FABLES prince Avert thy wrath, and cease thy pestilence." Their salted cakes on crackling flames they Then, turning back, the sacrifice they sped; 631 T'involve the lean in cauls, and mend with lard. Sweetbreads and collops were with skewers prick'd About the sides, inbibing what they deck'd. The priest with holy hands was seen to tine The cloven wood and pour the ruddy wine. The youth approach'd the fire, and, as it burn'd, On five sharp broachers rank'd, the roast they turn'd: These morsels stay'd their stomachs; then the rest They cut in legs and fillets for the feast; 640 Which drawn and serv'd, their hunger they appease With sav'ry meat, and set their minds at ease. Now when the rage of eating was repell'd, The boys with generous wine the goblets fill'd. The first libations to the gods they pour, And then with songs indulge the genial hour. Holy debauch! till day to night they bring, And pitch their tents along the crooked shore. 660 Meantime the goddess-born in secret pin'd: Nor visited the camp, nor in the council join'd; But, keeping close, his gnawing heart he fed With hopes of vengeance on the tyrant's head; And wish'd for bloody wars and mortal wounds, And of the Greeks oppress'd in fight to hear the dying sounds. Now, when twelve days complete had run their race, The gods bethought them of the cares belonging to their place. Jove at their head ascending from the sea, Before the sovereign stood a morning guest. his chin. Then thus: "If I, celestial sire, in aught Have serv'd thy will, or gratified thy thought, 680 One glimpse of glory to my issue give, Grac'd for the little time he has to live. Dishonor'd by the King of Men he stands; His rightful prize is ravish'd from his hands. But thou, O father, in my son's defense, Assume thy pow'r, assert thy providence. This heard, the imperious queen sate mute with fear, Nor further durst incense the gloomy Thunderer. Silence was in the court at this rebuke, Nor could the gods abash'd sustain their sov'reign's look. The limping smith observ'd the sadden'd feast, And hopping here and there (himself a jest) 769 Put in his word, that neither might offend; To Jove obsequious, yet his mother's friend: "What end in heav'n will be of civil war, If gods of pleasure will for mortals jar? Such discord but disturbs our jovial feast; One grain of bad embitters all the best. Mother, tho' wise yourself, my counsel weigh; "Tis much unsafe my sire to disobey. Not only you provoke him to your cost, But mirth is marr'd, and the good cheer is lost. Tempt not his heavy hand, for he has pow'r 780 790 I would not see you beaten; yet afraid When I and all the gods employ'd our pow'r To break your bonds: me by the heel he drew, And o'er heav'n's battlements with fury threw: All day I fell; my flight at morn begun, And ended not but with the setting sun. Pitch'd on my head, at length the Lemnian ground Receiv'd my batter'd skull, the Sinthians heal'd my wound." THE COCK AND THE FOX OR, THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST FROM CHAUCER THERE liv'd, as authors tell, in days of yore, A widow somewhat old, and very poor: Deep in a dell her cottage lonely stood, Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood. This dowager, on whom my tale I found, Since last she laid her husband in the ground, A simple sober life in patience led, And had but just enough to buy her bread: But huswifing the little Heav'n had lent, She duly paid a groat for quarter rent; And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two, To bring the year about with much ado. 10 The cattle in her homestead were three For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat; And never went by candlelight to bed. 30 Of wine she never tasted thro' the year, But white and black was all her homely cheer: Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skimm'd her bowls,) And rashers of sing'd bacon on the coals. A yard she had, with pales enclos'd about, Some high, some low, and a dry ditch with out. Within this homestead liv'd, without a peer For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer; 40 So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass The merry notes of organs at the mass. More certain was the crowing of the cock To number hours, than is an abbey clock; And sooner than the matin bell was rung, He clapp'd his wings upon his roost, and sung: For when degrees fifteen ascended right, By sure instinct he knew 't was one at night. High was his comb, and coral-red withal, In dents embattled like a castle wall; 50 His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet; Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet: White were his nails, like silver to behold, His body glitt'ring like the burnish'd gold. This gentle cock, for solace of his life, Six misses had, beside his lawful wife; Scandal, that spares no king, tho' ne'er so good, Says they were all of his own flesh and blood, His sisters both by sire and mother's side; And sure their likeness show'd them near allied. 60 But make the worst, the monarch did no more, Than all the Ptolemies had done before: When incest is for int'rest of a nation, "T is made no sin by holy dispensation. Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone, Which by their common ugliness are known. Ardent in love, outrageous in his play, 90 Solus cum sola then was all his note. It happ'd that perching on the parlor beam, Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream, Just at the dawn; and sigh'd, and groan'd so fast, As ev'ry breath he drew would be his last. Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his side, Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cried For help from gods and men; and, sore aghast, 100 She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last. "Dear heart," said she, "for love of heav'n declare Your pain, and make me partner of your care. You groan, sir, ever since the morning light, As something had disturb'd your noble sprite. "And, madam, well I might," said Chanticleer, "Never was Shrovetide cock in such a fear. 130 Thou hast for ever lost thy lady's love; How dar'st thou tell thy dame thou art afeard? Hast thou no manly heart, and hast a beard ? "If aught from fearful dreams may be divin'd, They signify a cock of dunghill kind. 160 "More I could say, but thus conclude my theme, The dominating humor makes the dream. Cato was in his time accounted wise, And he condemns them all for empty lies. Take my advice, and when we fly to ground, With laxatives preserve your body sound, And purge the peccant humors that abound. I should be loth to lay you on a bier; 170 "Two sovereign herbs, which I by practice know, And both at hand, (for in our yard they grow,) On peril of my soul shall rid you wholly 180 |