Each took the part that he advis'd,
And all were equally despis'd.
A Farmer, at his folly mov'd,
The dull preceptor thus reprov'd:

"Blockhead," says he, "by what you've done,
One would have thought them each your son;
For parents, to their offspring blind,
Consult nor parts nor turn of mind,
But ev'n in infancy decree

What this, what th' other son, shall be.
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 foal, in every class,
The blockhead had appear'd an Ass."

FABLE XV.

THE COOK-MAid, the turnsPIT, AND THE OX.
TO A POOR man.

CONSIDER man in every sphere,
Then tell me, is your lot severe?
'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
That makes you wretched. God is just.
I grant, the hungry must be fed,
That toil, too, earns thy daily bread.

What then? Thy wants are seen and known;
But every mortal feels his own.
We're born a restless, needy crew:
Show me the happier man than you.

Adam, though blest 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 power attend!
Ambition never gains its end.

Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of surfeits and corporcal pain?
He, barr'd from every 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 engrost?
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 surloin's spoilt, and I'm in fault."
Thus said, (for sure you'll think it fit
That I the Cook-maid's oaths omit)
With all the fury of a cook,
Her cooler kitchen Nan forsook:

The broom-stick 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 cry'd)
"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, carest,
Had been the lady's favourite 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.
Endued with native strength and fire,
Why call'd I not the lion sire?

A lion! such mean views 1 scorn:
Why was I not of woman born?
Who dares with Reason's power 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 barbarous 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,
I mean, 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 several 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.

FABLE XVI.

THE RAVEN, THE SEXTON, AND THE EARTH-WORM. TO LAURA.

LAURA, methinks you're over-nice. True; flattery is a shocking vice!

Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just,
One may commend without disgust.
Am I a privilege deny'd,'
Indulg'd by every 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 every 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 every stage.
Though you by time must suffer more
Than ever woman lost before,
To age is stich indifference shown,
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? Mouldering, mortal clay.
Those features, cast in heavenly mould.
Shall, like my coarser earth, grow old?
Like common grass, the fairest flower
Must feel the hoary season's power.

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 disease)
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 flower 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 every 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 power!)
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 sate. 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;
I taste the carcase in the gale.
Near yonder trees, the farmer's steed,
From toil and every drudgery freed,
Hath groan'd his last. A dainty treat?
To birds of taste, delicious meat!"

A Sexton, busy at his trade,
To hear their chat suspends his spade.
Death struck him with no farther thought,
Than merely as the fees he brought.
"Was ever two such blundering fowls,
In brains and manners less than owls!
Blockheads," says he, "learn more respect:
Know ye on whom ye thus reflect?
In this same grave (who does me right,
Must own the work is strong and tight)
The 'squire, that yon fair hall possest,
To-night shall lay his bones at rest.
Whence could the gross mistake procced?
The 'squire was somewhat fat indeed.
What then? the meanest bird of prey
Such want of sense could ne'er betray;
For sure some difference must be found
(Suppose the 'smelling organ sound)
In carcasses, (say what we can)
Or where's the dignity of man?"
With due respect to human race,
The Ravens undertook the case.
In such similitude of scent,

Man ne'er could think reflections meant.
As epicures extol a treat,

And seem their savoury words to eat,

They prais'd dead horse, luxurious food!
The venison of the prescient brood.

The Sexton's indignation, mov'd,
The mean comparison reprov'd;
Their undiscerning palate blam'd,
Which two-legg'd carrion thus defam'd.
Reproachful speech from either side
The want of argument supply'd:
They rail, revile; as often ends
The contest of disputing friends.

"Hold," says the fowl; "since human pride
With confutation ne'er comply'd,
Let's state the case, and then refer
The knotty point, for taste may err."

As thus he spoke, from out the mould
An Earth-worm, huge of size, unroll'd
His monstrous length: they straight agree
To chuse him as their referee:
So to th' experience of his jaws
Each states the merits of the cause.

He paus'd; and, with a solemn tone,
Thus made his sage opinion known:

"On carcasses of every kind
This maw hath elegantly din'd;
Provok'd by luxury or need,
On beast, or fowl, or man, I feed:
Such small distinction 's in the savour,
By turns I chuse the fancy'd flavour:
Yet I must own (that human beast!)
A glutton is the rankest feast.

Man, cease this boast; for human pride
Hath various tracts to range beside.

The prince who kept the world in awe,
The judge whose dictate fix'd the law,
The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
Are levell'd; Death confounds them all.
Then think not that we reptiles share
Such cates, such elegance of fare;
The only true and real good
Of man was never vermin's food:

'Tis seated in th' immortal mind;
Virtue distinguishes mankind,
And that (as yet ne'er harbour'd here)
Mounts with the soul we know not where.
So, Good-man Sexton, since the case
Appears with such a dubious face,
To neither I the cause determine,

For different tastes please different vermin."

AYE AND NO. A FABLE1.

IN Fable all things hold discourse,
Then words, no doubt, must talk of course,
Once on a time, near Cannon-row,
Two hostile adverbs, Aye and No,
Were hastening to the field of fight,
And front to front stood opposite;
Before each general join'd the van,
Aye, the more courteous knight, began.
Stop, peevish particle! beware!
I'm told you are not such a bear,
But sometimes yield when offer'd fair.
Suffer yon folks awhile to tattle;
"Tis we who must decide the battle.
Whene'er we war on yonder stage,
With various fate and equal rage,
The nation trembles at each blow
That No gives Aye, and Aye gives No;
Yet, in expensive long contention,
We gain nor office, grant, or pension.
Why then should kinsfolks quarrel thus ?
(For two of you make one of us.)
To some wise statesman let us go,
Where each his proper use may know :
He may admit two such commanders,
And make those wait who serv'd in Flanders.
Let's quarter on a great man's tongue,
A treasury lord, not maister Young.,
Obsequious at his high command,
Aye shall march forth to tax the land;
Impeachments No can best resist,
And Aye support the civil list :
Aye, quick as Cæsar, wins the day,
And No, like Fabius, by delay.
Sometimes in mutual sly disguise,
Let Ayes seem Nos, and Nos seem Ayes;
Ayes be in courts denials meant,
And Nos in bishops give consent."

Thus Aye propos'd-and, for reply,
No, for the first time, answer'd Aye.
They parted with a thousand kisses,
And fight e'er since for pay, like Swisses.

DUKE UPON DUKE':

AN EXCELLENT NEW BALLAD.

TO THE TUNE OF, CHEVY - CHACE.

To lordlings proud I tune my lay,

Who feast in bower or hall:
Though dukes they he, to dukes I say,
That pride will have a fall.

Now that this same it is right sooth,
Full plainly doth appear,

From what befel John duke of Guise',
And Nic of Lancastere.

When Richard Coeur-de-Lion reign'd,
(Which means a lion's heart)
Like him his barons rag'd and roar'd;
Each play'd a lion's part.

A word and blow was then enough:
Such honour did them prick,

If you but turn'd your cheek, a cuff;
And, if your a-se, a kick.

Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose,
At every turn fell to 't;

Come near, they trod upon your toes;
They fought from head to foot.

Of these the duke of Lancastere

Stood paramount in pride;

He kick'd and cuff'd, and tweak'd and trod His foes, and friends beside.

Firm on his front his beaver satc;

So broad, it hid his chin;

For why? he deem'd no man his mate,
And fear'd to tan his skin.

With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek,
With essence oil'd his hair;
No vixen civet-cat so sweet,

Nor could so scratch and tear.

Right tall he made himself to show,
Though made full short by God:
And, when all other dukes did bow,
This duke did only nod.

Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair,
To Guise's duke was he:
Was ever such a loving pair?

How could they disagree?

Oh, thus it was: he lov'd him dear,
And cast how to requite him;
And having no friend left but this,

He deem'd it meet to fight him,
Forthwith he drench'd his desperate quill,
And thus he did indite:

"This eve at whist ourself will play, "Sir Duke! be here to-night."

1 This humourous Ballad is ascribed to Mr. Gay on conjecture only. It is among the Miscellanies published by Dr. Swift and Mr. Pope; is there marked as not the Dean's; and has never been considered as Mr. Pope's. N.

2 Sir John Guise. N.

3 Nicholas lord Lechmere, chancellor of the dutchy of Lancaster. N.

Na

"Ah no! ah no!" the guileless Guise Demurely did reply;

I cannot go, nor yet can stand,

So sore the gout have I.

The duke in wrath call'd for his steeds,

And fiercely drove them on;

Lord lord! how rattled then thy stones, O kingly Kensington *!

All in a trice he rush'd on Guise,

Thrust out his lady dear;

He tweak'd his nose, trod on his toes,
And smote him on the ear.

But mark, how midst of victory

Fate plays her old dog-trick!

Up leap'd duke John, and knock'd him down,
And so down fell duke Nic.

Alas, oh Nic! oh Nic, alas!

Right did thy gossip call thee:
As who should say, alas the day

When John of Guise shall maul thee!
For on thee did he clap his chair,
And on that chair did sit;

And look'd as if he meant therein

To do what was not fit.

Up didst thou look, oh, woeful duke!
Thy mouth yet durst not ope,
Certes for fear of finding there

A td instead of trope,

"Lie there, thou caitiff vile!" quoth Guise,
No sheet is here to save thee:
The casement it is shut likewise;
Beneath my feet I have thee.

"If thou hast aught to speak, speak out,"
Then Lancastere did cry,

"Knows't thou not me, nor yet thyself? Who thou, and who am I?

"Know'st thon not me, who (God be prais'd) Have brawl'd and quarrel'd more,

Than all the line of Lancastere,
That battled heretofore?

In senates fam'd for many a speech,
And (what some awe must give ye,
Though laid thus low beneath thy breach)
Still of the council privy;

"Still of the dutchy chancellor :

Durante life I have it;

And turn, as now thou dost on me,
Mine a-e on them that gave it."
But now the servants they rush'd in ;
And duke Nic, up leap'd he:
"I will not cope against such odds,
But, Guise! I'll fight with thee:
"To morrow with thee will I fight
Under the green-wood tree."
"No, not to morrow, but to night,"
(Quoth Guise) "I'll fight with thee."

And now the Sun declining low

Bestreak'd with blood the skies;
When, with his sword at saddle-bow,
Rode forth the valiant Guise.

Full gently pranc'd he o'er the lawn,
Oft roll'd his eyes around,

Long brandish'd he the blade in air,

Long look'd the field all o'er: At length he spy'd the merry men brown, And eke the coach and four. From out the boot bold Nicholas Did wave his wand so white, As pointing out the gloony glade Wherein he meant to fight. All in that dreadful hour so calm Was Lancastere to see,

As if he meant to take the air,

Or only take a fee:

And so he did-for to New Court

His rolling wheels did run:

Not that he shunn'd the doubtful strife;'
But business must be done,
Back in the dark, by Brompton-park,
He turn'd up through the Gore!
So slunk to Camden-house so high,
All in his coach and four.

Mean-while duke Guise did fret and fume,
A sight it was to see,

Benumb'd beneath the evening dew

Under the green-wood tree.

Then, wet and weary, home he far'd,
Sore muttering all the way,
"The day I meet him, Nic shall ruo
The cudgel of that day.

Mean time on every pissing-post
Paste we this recreant's name,
So that each pisser-by shall read,
And piss against the same."

Now God preserve our gracious king
And grant his nobles all

May learn this lesson from duke Nic,
That pride will have a fall!

And from the stirrup stretch'd to find Who was not to be found.

LAURA.

Seek not these horrid caverns of despair;