Like Heav'n, it hears the orphan's cries, And wipes the tears from widows eyes; Their crimes on gold fhall mifers lay, Who pawn'd their fordid fouls for pay! Let bravoes then (when blood is fpilt) Upbraid the paffive fword with guilt.

But who can drive the num'rous breed!
Chace one, another will fucceed.

Who knows a fool muft know his brother;
One fop will recommend another:
And with this plague fhe's rightly curft,
Because the liften'd to the firft.
As Doris, at her toilet's duty,
Sat meditating on her beauty,

A

Geefe.

LION, tir'd with ftate affairs,

Quite fick of pomp, and worn with cares, Refolv'd (remote from noise and strife) In peace to pafs his latter life.

It was proclaim'd; the day was fet :
Behold the gen'ral council met.

The Fox was Viceroy nam'd. The crowd
To the new Regent humbly bow'd.
Wolves, bears, and mighty tygers bend,
And ftrive who moft fhall condefcend.
He ftrait affumes a folemn grace,
Collects his wifdom in his face.
The crowd admire his wit, his fenfe;
Each word hath weight and confequence
The flatt'rer all his art difplays:
He who hath pow'r is fure of praise.
A Fox ftept forth before the reft,
And thus the fervile throng addrest :
How vast his talents, born to rule,
And train'd in virtue's honest school!
What clemency his temper fways;
How uncorrupt are all his ways t
Beneath his conduct and command
Rapine fhall ceafe to wafte the land,
His brain hath ftratagem and art;
Prudence and mercy rule his heart;
What bleflings must attend the nation
Under this good administration!

He faid. A goose, who distant flood,
Harangu'd apart the cackling brood:

Whene'er I hear a knave commend,
He bids me fhun his worthy friend.
What praife! what mighty commendation!
But 'twas a Fox who spoke th'oration.
Foxes this government may prize,
As gentle, plentiful, and wife;
If they enjoy the fweets, 'tis plain,
We geefe muft feel a tyrant reign.
What havock now shall thin our race,
When ev'ry petty clerk in place,

То

prove his tafte, and feem polite, Will feed on Geefe both noon and night!

$143. Fable VIII. The Lady and the Wafp. WHAT whispers muft the beauty bear!

What hourly nonfense haunts her ear! Where'er her eyes difpenfe their charms, Impertinence around her fwarms. Did not the tender nonsense strike, Contempt and scorn might foon diflike: Forbidding airs might thin the place, The flightest flap a fly can chace.

And loll'd the fultry hours away.

As thus in indolence the lies,
A giddy Walp around her flies.
He now advances, now retires,
Now to her neck and cheek afpires.
Her fan in vain defends her charms;
Swift he returns, again alarms;
For by repulfe he bolder grew,
Perch'd on her lip, and fipt the dew.

She frowns, the frets. Good gods! fhe cries,
Protect me from these teazing flies!
Of all the plagues that Heav'n hath fent,
A Wafp is moft impertinent.

The hov'ring infect thus complain'd :
Am I then flighted, fcorn'd, difdain'd!
Can fuch offence your anger wake!
'Twas beauty caus'd the bold mistake.
Thofe cherry lips, that breathe perfume,
That check fo ripe with youthful bloom,
Made me with ftrong defire pursue
The fairest peach that ever grew.

Strike him not, Jenny, Doris cries,
Nor murder Wafps like vulgar flies:
For tho' he's free (to do him right)
The creature's civil and polite.

In ecftacies away he pofts;
Where'er he came the favour boasts;
Brags how her fweeteft tea he fips,
And fhews the fugar on his lips.

The hint alarm'd the forward crew;
Sure of fuccefs, away they flew.
They share the dainties of the day;
Round her with airy mufic play;
And now they flutter, now they reft,
Now foar again, and fkim her breaft.
Nor were they banish'd till fhe found
That Wafps have ftings, and felt the wound.

§ 144 Fable IX. The Bull and the Maftif SEEK you to train your fav'rite boy?

Each caution, ev'ry care employ:
And cre you venture to confide,
Let his preceptor's heart be try'd:
Weigh well his manners, life, and scope;
On thefe depends thy future hope.

As on a time, in peaceful reign,
A Bull enjoy'd the flow'ry plain,
A Maftiff påfs'd; inflam'd with ire,
His eye-balls fhot indignant fire;
He foam'd, he rag'd with thirst of blood,
Spurning the ground the monarch stood,
And roat'd aloud, Sufpend the fight;
In a whole fkin go sleep to-night:
Or tell me, ere the battle rage,
What wrongs provoke thee to engage ›

Is it ambition fires thy breaft,
Or avarice that ne'er can reft ?
From thefe alone unjustly fprings
The world-destroying wrath of kings.
The furly Maftiff thus returns:
Within my bofom glory burns.
Like heroes of eternal name,
Whom poets fing, I fight for fame.
The butcher's fpirit-stirring mind
To daily war my youth inclin'd;
He train❜d me to heroic deed;
Taught me to conquer, or to bleed.

Curs'd Dog! the Bull reply'd, no more
I wonder at thy thirst of gore;
For thou (beneath a butcher train'd,
Whofe hands with cruelty are ftain'd,
His daily murders in thy view)
Muft, like thy tutor, blood purfue.
Take then thy fate. With goring wound,
At once he lifts him from the ground;
Aloft the fprawling hero flies;
Manged he falls, he howls, and dies.

§ 145. Fable X. The Elephant and the Bookfeller. THE man who with undaunted toils

Sails unknown feas to unknown foils,
With various wonders feafts his fight:
What ftranger wonders does he write!
We read, and in defcription view
Creatures which Adam never knew:
For, when we risk no contradiction,
It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.
Thofe things that fartle me or you,
I grant are strange; yet may be true.
Who doubts that Elephants are found
For fcience and for fenfe renown'd?
Borri records their strength of parts,
Extent of thought, and kill in arts;
How they perform the law's decrees,
And fave the ftate the hangman's fees;
And how by travel understand
The language of another land.
Let thofe who question this report,
To Pliny's ancient page refort:
How learn'd was that fagacious breed!
Who now like them the Greek can read!
As one of thofe, in days of yore,
Rummag'd a fhop of learning o'er;
Not, like our modern dealers, minding
Only the margin's breadth and binding,"
A book his curious eye detains,
Where, with exacteft care and pains,
Were ev'ry beaft and bird pourtray'd,
That e'er the fearch of man furvey'd ;
Their natures and their pow'rs were writ
With all the pride of human wit.
The page he with attention spread,
And thus remark'd on what he read:
Man with ftrong reafon is endow'd;
A beaft fcarce inftinct is allow'd.
But let this author's worth be try'd,
'Tis plain that neither was his guide.
Can he difcern the diff'rent natures,
And weigh the pow'r of other creatures,

Who, by the partial work, hath shown
He knows fo little of his own?
How falfely is the fpaniel drawn !
Did man from him first learn to fawn?
A dog proficient in the trade!
He the chief flatt'rer nature made!
Go, Man, the ways of courts difcern,
You'll find a fpaniel ftill might learn.
How can the Fox's theft and plunder
Provoke his cenfure or his wonder?
From courtier's tricks, and lawyer's arts,
The fox might well improve his parts.
The lion, wolf, and tyger's brood,
He curfes for their thirft of blood:
But is not man to man a prey?
Beafts kill for hunger, men for pay.

The Bookfeller, who heard him fpeak,
And faw him turn a page of Greek,
Thought, what a genius have I found!
Then thus addrefs'd, with bow profound;
Learn'd Sir, if you'd employ your pen
Against the fenfelefs fons of men,
Or write the hiftory of Siam,
No man is better pay than I am :
Or, fince you're learn'd in Greek, let's fee
Something against the Trinity.

When, wrinkling with a fheer his trunk, Friend, quoth the Elephant, you're drunk; E'en keep your money, and be wife: Leave man on man to criticife; For that you ne'er can want a pen Among the fenfelefs fons of men. They, unprovok'd, will court the fray; Envy's a fharper fpur than pay. No author ever fpar'd a brother; Wits are game-cocks to one another.

§ 146. Fable XI. The Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goofe.

beauty faults confpicuous grow;
The fmalleft fpeck is feen on fnow.
As near a barn, by hunger led,
A Peacock with the poultry fed,
All view'd him with an envious eye,
And mock'd his gaudy pageantry.
He, confcious of fuperior merit,
Contemns their bafe reviling spirit;
His ftate and dignity affumes,
And to the fun difplays his plumes;
Which, like the heav'n's o'er-arching skies,
Are fpangl'd with a thousand eyes.
The circling rays, and varied light,
At once confound their dazzi'd fight:
On ev'ry tongue detraction burns,
And malice prompts their fpleen by turns.
Mark with what infolence and pride
The creature takes his haughty ftride,
The Turkey cries. Can fpleen contain ?
Sure never bird was half fo vain!
But, were intrinfic merit feen,
We Turkies have the whiter fkin.

From tongue to tongue they caught abufe;
And next was heard the hifling Goofs:
G

· What

He twirls her knots, he cracks her fan,
Like any other Gentleman.
In visits too his parts and wit,
When jefts grew dull, were fure to hit.
Proud with applaufe, he thought his mind
In ev'ry courtly art refin'd;

Like Orpheus, burnt with public zeal,
To civilize the monkey weal:
So watch'd occafion, broke his chain,
And fought his native woods again,

The hairy fylvans round him prefs,
Aftonish'd at his ftrut and dress.
Some praise his fleeve, and others glote
Upon his rich embroider'd coat;
His dapper perriwig commending,
With the black tail behind depending;
His powder'd back, above, below,
Like hoary froft, or fleecy fnow;
But all with envy and desire
His flutt'ring fhoulder-knot admire.
Hear and improve, he pertly cries;
I come to make a nation wife.

Weigh your own worth, fupport your place,
The next in rank to human race.
In cities long I pass'd my days,
Convers'd with men, and learn'd their ways.
Their dress, their courtly manners fee;
Reform your state, and copy me.
Seek ye to thrive in flatt'ry deal;
Your fcorn, your hate, with that conceal.
Seem only to regard your friends;
But ufe them for your private ends.
Stint not to truth the flow of wit;
Be prompt to lye whene'er 'tis fit.
Bend all your force to fpatter merit;
Scandal is converfation's fpirit.
Boldly to ev'ry, thing attend,
And men your talents fhall commend.
I knew the great. Obferve me right;
So fhall you grow like man polite.

He fpoke, and bow'd. With mutt'ring jaws
The wond'ring circle grinn'd applaufe.
Now, warm with malice, envy, fpite,
Their most obliging friends they bite;
And, fond to copy human ways,
Practise new mifchiefs all their days.

Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
With travel finishes the fool;
Studious of ev'ry coxcomb's airs,

He drinks, games, dreffes, whores, and swears;
O'erlooks with fcorn all virtuous arts;
For vice is fitted to his parts.

$150. Fable XV.

The thrushes chatter'd with affright,
And nightingales abhorr'd his fight;
All animals before him ran,

To fhun the hateful fight of man.
Whence is the dread of ev'ry creature?
Fly they our figure or our nature?
As thus he walk'd in musing thought,
His ear imperfect accents caught;
With cautious ftep he nearer drew :
By the thick fhade conceal'd from view,
High on the branch a Pheasant ftood;
Around her all her lift'ning brood,
Proud of the bleffings of her neft,
She thus a mother's care expreti :

No dangers here fhall circumvent;
Within the woods enjoy content.
Sooner the hawk or vulture trust
Than man, of animals the worst ;
In him ingratitude you find;
A vice peculiar to their kind.
The fheep, whofe annual fleece is dy'd
To guard his health and ferve his pride,
Forc'd from his fold and native plain,
Is in the cruel fhambles flain.
The fwarms who, with induftrious fkill,
His hives with wax and honey fill,
In vain whole fummer days employ'd,
Their stores are fold their race destroy'd.
What tribute from the goofe is paid!
Does not her wing all fcience aid?
Does it not lovers hearts explain,
And drudge to raise the merchant's gain?
What now rewards this gen'ral use?
He takes the quills, and eats the goofe.
Man then avoid, deteft his ways;
So fafety fhall prolong your days.
When fervices are thus acquitted,
Be fure we Pheasants must be fpitted.

§ 151. Fable XVI. The Pin and the Needle. A PIN, who long had ferv'd a beauty,

Proficient in the toilet's duty,
Had form'd her fleeve, confin'd her hair,
Or giv'n her knot a finarter air,
Now nearest to her heart was plac'd,
Now in her mantua's tail' disgrac’d:
But could fhe partial fortune blame,
Who faw.her lover ferv'd the fame ?

At length, from all her honours caft,
Thro' various turns of life the pass'd;
Now glitter'd on a taylor's arm;
Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
Now, rang'd within a mifer's coat,

Now, rais'd again from low approach, ·
She vifits in the doctor's coach;
Here, there, by various fortune toft,
At last in Grefham-hall was loft.
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On every fide, above, below,

She now of this or that inquires;
What least was understood admires.
'Tis plain, each thing fo ftruck her mind,
Her head's of virtuofo kind.

G2

And

pray

And what's this, and this, dear Sir? A needle, fays th'interpreter. She knew the name. And thus the fool Addrefs'd her as a taylor's tool.

A needle with that filthy ftone, Quite idle, all with ruft o'ergrown! You better might employ your parts, And aid the fempftrefs in her arts. But tell me how the friendship grew Between that paltry flint and you?

Friend, fays the Needle, ceafe 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 fuch a friend forfake?
'Tis I direct the pilot's hand

To fhun the rocks and treach❜rous fand
By me the diftant 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 confequence than you.

§ 153. Fable XVIII. The Painter who pleased nobody and every body.

LEST men fufpect 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 feems abfurd;
The flatter'd always take your word:
Impoffibilities feem juft;

They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, tho' ne'er fo great,
Will ftill come fhort of felf-conceit.
So very like a painter drew,
That ev'ry eye the picture knew;
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So juft, the life itself was there.
No flatt'ry with his colours laid,
To bloom reftor'd the faded maid;
He gave each mufcle all its ftrength;
The mouth, the chin, the nofe's length.
His honeft pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.
He loft his friends, his practice fail'd;
Truth fhould not always be reveal'd;
In dufty piles his pictures lay,

A

the Wolf.

WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold,
Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold;
Deep in the wood fecure he lay;
The thefts of night regal'd the day.
In vain the thepherd's wakeful care

Had fpread the toils, and watch'd the fnare:
In vain the Dog purfu'd his pace,
The fleeter robber mock'd the chace.

As Lightfoot rang'd the foreft round,
By chance his foe's retreat he found.

A truce, replies the Wolf. 'Tis done. The Dog the parley thus begun :

How can that strong intrepid mind Attack a weak defenceless kind? Thofe jaws fhould prey on nobler food, And drink the boar's and lion's blood; Great fouls with gen'rous pity melt, Which coward tyrants never felt. How harmless is our fleecy care! Be brave, and let thy mercy fpare. Friend, fays the Wolf, the matter weigh; Nature defign'd us beafts of prey ; As fuch, when hunger finds a treat, 'Tis neceffary Wolves fhould eat. If, mindful of the bleating weal, Thy bolom burn with real zeal, Hence, and thy tyrant lord befeech; To him repeat the moving fpeech: A Wolf cats fheep but now and then; Ten thoufands are devour'd by men. An open foe may prove a curfe; But a pretended friend is worfe

Two buftos, fraught with ev'ry grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He plac'd in view; refolv'd to please
Whoever fat, he drew from thefe;
From these corrected ev'ry feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were fet; the hour was come,
His pallet ready o'er his thumb,
My Lord appear'd; and feated right
In proper attitude and light,

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

Obferve the work. My Lord reply'd,
Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Betides, my nofe is fomewhat long;
Dear Sir, for me 'tis far too young!

Oh! pardon me, the artift cry'd,
In this the painters must decide.
The piece ev'n common eyes must strike;
I warrant it extremely like.

My Lord examin'd it a-new;
No looking-glafs fecin'd half fo 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 fome charm he lent;
Ev'n beauties were almoft content.

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