, Denouncing war to all thy race? Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage, Which spares nor friend, nor sex, nor age? That vixen tongue of your's, my dear, Alarms our neighbours far and near. Good gods! 'tis like a rolling river, That murmuring flows, and flows for ever! Ne'er tir'd, perpetual discord sowing! Like Fame, it gathers strength by going." "Heigh-day!" the flippant tongue replies. "How solemn is the fool! how wise! Is Nature's choicest gift debarr'd? Nay, frown not; for I will be heard. Women of late are finely ridden, A Parrot's privilege forbidden! You praise his talk, his squalling song; But wives are always in the wrong." Now reputations flew in pieces, Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces:

She ran the Parrot's language o'er,
Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slattern, whore ;
On all the sex she vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without a jury.

At once the torrent of her words
Alarm'd eat, monkey, dogs, and birds:
All join their forces to confound her,
Puss spits, the monkey chatters round her;
The yelping cur her heels assaults;
The magpie blabs out all her faults;
Poll, in the uproar, from his cage,
With this rebuke outscream'd her rage:
"A Parrot is for talking priz'd,
But prattling women are despis'd.
She who attacks another's honour,
Draws every living thing upon her.
Think, madam, when you stretch your lungs,
That all your neighbours too have tongues :
One slander must ten thousand get;
The world with interest pays the debt."

FABLE XXVI.

THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF.

A SNEAKING Cur, the master's spy,
Rewarded for his daily lye,
With secret jealousies and fears
Set all together by the ears.
Poor Puss to-day was in disgrace,
Another cat supply'd her place;
The hound was beat, the Mastiff chid,
The monkey was the room forbid;
Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
And none could tell the reason why.

A plan to rob the house was laid:
The thief with love seduc'd the maid,
Cajol'd the Cur, and stroked his head,
And bought his secrecy with bread;
He next the Mastiff's honour try'd,
Whose honest jaws the bribe defy'd ;
He stretch'd his hand to proffer more;
The surly dog his fingers tore.
Swift ran the Cur; with indignation
The master took his information.

"Hang him, the villain's curs'd!" he cries; And round his neck the halter ties.

The dog his humble suit preferr'd,
And begg'd in justice to be heard.
The master sate. On either hand
The cited dogs confronting stand;
The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And, like a lawyer, aggravates.

'Judge not unheard," the Mastiff cry'd, "But weigh the cause of either side. Think not that treachery can be just; Take not informers'-words on trust; They ope their hand to every pay, And you and me, by turns, betray."

He spoke; and all the truth appear'd: The Cur was hang'd, the Mastiff clear'd.

FABLE XXVII.

THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said. The silent doctor shook his head,

And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the Man, with gasping breath:
"I feel the chilling wound of Death.
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.

I grant my bargains well were made,
But all men over-reach in trade;
"Tis self-defence in each profession :
Sure self-defence is no transgression.
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increas'd. If, unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail;
If I, by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduc'd a family to need;

My will hath made the world amends,
My hope on charity depends.
When I am number'd with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,

By Heaven and Earth 'twill then be known,
My charities were amply shown."

An Angel came. "Ah! friend!" he cry'd, "No more in flattering hope confide. Can thy good deeds in former times Outweigh the balance of thy crimes? What widow or what orphan prays To crown thy life with length of days? A pious action's in thy power, Embrace with joy the happy hour. Now, while you draw the vital air, Prove your intention is sincere : This instant give a hundred pound; Your neighbours want, and you abound." "But why such haste?" the sick Man whines; "Who knows as yet what Heaven designs? Perhaps I may recover still.

That sum and more are in my will."

"Fool!" says the Vision, "now 'tis plain
Your life, your soul, your Heaven, was gain.
From every side, with all your might,
You scrap'd, and scrap'd, beyond your right;
And, after death, would fain atone,
By giving what is not your own."

"While there is life, there's hope," he cry'd; "Then why such haste?" so groan'd, and dy’d.

FABLE XXVIII.

THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.

Is there a bard whom genius fires,
Whose every thought the god inspires?
When Envy reads the nervous lines,
She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines;
Her hissing snakes with venom swell;
She calls her venal train from Hell:
The servile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curll's authors are in pay.
Fame calls up Calumny and Spite:
Thus shadow owes its birth to light.

As, prostrate to the god of day,
With heart devout, a Persian lay,
His invocation thus begun :

"Parent of Light! all-seeing Sun! Prolific beam, whose rays dispense The various gifts of Providence,

Accept our praise, our daily prayer ; Smile on our fields, and bless the year."

A Cloud, who mock'd his grateful tongue,
The day with sudden darkness hung;
With pride and envy swell'd, aloud
A voice thus thunder'd from the Cloud:

Weak is this gaudy god of thine,
Whom I at will forbid to shine.
Shall I nor vows nor incense know?
Where praise is due, the praise bestow."

With fervent zeal the Persian mov'd,
Thus the proud calumny reprov'd:
"It was that god, who claims my prayer,
Who gave thee birth, and rais'd thee there;
When o'er his beams the veil is thrown,
Thy substance is but plainer shown:
A passing gale, a puff of wind,
Dispels thy thickest troops combin'd."
The gale arose; the vapour, tost
(The sport of winds) in air, was lost;
The glorious orb the day refines.
Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.

FABLE XXIX.

THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.

A Fox, in life's extreme decay,
Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay:
All appetite had left his maw,

And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw.
His numerous race around him stand,
To learn their dying sire's command:
He rais'd his head with whining moan,
And thus was heard the feeble tone:

"Ah! sons! from evil ways depart;
My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
See, see, the murder'd geese appear!
Why are those bleeding turkeys there?
Why all around this cackling train,
Who haunt my ears for chicken slain?"

The hungry Foxes round them star'd,
And for the promis'd feast prepar'd.

"Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer? Nor turkey, goose, nor hen, is here! These are the phantoms of your brain; And your sons lick their lips in vain.”

"O gluttons!" says the drooping sire, "Restrain inordinate desire.

Your liquorish taste you shall deplore,
When peace of conscience is no more.
Does not the hound betray our pace,
And gins and guns destroy our race

Thieves dread the searching eye of Power;
And never feel the quiet hour.

Old age (which few of us shall know)

Now puts a period to my woe.
Would you true happiness attain,
Let honesty your passions rein;
So live in credit and esteem,

And the good name you lost redeem."
"The counsel's good," a Fox replies,
"Could we perform what you advise.
Think what our ancestors have done;
A line of thieves from son to son.
To us descends the long disgrace,
And infamy hath mark'd our race,

Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed,
Honest in thought, in word, and deed,

Whatever hen-roost is decreas'd,

We shall be thought to share the feast,
The change shall never be believ'd.
A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd."

"Nay, then," replies the feeble Fox, "(But, hark! I hear a hen that clucks) Go; but be moderate in your food; A chicken, too, might do me good."

FABLE XXX.

THE SETTING dog and the pARTRIDGE,
THE ranging Dog the stubble tries,
And searches every breeze that flies;
The scent grows warm; with cautious fear
He creeps, and points the covey near;
The men in silence, far behind,
Conscious of game, the net unbind.

A Partridge, with experience wise,
The fraudful preparation spies;
She mocks their toils, alarms her brood,
The covey springs, and seeks the wood;
But, ere her certain wings she tries:
Thus to the creeping Spaniel cries:
"Thou fawning slave to man's deceit,
Thou pimp of luxury, sneaking cheat,
Of thy whole species thou disgrace;
Dogs should disown thee of their race!
For, if I judge their native parts,
They're born with honest open hearts;
And, ere they serv'd man's wicked ends,
Were generous foes, or real friends."

When thus the Dog, with scornful smile:
"Secure of wing, thou dar'st revile.
Clowns are to polish'd manners blind;
How ignorant is the rustic mind!
My worth sagacious courtiers see,
And to preferment rise, like me.
The thriving pimp, who beauty sets,
Hath oft enhanc'd a nation's debts:
Friend sets his friend, without regard,
And ministers his skill reward:
Thus train'd by man, I learnt his ways;
And growing favour feasts my days."

"I might have guess'd," the Partridge said, "The place where you were train'd and fed; Servants are apt, and in a trice

Ape to a hair their master's vice.

You came from court, you say. Adieu!"

She said, and to the covey flew,

Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power,
Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
When health is lost. Be timely wise:
With health all taste of pleasure flies."
Thus said, the Phantom disappears.
The wary counsel wak'd his fears.
He now from all excess abstains,
With physic purifies his veins;
And, to procure a sober life,
Resolves to venture on a wife.

But now again the Sprite ascends,
Where'er he walks, his ear attends,
Insinuates that beauty's frail,

That perseverance must prevail;
With jealousies his brain inflames,
And whispers all her lovers' names.
In other hours she represents
His household charge, his annual rents,
Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
And nothing for his younger sons.

Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
And with the thirst of lucre burns-
But, when possess'd of Fortune's store,
The Spectre haunts him more and more;
Sets want and misery in view.

Bold thieves, and all the murdering crew;
Alarms him with eternal frights,
Infests his dreams, or wakes his nights.
How shall he chase this hideous guest?
Power may, perhaps, protect his rest.
To power he rose. Again the Sprite
Besets him morning, noon, and night;
Talks of Ambition's tottering seat,
How Envy persecutes the great;
Of rival hate, of treacherous friends,
And what disgrace his fall attends.

The court he quits, to fly from Care,
And seeks the peace of rural air;
His groves, his fields, amus'd his hours;
He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flowers.
But Care again his steps pursues,
Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
Of plundering insects, snails, and rains,
And droughts that starv'd the labour'd plains.
Abroad, at home, the Spectre's there;
In vain we seek to fly from Care.

At length he thus the Ghost addrest:
"Since thou must be my constant guest,
Be kind, and follow me no more ;
For Care, by right, should go before."

FABLE XXXII.

THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW.

Two formal Owls together sat,
Conferring thus in solemn chat:

"How is the modern taste decay'd!
Where's the respect to wisdom paid?
Our worth the Grecian sages knew;
They gave our sires the honour due;
They weigh'd the dignity of fowls,
And pry'd into the depth of Owls.
Athens, the seat of learned fame,
With general voice rever'd our name;
On merit title was conferr'd,
And all ador'd th' Athenian bird.”
"Brother, you reason well," repli 's
The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes.

"Right. Athens was the seat of learning
And truly wisdom is discerning.
Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit,
The type and ornament of wit:
But now, alas! we're quite neglected,
And a pert Sparrow's more respected."

A Sparrow, who was lodg'd beside,
O'erhears them soothe each other's pride;
And thus he nimbly vents his heat:

"Who meets a fool must find conceit. I grant you were at Athens grac'd, And on Minerva's helm were plac'd; But every bird that wings the sky, Except an Owl, can tell you why: From hence they taught their schools to know How false we judge by outward show; That we should never looks esteem, Since fools as wise as you might seem. Would ye contempt and scorn avoid, Let your vain-glory be destroy'd: Humble your arrogance of thought, Pursue the ways by Nature taught: So shall you find delicious fare, And grateful farmers praise your care; So shall sleek mice your chase reward, And no keen cat find more regard."

FABLE XXXIII.

THE COURTIER AND PROTEUS.

WHENEVER a Courtier's out of place,
The country shelters his disgrace;
Where, doom'd to exercise and health
His house and gardens own his wealth
He builds new schemes, in hope to gain
The plunder of another reign;
Like Philip's son, would fain be doing,
And sighs for other realms to ruin.

As one of these, (without his wand)
Pensive along the winding strand,
Employ'd the solitary hour,
In projects to regain his power,
The waves in spreading circles ran,
Protens arose, and thus began:

"Came you from court? for in your mien A self-important air is seen."

He frankly own'd his friends had trick'd him, And how he fell his party's victim.

"Know," says the god, "by matchless skill,

I change to every shape at will;

But yet, I'm told, at court you see

Those who presume to rival me."

Thus said: a Snake, with hideous trail, Proteus extends his scaly mail.

66

Know," says the man, "though proud in place, All Courtiers are of reptile race.

Like you, they take that dreadful form,
Bask in the sun, and fly the storm;
With malice hiss, with envy glote,
And for convenience change their coat;
With new-got lustre rear their head,
Though on a dunghill born and bred."
Sudden the god a Lion stands;
He shakes his mane, he spurns the sands.
Now a fierce Lynx, with fiery glare;
A Wolf, an Ass, a Fox, a Bear."

Had I ne'er liv'd at court," he cries, "Such transformation might surprise;

But there, in quest of daily game,
Each able Courtier acts the same;
Wolves, Lions, Lynxes, while in place,
Their friends and fellows are their chase.
They play the Bear's and Fox's part,
Now rob by force, now steal with art.
They sometimes in the senate bray,
Or, chang'd again to beasts of prey,
Down from the Lion to the Ape,
Practise the frauds of every shape."
So said: upon the god he flies,
In cords the struggling captive ties.

Now, Proteus! now (to truth compell'd) Speak, and confess thy art excell'd. Use strength, surprise, or what you will, The Courtier finds evasions still; Not to be bound by any ties, And never forc'd to leave his lyes."

FABLE XXXIV.

THE MASTIFF.

THOSE who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.

A Mastiff, of true English blood,
Lov'd fighting better than his food.
When dogs were snarling for a bone,
He long'd to make the war his own,
And often found (when two contend)
To interpose obtain'd his end.
He glory'd in his limping pace;
The scars of honour seam'd his face;
In every limb a gash appears,
And frequeut fights retrench'd his ears.
As on a time he heard from far
Two dogs engag'd in noisy war,
Away he scours, and lays about him,
Resolv'd no fray should be without hiin.
Forth from his yard a tanner flies,
And to the bold intruder cries:

"A cudgel shall correct your manners:
Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners?
While on my dog you vent your spite,
Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite."

To see the battle thus perplex'd,
With equal rage a butcher, vex'd,
Hoarse-screaming from the circled crowd,
To the curs'd Mastiff cries aloud:

"Both Hockleyhole and Marybone
The combats of my dog have known:
He ne'er, like bullies, coward-hearted,
Attacks in public, to be parted.

Think not, rash fool, to share his fame;
Be his the honour, or the shame."

Thus said, they swore, and rav'd like thunder, Then dragg'd their fasten'd dogs asunder; While clubs and kicks from every side Rebounded from the Mastiff's hide.

All reeking now with sweat and blood,
A while the parted warriors stood;
Then pour'd upon the meddling foe,
Who, worried, howl'd and sprawl'd below.
He rose; and limping from the fray,
By both sides mangled, sneak'd away.

FABLE XXXV.

THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL. How many saucy airs we meet From Temple-bar to Aldgate-street!

Proud rogues, who shared the South-sea prey,
And sprung like mushrooms in a day!
They think it mean to condescend

To know a brother or a friend;

They blush to hear their mother's name,
And by their pride expose their shame.
As cross his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He stopp'd; and, leaning on his fork,
Observ'd the flail's incessant work.
In thought he measur'd all his store,
His geese, his hogs, he number'd o'er ;
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces shorn,
And multiply'd the next year's corn.

A Barley-mow, which stood beside,
Thus to its musing master cry'd:

"Say, good sir, is it fit or right
To treat me with neglect and slight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
Why thus insulted, thus disgrac'd,
And that vile Dunghill near me plac'd?
Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
That filthy sight, that nauseous fume,
Meet objects here? Command it hence;
A thing so mean must give offence."

The humble Dunghill thus reply'd:
"Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride:
Insult not thus the meek and low;
In me thy benefactor know;
My warın assistance gave thee birth,
Or thou hadst perish'd low in earth;
But upstarts, to support their station,
Cancel at once all obligation."

FABLE XXXVI.

PYTHAGORAS AND THE COUNTRYMAN.

PYTHAGORAS rose at early dawn,

By soaring meditation drawn ;
To breathe the fragrance of the day,
Through flowery fields he took his way;
In musing contemplation warm,
His steps misled him to a farm,
Where on a ladder's topmost round
A Peasant stood; the hammer's sound
Shook the weak barn. "Say, friend, what care
Calls for thy honest labour there?"

The Clown, with surly voice replies,
"Vengeance aloud for justice cries.
This kite, by daily rapine fed,
My hens' annoy, my turkeys' dread,
At length his forfeit life hath paid;
See on the wall his wings display'd:
Here nail'd, a terrour to his kind,
My fowls shall future safety find;
My yard the thriving poultry feed,
And my barns' refuse fat the breed."

"Friend," says the Sage," the doom is wise;
For public good the murderer dies:
But, if these tyrants of the air
Demand a sentence so severe,

Think how the glutton, man, devours;
What bloody feasts regale his hours!
O impudence of power and might,
Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,

When thou, perhaps, carnivorous sinner,
Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!"