The fables of John Gay illustratedJohn Gay, O. F. Owen


H7*
Lki?ox Library

¥vt*rtttclt tn T8 78.





{





PUBLIC
LID?
h£&&i?Lx°
fOUNOATXUNS


i. \M_i:s or JOHN OAi
1.1- - ■ . 1 • 1 * I},
n?i'Tr1; t` ` r\1. :..\ '- ` ...
C :1`


-:
J''"
!
;»..;
*- • Vt


THE
FABLES OF JOHN GAY
ILLUSTRATED.
WITH AN ORIGINAL MEMOIR_ INTRODUCTION_
AND ANNOTATIONS,
BT
OCTAVIUS FREIRE OWEN, M.A. F.S.A.
OF CHRIST COTROH_ OXFORD.
Smmb €brii<m.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SIX DRAWINGS BT WILLIAM HARVEY_
ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL.
GEORGE ROUTLEtSGE & CO. FARRlkGr/ON STREET,
18, BEEEMAJf BIB?I5T, KEY,'_ YORK.



• • * • 4<Mj Hon*; . v *
Rin: \«Tt.c;^Ay1-P)fiHTKR» jJheaii STREET HILL.


TO MY CHILDREN,
THEODORE, EDITH, FLORENCE, EUSTACE, AND RUPERT,
THIS EDITION OF A WORK
FRAMED TO AMUSE THE CHILD AND YET INSTRUCT THE MAN,
IS INSCRIBED,
WITH EVERY AFFECTIONATE DESIRE FOR
THEIR IMPROVEMENT,
OCTAVIUS FREIRE OWEN.
f





CONTENTS.
PART I.
Vage
PREFACE . xi
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF THE AUTHOR 1
Introduction to the Fables.—The Shepherd and the Philo-
sopher IS
No,
1. To his Highness William, Duke of Cumberland.—The Lion, the
Tiger, and the Traveller 17
2. The Spaniel and the Chameleon 21
3. The Mother, the Nurse, and the Faihy ....... 24
4. The Eagle and the Assembly of Animals 26
5. The Wild Boar and the Ram 29
6. The Miser and Plutus 31
7. The Lion, the Fox, and the Geese 34
8. The Lady and the Wasp 37
9. The Bull and the Mastiff 40
10. The Elephant and the Bookseller 42
11. The Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goose ...... 40
12. Cupid, Hymen, and Plutus 4!*
13. The tame Stag £2
14. The Monkey who had seen the World 54
15. The Philosopher and the Pheasants t'i
16. The Pin and the Needle 00
17. The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf C3


Vlll CONTENTS.
No. Page
18. The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody ... 65
19. The Lion and the Cub 68
20. The old Hen and the Cock 71
21. The Ratcatcher and Cats 74
22. The Goat without a Beard 77
23. The old Woman and her Cats 80
24. The Butterfly and the Snail 83
25. The Scold and the Parrot 86
26. The Cur and the Mastiff 89
27. The Sick Man and the Angel 92
28. The Persian, the Sun, and the Cloud 95
29. The Fox at the Point of Death 98
30. The Setting Dog and the Partridge 101
31. The universal Apparition 104
32. The Two Owls and the Sparrow 108
33. The Courtier and Proteus Ill
34. The Mastiff 114
35. The Barley-mow and the Dunghill 117
36. Pythagoras and the Countryman 120
37. The Farmer's Wife and the Raven 123
38. The Turkey and the Ant 126
39. The Father and Jupiter 128
40. The Two Monkeys 131
41. The Owl and the Farmer 134
42. The Jugglers 137
43. The Council op Horses 142
44. The Hound and the Huntsman 146
45. The Poet and the Rose 149
46. The Cur, the Horse, and the Shepherd's Dog 152
47. The Court of Death 155
48. The Gardener and the Hog 159
49. The Man and the Flea 162
50. The Hare and many Friends ',65


CONTENTS. IX
PART II.
1W». Page
1. The Dog and the Fox. To a Lawyer 171
2. The Vulture, the Sparrow, and other Birds. To a Friend
in the Country 176
3. The Baboon and the Poultry. To a Levee-Hunter .... 181
4. The Ant in Office. To a Friend 187
5. The Bear in a Boat. To a Coxcomb 194
6. The 'Squire and his Cur. To a Country Gentleman .... 200
7. The Countryman and Jupiter. To Myself • 207
8. The Man, the Cat, the Dog, and the Fly. To my Native
Country 214
9. The Jackal, Leopard, and other Beasts 221
10. The degenerate Bees. To the Rev. Dr. Swift, Dean of St.
Patrick's 227
11. The Pack-Horse and the Carrier. To a Young Nobleman. 232
12. Pan and Fortune. To a Young Heir 237
13. Plutus, Cupid, and Time 243
14. The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass, and
the Farmer. To a Mother 250
15. The Cook-Maid, the Turnspit, and the Ox. To a poor Man. 257
16. The Ravens, the Sexton, and the Earth-Worm. To Laura. 262
17. Ay and No 269





PEEFACE.
ThE ear of self-love, too sensitive to bear the
direct voice of truth, can tolerate only its rever-
beration, from a fable. Rebuke a courtier for his
sycophancy, a lawyer for his cunning, a prelate for
his pride, and he would shrink with disgust, evade
with dexterity, or resent with indignation: yet the
one, can censure the duplicity of the ape; the second,
astutely impugn the fox; the third, sententiously
anathematize the peacock; until the moral, like a
glass, presents to each original, the fabled personifi-
cation of his own vice, and like an awkward swords-
man, he suddenly finds himself wounded by the
blow, beneath which he expected to prostrate bis
opponent.


Xll PREFACE.
The main object of fable, is to render the mind
its own willing instructor, by gratifying self-
esteem, in the opportunity afforded, for exercising
the power of discovering truth, through the veil of
allegory; instead of arousing disgust, by didactic
application, which always offends our vanity, through
placing us in the position of persons advised.
Indeed, "the greatest parts," says Aristotle, "by
which fable allures the soul, are the resolutions and
discoveries," (Aristotle, Poet. c. 6;) and this is the
reason why such writings, not only "afford much
stronger proofs of genius, than mere narrative," since
they require both judgment and imagination, but
also why they should not be "too obvious, trite,
nor trivial." (Vide Dodsley, Essay on Fable.) I
do not pause now, to discuss the concomitants of
such compositions, since they are amply elucidated
in both the authors referred to; it is sufficient merely
to allude to the manner in which I have endeavoured,
in the present work, "to point a moral, and adorn a
tale," and by rendering the mind's derivation of the
former from the latter, more forcible, to corroborate
the design of fable.
For this purpose, I have relied chiefly upon the


PREFACE. Xlll
exercise of originality and common sense. We live
in the days of literary veneer; the true Spanish
mahogany, even the Honduras of originality, is nearly
withered to the stump; nothing is said but what has
been spoken before, whether it be, "I do not love
thee, Dr. Fell," to be found in the "Non amo te,"
of Martial,—or the epigrams of a modern ironist,
three or four of which, I discovered, the other day, in
a volume of very old plays. The "points" of our
best novels, are merely old friends in a new dress;
the " tags" of our dramas, the airs of our overtures,
are the odds and ends of ancient compositions; in
fact, most of our literature resembles the restorations
of dealers in mediaeval furniture, wherein carved bits,
old and new, are dove-tailed, pieced, and well varnished
with antique colour, to form seats for modern fame to
rest upon! In this epoch of plagiarism, happy is
that jackdaw, who can find a feather of some former
peacock, or a rag from the mantle of some byegone prophet, with which to cover his own literary bareness.
Although, therefore, I have not hesitated to confirm
my author by quotations from others, I have illus-
trated him chiefly from my own mind, have created,
rather than copied: the biography, also, has been


XIV PREFACE.
compiled from the latest materials, some of which
have been discovered since the death of Dr. Johnson.
One word as to the apparent satirical hardness of
the notes. Sarcasm, it is true, is a peevish dog, kept
in the house of Malevolence; but, nevertheless, Hu-
manity is a thick-skinned animal, and its vanity
so "films and gilds" its vice, as frequently to
require for its cure the actual cautery; in fact, few
of its follies can be removed, without the use of
the knife. The notes have been written in rustic
seclusion, where the mind, cut off from social
affinities, and acting the spectator, rather than the
player, looks more unimpassioned upon the game of
life, and he who "in meditation lives," is likely to—
"Shape hia weapon with an edge severe."
Yet to be candid, the satirist must first impugn
himself, for his own heart presents the telescopic view,
diminished but not wholly obliterated by self-love,
of the shores and strands of evil he sees, "in extenso,"
around him; and he must confess that nature has made
"the whole world, kin,"—marvellously of a pattern,—
so that justice and thief, instructor and pupil, phy-
sician and patient, oneself and one's neighbour, are





LIFE OF JOHN GAY.
The Author of the following Fables is an example of the
fickleness of fortune, and the independence of talent and
position: descended from an old family, he inherited no
ancestral wealth, and was a confirmed poet, though placed
apprentice to a silk-mercer.
The manor of Goldworthy, in Devonshire, had long been
in possession of his family, but its name does not appear
in the Villare. The poet was however of Norman origin;
his ancestor, Gilbert le Gay, gave name to a place called
Hampton-Gay in Northamptonshire, and by marriage with
the family of Curtoyse obtained possession of Goldworthy.
The place of his birth was at Barnstaple;1 the date of
it 1688. His first instructor, Mr. Luck, probably fostered,
though he could not create, a talent for the Muses in
his pupil, ("poeta nascitur non fit,") by a volume of
Latin and English verses, which he published shortly
before he retired from the superintendence of the school
(1) Since the publication of Johnson's biography of Gay, a singular discovery
of a mass of MSS., concealed in a secret drawer in an easy-chair belonging to the
poet, has led to the accurate knowledge of his birthplace having been Barnstaple.
The reader will find a full account of this discovery, and of the papers, in
a small volume in the British Museum, called Gay's Chair, with poems never
before printed, from the MSS. of the Rev. Joseph Bailer, his nephew, edited by
Henry Lee, author of "Caleb Quotem." Hence, upon Bailer's authority I
have stated him to have been born at Barnstaple: Goldworthy is near Bideford.
B


2 LIFE OF JOHN GAY.
at Barnstaple. When Gay quitted it, to be bound to
a mercer's counter in London, we may judge of the
irksomeness of his new position by his silence respecting
it, and by the readiness with which his new master shortly
discharged him.
In 1712 he was enabled, by being appointed secretary
to the Duchess of Monmouth, (an office which procured
him more leisure,) to give a decided evidence of poetic
wit and worldly wisdom, by inscribing a poem on 'Rural
Sports,' to Mr. Pope, the rising sun of whose reputation
called into life, with the usual tendency of expansive
intellect, many kindred though less known aspirants for
fame. Besides this work, and his articles in the 'Spec-
tator' and 'Guardian,' the recommendation of a lively
temper and genial disposition, not only laid the foun-
dation of an enduring friendship between Pope and
himself, but also at once obtained him admission into
that intellectual circle, where his talents excited no envy
from their predominance, and his amiability ensured
regard.
'The Shepherd's Week,' published in the course of the
succeeding year, was written, it is supposed, at Pope's
suggestion, with a view of retorting upon a criticism by
Steele in the 'Guardian' in favour of Ambrose Philips,
who, to the disparagement of Pope, is named by the critic
as the only successor, in that style, worthy to be named
after Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. As the design
was to show that to copy nature accurately, rusticity
should be represented in all its ignorant grossness, the
imitation by Gay in the Proem to the Pastorals is
carried out in such a style of obsolete expression, as
would at once have buried them in contempt, had not the
evident endeavour at truth elicited approval. 'The Wife


LIFE OF JOHN GAT. 3
of Bath,' a comedy brought upon the stage in 1713, was
unfortunate throughout, for as it obtained no favour at
its first production, so seventeen years afterwards, when
the 'Beggar's Opera' had achieved universal renown, it
was doomed to reiterated rejection.
With the death of Queen Anne, Gay, who had been
appointed secretary to Lord Clarendon in his embassy to
Hanover, saw his anticipations of patronage decline, for in
Swift's opinion the dedication of his 'Shepherd's Week'
to Bolingbroke, had lost him the favour of the Hanoverian
family. Still, at this period of his career his spirits seem
to have been more firm against disappointment, for he
wrote a poem upon the arrival of the Princess of Wales,
and reaped the reward of perseverance so far that, "both
the Prince and Princess went to see his 'What d' ye call
it?' a kind of mock tragedy, in which the images were
comic and the action grave; so that, as Pope relates,
Mr. Cromwell, who could not hear what was said, was at
a loss how to reconcile the laughter of the audience with
the solemnity of the scene."1 The popularity of this piece
aroused envy, and a reply was written to it by Mr. Theo-
bald and Griffin (a player), entitled "The Key to the What
d' ye call it 1" which Gay declared "called him a block-
head and Mr. Pope a knave." His expectations that the
success of this burlesque would assist his promotion, proving
illusory, he, with the ready depression of a weak man,
fell from hope to despondency, so that had it not been
for the attention of Lord Burlington, Mr. Pulteney, and
Lord Harcourt, he would never have been able to endure
a fresh rebuff, which most deservedly befel him in 1717.
Having endeavoured in 'Three Hours after Marriage' to
burlesque Dr. Woodward, a geologist of estimable character,
(1) Johnson.


1 LIFE OF JOHN GAY.
the comedy, a joint production of Pope, Gay, and Arbuth-
not, so disgusted the audience in the scene where Wood-
ward was ridiculed palpably, by the introduction of a
crocodile and a mummy, that it was hissed off with
well-merited censure, and inflicted public disgrace upon
its authors.
Unaccustomed to the use of wealth, the possession of a
thousand pounds, the product of the publication of his
poems by subscription, was an event equally beyond his
prudence or his equanimity. Distrustful of the former, he
called in, as his financial advisers, Lewis, who counselled
him to live upon the interest and intrust it to the funds;
Arbuthnot, who advised him to live on the principal and
trust it to God; Pope and Swift, who told him to purchase
an annuity. On the other hand his equanimity was soon
banished, when Craggs presented him with some South
Sea Stock, and he dreamed of visions of twenty thousand
pounds; but fearful of obstructing his own fortune, he
disregarded the advice of Fenton to purchase an annuity,
which, as he said, "would make him sure of a clean shirt
and a shoulder of mutton every day," so that when the
bubble burst, and the substance dwindled to the shadow,
poor Gay's life almost sank beneath the sudden transition
from fancied wealth to real penury.
It is the delight of fortune to mock, with capricious
absurdity, the efforts of men to rise above her power, and
comicality frequently attends the introduction of life's
most important events. Upon one occasion Gay, who had
written a tragedy called 'The Captives,' was commanded to
read before the Princess of Wales. A large japan screen
was placed near him, which he not observing, threw
down in his respectful advances towards the august
party, reverence for whom completely absorbed the atten-


LIFE OF JOHN GAY. 0
tion of a poet's mind, usually incapable of more than one
idea at a time; the Princess and her ladies screamed
so violently as entirely to discomfit our author, who was
nevertheless still expected to read his play. It was after-
wards acted seven nights, the author's third night being
by command of their Royal Highnesses, and though its
subsequent fate is little known, it had the effect of rousing
Gay from indolence, by inspiring him with the idea that
he still possessed Court favour. Under this impression he
undertook, in 1726, to write a volume of Fables for the
young Duke of Cumberland, and had already magnified
the promised reward "with all the wild expectations of
indigence and vanity." But when the Prince and Princess
became King and Queen, and he found all his hopes
contracted into the paltry appointment of Gentleman
Usher to the Princess Louisa, his disgust became intole-
rable, and finding that verses and supplications, flattery
and remonstrance, were equally unavailing, he appears to
have concentrated his wrath in the vehement tirade against
Courts with which his Fables and other works abound,
until he partially forgot it in the signal success attending
his Beggar's Opera.
This remarkable production was composed in ridicule of
the Italian Drama; Cibber rejected it at Drury Lane, but
Rich having accepted it, it rendered, as a wit observed,
"Gay rich and Rich gay." It was framed upon a sugges-
tion of Swift, who remarked one day to the poet what an
odd, pretty sort of thing a Newgate Pastoral would make.
Gay improved upon this original notion, and determined to
compose a comedy upon it. It has been variously criti-
cised as to its effect upon morals, Swift upholding, Dr.
Herring, Archbishop of Canterbury, censuring it, and
many asserting that since its production robbery increased.


6 LIFE OP JOHN GAT.
Johnson's opinion seems hardly given with his usual judg-
ment, for whilst stating that it is not likely to do good, he
yet thinks that it cannot produce evil, because highway-
men, &c. do not frequent the playhouses. This is falla-
cious, for there is no production which does not have
a tendency of some sort, and therefore cannot be neutral
towards the induction of good or evil into the mind;
next, the spectacle of crime under circumstances which
rob it of its turpitude, and invest it with pseudo-heroism,
warps the judgment from its true decision, and recommends
vice under the garb of nobility; and lastly, not only in
our day, but in Johnson's, the most degraded culprits have
had their scenic tastes, which they gratify by attendance
at theatrical exhibitions. Moreover such spectacles are not
so pernicious in the effect they produce upon those who
are thieves already, as from their tendency to induce the
honest and upright to degenerate. The Lord Chamberlain
seems to have been of this opinion, for, notwithstanding
the astounding success of the 'Beggar's Opera,' he pro-
hibited the appearance of the second part, entitled 'Polly,'
which " oppression," as Gay called it, turned out profitable,
for he recompensed himself by a subscription, which nearly
tripled the amount of the first part; the Opera realizing
£400, and the second part obtaining almost £1200.
His latter life was passed in the house of the Duke of
Queensberry, who so entirely accommodated himself to
the humour, or frailty, of his guest, as in some sort to
become his steward, managing his money, and giving it
to him as he wanted it; so true is it that the weakness
of amiability elicits more regard, than the independence
of consummate intellect. Yet notwithstanding the atten-
tion of his friend, the venom of disappointment rankled
within his breast, and his life was rendered gloomy by the


LIFE OP JOHN GAT. 7
realization of that court treachery which, experience might
have taught him to expect, or religion to despise.
He died on the 4th December, 1732, aged 44, having
been hurried out of existence with more precipitancy than
Arbuthnot states he ever knew, by a return of his old
malady, a colic, and was buried in Westminster Abbey,—
a recompense which this nation generally extends to its
talented men, for having neglected them during their
lives! In England, we bury genius superbly; in France,
they maintain it. He left £6000 (not £3000 as Johnson
says), which sum was divided between his two sisters,
Katherine Bailer and Joanna Fortescue. Swift, who
had greater affection for Gay than he probably felt for
any man, was so impressed with a foreboding of some
misfortune, as to leave the letter containing the intelli-
gence of the poet's death for some days unread, and even
that rugged nature was not above practising the common
self-deception with which we sometimes cheat ourselves of
the full bitterness of sorrow, by mixing it with our courage,
—drop by drop!
The great merit attached to Gay on the score of origi-
nality, consists in his having been the first to bring out
the Ballad Opera, and thereby to have hit the public taste
by a species of composition appropriate, if not elevated.
Indeed the general character of his intellect, like that of his
disposition, seems to have been of a moderate temper, in
which correctness took the medium place between genius
and tenuity. Pope describes him as a natural man, with-
out design, who spoke what he thought, and just as he
thought it; of a timid temper, and fearful of giving offence
to the great, which latter habit, he says, "was of no avail;"
he might have added, neither will it ever succeed, since the
world, to be managed properly, must, as Charles the Fifth


8 LIFE OP JOHN GAT. •
observed, feel "the iron hand in the silk glove." In Gay,
it is certain, we discover none of those faults which
-"Lofty genius owes Half to the ardour which itself bestows:—"
his policy lay in the natural exercise of his disposition,
which was so plastic as readily to succumb to others, in
contented servility.
His Fables, always a favourite work, promise to continue
so, abroad as at home, for a translation of them into
French by the Chevalier de Chatelain has already been
received with approbation, and they have been rendered
into Urdic and Bengali poetry. Johnson remarks that
Gay seems to confound the strict fable with "tales" and
"allegorical prosopopoeias," and that from some of them it
will be difficult to extract any moral principle. La Fon-
taine also states that in the true fable none but animals
are admitted, and quotes Aristotle's authority for excluding
trees; but we may notice that the Stagirite in his defi-
nition, extends the idea of fable widely, when he calls it
"an imitation of action;" and not only .<Esop, whom he
refers to as the great fabulist, introduces plants and trees
often, but the most ancient fable extant, that of Jotham,1
is framed upon them. After Gay's death, a second volume
of Fables, more political in character, and also some other
pieces, as "The Comedy of the Distressed Wife," "The
Rehearsal at Gotham," &c. appeared, but these last will
not sustain his reputation, either on the score of judg-
ment or originality; the Fables are throughout distin-
guished by smoothness of versification, and a style of
expression easy and apposite.
The epitaph he proposed for himself,
"Life's a jest, and all things show it;
I thought so once, but now I know it"—
(1) About B.C. 1209. Vide Judges, c. ix.


LIFE OF JOHN GAT.
is the flippant tribute of folly to irreligion. His friends,
"Charles and Catherine, Duke and Duchess of Queens-
berry, who loved this excellent person living and regretted
him dead, caused a monument to be erected to his
memory," upon which Pope wrote the following lines, in
all the fulsome fervour of poetic hyperbole:—
"Of manners gentle, of affections mild,
In wit a man, simplicity a child,
With Nature's humour, temp'ring virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once, and lash the age;
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted, ev'n among the great;
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblamed through life, lamented in thy end—
These are thine honours, not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust,
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms,—here lies Gay."





FABLES.
got % Jirei.
TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS
WILLIAM, DUKE OF CUMBERLAND.





MIRpDUCTION.

SHEPHERD AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
Remote from cities lived a Swain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain;
His head was silver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage;
In summer's heat and winter's cold
He fed his flock and penn'd the fold:


14 INTRODUCTION.
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew:
His wisdom and his honest fame
Through all the country raised his name.1
A deep Philosopher (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The Shepherd's homely cottage sought,
And thus explored his reach of thought:
"Whence is thy learning 1 hath thy toil
O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey'd,
And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy soul refined,
And hast thou fathom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Hast thou through many cities stray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd 1"
The Shepherd modestly replied,—
"I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practised in disguise,
He cheats the most discerning eyes:
Who by that search shall wiser grow,
When we ourselves can never know 12
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from simple Nature drain'd;
(1) The retirement of the country has ever formed a fertile theme of praise to
poets, but it depends upon the disposition to derive good from it,—
"Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt."—Hor.
(2) "The noblest study of mankind is man."—Pope.
Yet Socrates himself confessed that, after all, so far was he from realizing the
saying of Thales, "Know thyself," that "he only knew that he knew nothing."
For rules of self-knowledge see Addison, Spectator, No. 399.


16 INTRODUCTION.
But Envy, Calumny, and Spite,
Bear stronger venom in their bite.1
Thus every object of creation
Can furnish hints to contemplation,
And from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean."
"Thy fame is just," the Sage replies,
"Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Pride often guides the author's pen;
Books as affected are as men:
But he who studies Nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws;
And those, without our schools, suffice
To make men moral, good and wise."2
(1) Because, says Swift,—
—;"Now and then
Beasts may degenerate into men."
(2) In addition to Revelation, God has left us two records of His nature, and
our duty: one internal, conscience; the other external, the aspect of all created
things. Hence proper observation and thought upon the different phases of
creative economy, constitute an element, and a most material one, of moral disci-
pline, and it was well said by the wise Italian bishop, that he learned patience by
the right use of his eyes. "For," said he, "I first look up to Heaven and
remember that all my business is to get there: next I look to earth, and call to
mind how small a portion I shall require of it when dead: lastly, I look into the
world, and see how many there are, more miserable than myself. Thus I learn
where true happiness is placed, where all our cares must end, and what little
reason I have to repine."
But retirement has its abuses, as well as contemplation its benefits: rural
apathy is not reflection, nor can there be a greater waste than for vast talents
to be doomed to rust, in vulgar solitude. There are who mistake the process for
the result, and who in the vain affectation of philosophical abstinence from society,
go, as Eve did, to meet the devil in private. Wholesome activity of mind and
body, sufficient to employ both, in the service of God and man, comports best
with the design of the Creator, and therefore with the happiness of the creature.
Otherwise, to shut the door, will not shut out temptation, but solitude will echo
to the discontented repinings of an aimless existence, or to the perturbed
pleadings of ill-suppressed desires. "Possessing all I want," said Rasselas, " I
find one day and one hour exactly like another, except that the latter is still
more tedious than the former;" and the hermit in the same work, though he had
lived fifteen years in solitude, had "no desire that his example should gain any
imitators." The stagnant pool breeds reptiles, and chaos is twin-born with
darkness and confusion,—the moral world, in this respect as in others, bears
close resemblance to the physical!



THE LION, THE TIGER, AND THE TRAVELLER.
Accept, young Prince! the moral lay,
And in these Tales mankind survey;
With early virtues plant your breast,
The specious arts of vice detest.
Princes, like beauties, from their youth
Are strangers to the voice of Truth.1
(1) Compare the third Satire of Juvenal. There is one exception, namely,
*hey hear truth when it is profitable to the courtier to tell it, but never the
whole truth.
0


18 FABLE I.
Learn to contemn all praise betimes,
For flattery's the nurse of crimes:
Friendship by sweet reproof is shown;
(A virtue never near a throne;)
In courts such freedom must offend;
There, none presumes to be a friend.1
To those of your exalted station,
Each courtier is a dedication.
Must I, too, flatter like the rest,
And turn my morals to a jest?
The Muse disdains to steal from those
Who thrive in courts by fulsome prose.
But shall I hide your real praise,
Or tell you what a nation says?—
They in your infant bosom trace
The virtues of your royal race;
In the fair dawning of your mind
Discern you generous, mild, and kind:
They see you grieve to hear distress,
And pant already to redress.
Go on; the height of good attain,
Nor let a nation hope in vain:
For hence we justly may presage
The virtues of a riper age.
True courage shall your bosom fire,
And future actions own your sire.
Cowards are cruel, but the brave
Love mercy, and delight to save.2
(1) "Nothing misbecomes
The man that would be thought a friend, like flattery."—Rowe.
Vide also Shakspear, King Lear, Act iv. Sc. 6.
(2) The old habit is too strong for eradication; Gay falls into the language of
courts, just after he had repudiated it. The Portuguese have a quaint but true
proverb, "An old ass will never learn a new language."


FABLE I. 19
A Tiger, roaming for his prey,
Sprung on a Traveller in the way;
The prostrate game a Lion spies,
And on the greedy tyrant flies:
With mingled roar resounds the wood,
Their teeth, their claws, distil with blood;
Till, vanquish'd by the Lion's strength,
The spotted foe extends his length.
The Man besought the shaggy lord,
And on his knees for life implored:
His life the generous hero gave.
Together walking to his cave,
The Lion thus bespoke his guest:
"What hardy beast shall dare contest
My matchless strength 1 you saw the fight,
And must attest my power and right.
Forced to forego their native home,
My starving slaves at distance roam
Within these woods I reign alone;
The boundless forest is my own.
Bears, wolves, and all the savage brood,
Have dyed the regal den with blood.
These carcases on either hand,
Those bones that whiten all the land,
My former deeds and triumphs tell,
Beneath these jaws what numbers fell."
"True," says the man, "the strength I saw
Might well the brutal nation awe;
But shall a monarch, brave, like you,
Place glory in so false a view?
Robbers invade their neighbour's right:
Be loved; let justice bound your rnight.


20 FABLE L
Mean are ambitious heroes' boasts
Of wasted lands, and slaughter'd hosts:
Pirates their power by murders gain;
Wise kings by love and mercy reign.1
To me your clemency hath shown
The virtue worthy of a throne.
Heav'n gives you power above the rest,
Like Heav'n, to succour the distrest."
"The case is plain," the monarch said,
"False glory hath my youth misled;
For beasts of prey, a servile train,
Have been the flatterers of my reign.
You reason well: yet tell me, friend,
Did ever you in courts attend 1
For all my fawning rogues agree,
That human heroes rule like me." 2
(1) In the treatise of Xenophon entitled " Hiero, or the Condition of Kings,"
set forth by Montaigne in his Essays, the reader will find a faithful exposition of
the miserable condition of princes, especially in their being deprived of friendship,
and the true object of action. Their real pleasure should be in bestowing good,
for true greatness ought to resemble the sun, in that the higher it rises, the
further it disperses light and joy. The history of the world, however, unfor-
tunately corroborates the truth of the lion's remark, and the sceptres of few
princes have borne the emblem of the dove. The last words of Charles the
Fifth, of France, ought to form the motto of every prince:—" Frenchmen who
now hear me, I address myself to the Supreme Being and to you 1 I find that
kings are happy but in this—that they have the power of doing good."
(2) Vide Shakspear, Merchant of Venice, Act iv. Sc. 1.



THE SPANIEL AND THE CHAMELEON.
A Spaniel, bred with all the care
That waits upon a favourite heir,
Ne'er felt correction's rigid hand;
Indulged to disobey command,
In pamper'd ease his hours were spent:
He never knew what learning meant.
Such forward airs, so pert, so smart,
Were sure to win his lady's heart;


FABLE II.
Each little mischief gain'd him praise;
How pretty were his fawning ways!
The wind was south, the morning fair,
He ventures forth to take the air:
He ranges all the meadow round,
And rolls upon the softest ground;
When near him a Chameleon seen,
Was scarce distinguish'd from the green.
"Dear emblem of the flattering host!
What, live with clowns! a genius lost!
To cities and the court repair;
A fortune cannot fail thee there:
Preferment shall thy talents crown;
Believe me, friend; I know the town."
"Sir," says the sycophant, "like you,
Of old, politer life I knew:
Like you, a courtier born and bred,
Kings lean'd their ear to what I said:
My whisper always met success;
The ladies praised me for address:
I knew to hit each courtier's passion,
And flatter'd every vice in fashion:
But Jove, who hates the liar's ways,
At once cut short my prosperous days,
And, sentenced to retain my nature,
Transform'd me to this crawling creature.
Doom'd to a life obscure and mean,
I wander in the silvan scene:
For Jove the heart alone regards;
He punishes what man rewards.—1
(1) Compare 1 Sam. xvi. 7.


FABLE II.
23
How different is thy case and mine?
With men at least you sup and dine;
While I, condemn'd to thinnest fare,
Like those I flatter'd, feed on air."1
(1) The raillery at court sycophants naturally pervades our poet's writings who had suffered so much from them: here, however, he intimates something
more, namely, the apposite dispensations to men's acts, even in this world. The
crafty is taken in his own guile, the courtier falls by his own arts, and the ladder
of ambition only prepares for the aspirant a further fall.
• "Unde altior esset
Casus, et impulsse prasceps immane ruinae."—Juvenal.



THE MOTHER, THE NURSE, AND THE FAIRY.
"Give me a son!"—The blessing sent,
Were ever parents more content?
How partial are their doting eyes!
No child is half so fair and wise.1
Wak'd to the morning's pleasing care,
The Mother rose, and sought her heir:
She saw the Nurse like one possest,
With wringing hands and sobbing breast.
(1) "I never yet saw that father who, let his son be never so decrepit or scald-
pated, would not own him: not but that, unless he were totally besotted and
blinded with his paternal affection, he does not well enough discern his defects,
but because, notwithstanding all his faults, he is still his."—Moxtaigne.


FABLE III. 25
"Sure some disaster has befell:
Speak, Nurse; I hope the boy is well."
"Dear Madam, think not me to blame;
Invisible the Fairy came:
Your precious babe is hence convey'd,
And in the place a changeling laid.
Where are the father's mouth and nose?
The mother's eyes, as black as sloes?
See, here, a shocking awkward creature,
That speaks a fool in every feature."
"The woman's blind," the Mother cries,
"I see wit sparkle in his eyes."
"Lord, Madam, what a squinting leer!
No doubt the Fairy hath been here."
Just as she spoke, a pigmy sprite
Pops through the keyhole swift as light;
Perch'd on the cradle's top she stands,
And thus her folly reprimands.
"Whence sprung the vain conceited lie,
That we the world with fools supply?
What! give our sprightly race away
For the dull helpless sons of clay!—
Besides, by partial fondness shown,
Like you, we dote upon our own.
Where yet was ever found a Mother
Who'd give her booby for another?
And should we change with human breed,
Well might we pass for fools indeed."1
(1) The application of this fable is two-fold; for whilst it slightly touches, by
inference, the shortsightedness of human wishes, it also alludes to the false
judgment which parental fondness forms, of juvenile error. The severe sarcasm
passed by the fairy upon mortal infirmity, is as true, as the readiness with which
we allow a reason to operate in our own case, and forbid it in another's, is
irequent. Johnsons famous paraphrase upon the tenth Satire of Juvenal, is very
concurrent with this fable.
A



THE EAGLE AND ASSEMBLY OF ANIMALS.
As Jupiter's all-seeing eye
Survey'd the worlds beneath the sky;
From this small speck of earth were sent
Murmurs and sounds of discontent;
For every thing alive complain'd
That he the hardest life sustain'd.1
Jove calls his eagle. At the word
Before him stands the royal bird.
(1) "The greatest portion of religious service which Heaven receives," says
Swift, "and the sincerest act of our devotion is—complaint.".


FABLE IV. 27
The bird, obedient, from heaven's height,1
Downward directs his rapid flight;
Then cited every living thing
To hear the mandates of his king.
"Ungrateful creatures! whence arise
These murmurs which offend the skies;
Why this disorder 1 say the cause;
For just are Jove's eternal laws.
Let each his discontent reveal;
To yon sour Dog I first appeal."
"Hard is my lot," the Hound replies,
"On what fleet nerves the Greyhound flies;
While I, with weary step and slow,
O'er plains, and vales, and mountains go.
The morning sees my chase begun,
Nor ends it till the setting sun."
"When," says the Greyhound, "I pursue,
My game is lost, or caught in view;
Beyond my sight the prey's secure;
The hound is slow, but always sure;
And had I his sagacious scent,
Jove ne'er had heard my discontent."
The Lion craved the Fox's art;
The Fox the Lion's force and heart:
The Cock implored the Pigeon's flight,
Whose wings were rapid, strong, and light;
The Pigeon strength of wing despised,
And the Cock's matchless valour prized:
The Fishes wished to graze the plain,
The Beasts to skim beneath the main:
Thus, envious of another's state,
Each blamed the partial hand of Fate.
(1) This is a bad line, and forms an exception to Gay's usual accuracy.


28
FABLE IV.
The Bird of Heaven1 then cried aloud,
"Jove bids disperse the murmuring crowd;
The god rejects your idle prayers.
Would ye, rebellious mutineers!
Entirely change your name and nature,
And be the very envied creature?—
What, silent all, and none consent?
Be happy, then, and learn content;
Nor imitate the restless mind,
And proud ambition, of mankind."2
(1) "Jovis ales."—Vihgil.
(2) Perfect good being unattainable, each man's position would be rendered
pleasant, or at least tolerable to him, were he to consider, (which he does not,) the
infelicities, rather than the apparent enjoyments, of another. The rich envies
the poor man's healthy relish of food, let him set against it the latter's con-
strained self-denial: the pauper craves wealth, instead of contemplating the cares
it brings with it. There is a crook in each lot, a sore place in every man's heart;
God hath set one thing against the other in all conditions, so that the hardest
fate has never yet been found. Were there a window in every one's breast, how
often would clouds appear in the lot we consider brightest I how few beggars
would then be content to exchange their condition with the wealthiest, without
a pause! "Sorte tuft contentus abi," is a panacea for most ills.



THE WILD BOAR AND THE RAM.
Against an elm a sheep was tied,
The butcher's knife in blood was dyed;
The patient flock, in silent fright,
From far beheld the horrid sight:
A savage Boar, who near them stood,
Thus mock'd to scorn the fleecy brood.
"All cowards should be served like you.
See, see, your murderer is in view:
With purple hands, and reeking knife,
He strips the skin yet warm with life.


30 FABLE V.
Your quarter'd sires, your bleeding dams,
The dying bleat of harmless lambs,
Call for revenge. 0 stupid race 1
The heart that wants revenge is base."1
"I grant," an ancient Earn replies,
"We bear no terror in our eyes;
Yet think us not of soul so tame,
Which no repeated wrongs inflame;
Insensible of every ill,
Because we want thy tusks to kill.
Know, those who violence pursue,
Give to themselves the vengeance due;
For in these massacres they find
The two chief plagues that waste mankind.
Our skin supplies the wrangling bar,
It wakes their slumbering sons to war;
And well revenge may rest contented,
Since drums and parchment were invented." 2
(1) "Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils."—Milton.
(2) Patient forbearance under injury is a distinctive trait of true humility, and,
it may be said, of wisdom also; since if we leave tyranny to work its way, the
end shows that its greatest victim will be itself. Man is not so fearful in
his cruelty to the brutes, as he is in his animosity to his fellow, and greater
curses have never befallen the world, than litigious strife, under the plea of jus-
tice, and war and rapine under the name of glory. Can any intellect comprehend
the vast amount of cruelty_ lust, and malice, let loose in a campaign, or of injus-
tice, perjury, and fraud, tied up in a piece of red tape?



THE MISER AND rHJTUS.
ThE wind was high, the window shakes,
With sudden start the Miser wakes;
Along the silent room he stalks,
Looks back, and trembles as he walks.
Each lock and every bolt he tries,
In every creek and corner pries;
Then opes the chest with treasure stored,
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard:*
"At midnight thus th' Usurer steals untrack'd
To make a visit to his hoarded gold,
And feast his eyes upon the shining mammon."—Otwav,


FABLE VI.
But now with sudden qualms possest,
He wrings his hands, he beats his breast;
By conscience stung he wildly stares,
And thus his guilty soul declares:
"Had the deep earth her stores confined,
This heart had known sweet peace of mind.
But virtue's sold. Good gods! what price
Can recompense the pangs of vice!
0 bane of good! seducing cheat!
Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
Gold banish'd honour from the mind,
And only left the name behind;
Gold sow'd the world with every ill;
Gold taught the murderer's sword to kill:
'Twas gold instructed coward hearts
In treachery's more pernicious arts.
Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?1
Virtue resides on earth no morel"—
He spoke, and sigh'd.—In angry mood
Plutus, his god, before him stood.
The Miser, trembling, lock'd his chest;
The Vision frown'd, and thus address'd :—
"Whence is this vile ungrateful rant,
Each sordid rascal's daily cant?
Did I, base wretch! corrupt mankind?—
The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
Because my blessings are abused,
Must I be censured, cursed, accused?
(1) "This yellow slave Will knit and break religions; bless th' accurs'd:Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves, And give them title, knee, and approbation, With senators on the bench."—Shakspxar, Timon of Atkem.


FABLE VL 33
Ev'n virtue's self by knaves is made
A cloak to carry on the trade;And power (when lodged in their possession)
Grows tyranny, and rank oppression.
Thus, when the villain crams his chest,
Gold is the canker of the breast;'Tis avarice, insolence, and pride,
And every shocking vice beside;But when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
It blesses, like the dews of Heaven;Like Heaven, it hears the orphan's cries,
And wipes the tears from widows' eyes.
Their crimes on gold shall misers lay,
Who pawn'd their sordid souls for pay?
Let bravos, then, when blood is spilt,
Upbraid the passive sword with guilt."1
(1) There is no man so ignorant who cannot frame an excuse for the sin that
he loves. Riches, if properly employed, are a blessing; if abused, are a curse:
in fact, in proportion as they are faithfully dispensed, they increase, and the
good steward is entrusted with more. A rich merchant who had lost 1,500/. immediately distributed 100/. among poor ministers and people. "For," said he,
"if my fortune is going by 1,500/. in a lump, it is high time to secure some part
of it before it is gone." Contrast the wretched state of the miser Elwes, who
would not have his shoes cleaned for fear of wearing them out; of his mother,
who starved herself to death when worth 100,000/.; of Marlborough, who to save
sixpence (when he possessed a million and a half), walked, at the last stage of life,
in a cold night, to his lodgings; with the benevolence of Colston, the Bristol
merchant, or of Dr. Warneford, or Jenny Lind in our day,—and who would blame
fortune, and not man's nature * One of the most affecting incidents in the life of
Louis XVI. occurred during the mock trial which preceded his judicial murder.
He was asked what he had done with a few thousand pounds. His voice failed
him, the tears came into his eyes, and he touchingly said, "I had pleasure in
making other people happy!"—He had given the money away in charity.



THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE.
A Lion, tired with state affairs,
Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares,
Resolv'd (remote from noise and strife)
In peace to pass his latter life.1
It was proclaim'd; the day was set:—
Behold the general council met.
(1) The indolence of increasing years is frequently mistaken for resignation,
and the apathy of age often passes for the self-denial of philosophy. Men conceal
the real nature of vice and virtue, as they do the powers of certain half-known
drugs—by jint names.


FABLE VII. 35
The Fox was viceroy named; the crowd
To the new regent humbly bow'd.
Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend,
And strive who most shall condescend.
He straight assumes a solemn grace, Collects his wisdom in his face:
The crowd admire his wit, his sense;
Each word hath weight and consequence.
The flatterer all his art displays:
He who hath power is sure of praise!
A Fox stept forth before the rest,
And thus the servile throng addrest:
"How vast his talents, born to rule,
And train'd in Virtue's honest school!
What clemency his temper sways!
How uncorrupt are all his ways!
Beneath his conduct and command
Rapine shall cease to waste the land.
His brain hath stratagem and art;
Prudence and mercy rule his heart.
What blessings must attend the nation
Under this good administration!"
He said. A Goose, who distant stood,
Harangued apart the cackling brood:
"Whene'er I hear a knave commend,
He bids me shun his worthy friend.
What praise, what mighty commendation!
But 'twas a Fox who spoke th' oration.
Foxes this government may prize
As gentle, plentiful, and wise;
If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain
We Geese must feel a tyrant-reign.


36
FABLE VII.
What havoc now shall thin our race,
When every petty clerk in place,
To prove his taste, and seem polite,
Will feed on Geese both noon and night l"1
(1) The observation of Lear admirably portrays the sycophancy of satellites
to men in power:—"Lear. Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? Glo. Ay, Sir.
Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There thou mightst behold the
great image of authority: a dog's obeyed in office!"
The real moral, however, is, that those praise the thief who share in the spoil,
and that in flattering the vices of a Tiberius, a Sejanus ensures the gratifica-
tion of his own. Thus it was with Empson and Dudley, the ministers to Henry
the Seventh's cupidity.



THE LADY AND THE WASP.
What whispers must the Beauty bear!
What hourly nonsense haunts her ear!
Where'er her eyes dispense their charms,
Impertinence around her swarms.
Did not the tender nonsense strike,
Contempt and scorn might look dislike;
Forbidding airs might thin the place,
The slightest flap a fly can chase:
But who can drive the num'rous breed 1-
Chase one, another will succeed.
-


38 FABLE VIII.
Who knows a fool, must know his brother;One fop will recommend another:And with this plague she's rightly curst,
Because she listen'd to the first.1 As Doris, at her toilette's duty,
Sate meditating on her beauty,
She now was pensive, now was gay,
And loll'd the sultry hours away. As thus in indolence she lies,
A giddy Wasp around her flies;
He now advances, now retires,
Now to her neck and cheek aspires.
Her fan in vain defends her charms,
Swift he returns, again alarms;For by repulse he bolder grew,
Perch'd on her lip, and sipt the dew.
She frowns,—she frets. "Good gods!" she cries,
"Protect me from these teazing flies:
Of all the plagues that heaven hath sent,
A Wasp is most impertinent."
The hovering insect thus complain'd,—
"Am I then slighted, scorn'd, disdain'd?
Can such offence your anger wake?
'Twas beauty caused the bold mistake.
Those cherry lips that breathe perfume,
That cheek so ripe with youthful bloom,
Made me with strong desire pursue
The fairest peach that ever grew."
"Strike him not, Jenny!" Doris cries,
"Nor murder Wasps like vulgar flies;
(1) Flattery, like strife, is as when one letteth out water; the first drop soon
becomes the stealthy stream, which undermines the judgment, and prostrates
the reputation 1


FABLE VIII. 39
For though he's free, (to do him right,)
The creature's civil and polite.":
In ecstasies, away he posts;
Where'er he came, the favour boasts;
Brags, how her sweetest tea he sips,
And shows the sugar on his lips.
The hint alarm'd the forward crew;
Sure of success, away they flew:
They share the dainties of the day,
Round her with airy music play:
And now they flutter, now they rest,
Now soar again, and skim her breast.
Nor were they banish'd till she found
That Wasps have stings, and felt the wound.2
(1) "For women, born to be controll'd,
Stoop to the forward and the bold,
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolick and the loud."—Hudibras.
(2) What begins in falsehood and treachery, must end in shame and discontent.
"There are two sorts of persons," says Charron, "who lie open to flattery, and
as they never want fawning people who are always ready to offer them this trash,
so they, for the most part, as greedily swallow it; these are princes, and women."
But as the old Latin adage has it, "Meliora vulnera diligentis quam oscula
blandientis;" and Solomon warns us that "a flattering mouth worketh ruin."
Prov. xxvi. 28.

s



THE BULL AND THE MASTIFF.
Seek you to train your favourite boy?
Each caution, every care employ;
And ere you venture to confide,
Let his preceptor's heart be tried:
Weigh well his manners, life, and scope;
On these depends thy future hope.
As on a time, in peaceful reign,
A Bull enjoy'd the flowery plain,
A Mastiff pass'd; inflamed with ire,
His eyeballs shot indignant fire;
He foam'd, he raged with thirst of blood,— —Spurning the ground, the monarch stood,


FABLE IX. 41
And roar'd aloud: "Suspend the fight;
In a whole skin go sleep to-night;
Or tell me, ere the battle rage,
What wrongs provoke thee to engage?
Is it ambition fires thy breast,
Or avarice, that ne'er can rest?
From these alone unjustly springs
The world-destroying wrath of kings."
The surly Mastiff thus returns:
"Within my bosom, glory burns.
Like heroes of eternal name,
Whom poets sing, I fight for fame.
The butcher's spirit-stirring mind
To daily war my youth inclined;
He train'd me to heroic deed,
Taught me to conquer or to bleed."
"Curs'd Dog," the Bull replied, "no more
I wonder at thy thirst of gore;
For thou beneath a butcher train'd,
Whose hands with cruelty are stain'd,
His daily murders in thy view
Must, like thy tutor, blood pursue.
Take, then, thy fate!" With goring wound
At once he lifts him from the ground:
Aloft the sprawling hero flies,
Mangled he falls, he howls, and dies.1
(1) The following lines from Dryden's translation of Juvenal, illustrate the
application of the above fable:
"Children like tender osiers take the bow,
And as they first are fashion'd, always grow,
For what we learn in youth, to that alone
In age, we are by second nature, prone."
It is similar to the fable in /Esop, where the man about to be executed for a
crime, bites his mother's ear off, when pretending to kiss her, because she had not
corrected him for a theft when a boy. Compare also Aristotle's Ethics, book ii.
Cowper's Tirocinium, and Montaigne's Essays, ch. 25.


FABLE X. 43
Who doubts that Elephants are found
For science and for sense renown'd?1
Borri records their strength of parts,
Extent of thought, and skill in arts;
How they perform the law's decrees,
And save the state, the hangman's fees;
And how by travel understand
The language of another land.
Let those who question this report,
To Pliny's ancient page resort.2
How learn'd was that sagacious breed!
Who now (like them), the Greek can read?
As one of these, in days of yore,
Rummaged a shop 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 exactest care and pains,
Were every beast and bird portray'd,
That e'er the search of man survey'd;
Their natures and their powers 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 strong reason is endow'd,
A beast, scarce instinct is allow'd:
(1) See Plutarch on the "Craftiness of Animals," who reports that the
elephant of King Porus, drew out the javelins from the bodies of the wounded, with complete surgical skill! Borri was a Milanese quack.
(2) Pliny, Nat. Hist. x. 29. "I have seen," says Arrian, "an elephant having
a cymbal hung at each leg, and another fastened to his trunk, at the sound of
which all the others danced round about him, rising and bending at certain
cadences, as if they were guided by the instrument, and it was delightful to
hear this harmony."


44 FABLE X.
But let this author's worth be tried,
'Tis plain that neither was his guide.
Can he discern the different natures,
And weigh the power of other creatures,
Who by the partial work hath shown,
He knows so little of his own?
How falsely is the spaniel drawn!
Did man from him, first learn to fawn?
A dog,—proficient in the trade,—
He, the chief flatterer Nature made?
Go, Man! the ways of courts discern,
You'll find a spaniel still might learn.
How can the fox's theft and plunder
Provoke his censure or his wonder?
From courtiers' tricks and lawyers' arts,
The fox might well improve his parts.
The lion, wolf, and tiger's brood,
He curses, for their thirst of blood:
But is not man to man a prey?1
Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay."
The Bookseller, who heard him speak,
And saw him turn a page of Greek,
Thought, "What a genius have I found!"
Then thus address'd with bow profound:
"Learn'd Sir, if you'd employ your pen
Against the senseless sons of men,
Or write the history of Siam,
No man is better pay than I am;
Or, since you're learn'd in Greek, let's see
Something against the Trinity." 2
(1) " jam serpentum major Concordia. Van-it
Cognatis maculis similis fera."—Juvenal.
(2) This line intimates the tendency of the age towards freethinkers, when every


FABLE X. 45
When wrinkling with a sneer, his trunk,
"Friend," quoth the Elephant, "you're drunk;
E'en keep your money, and be wise;
Leave man on man, to criticise!
For that you ne'er can want a pen,
Among the senseless sons of men.
They unprovok'd, will court the fray;—
—Envy's a sharper spur,—than pay,—
No author ever spared a brother;
Wits are game-cocks, to one another."1
scribbler against the truth, found a welcome from the public, and profit from the
press, instead of punishment in the pillory!
(1) The above fable, like many of our poet's, is rather a compilation of sarcastic
exposures of several faults, than an application to one ; nevertheless the envious
rivalry of authors, and the illiberality of critics, are particularly exposed. No
society is generally such a combination, open or concealed, of envy, hatred, and
malice, as a society of professed wits, or popular critics. The ignorance of the
latter order has been well exposed by Lord Byron in his English Bards and
Scotch Reviewers: their illiberality is amusingly reproved, in the following story
from Boccalini.
"A famous critic," says he, "having collected all the faults of an eminent poet,
presented them to Apollo, who, wishing to make a suitable return, desired the
donor to pick the chaff from the corn in a sack of wheat, which had just
been thrashed out. The critic having completed the task with great industry
and pleasure, Apollo presented him with,—the chaff for his trouble 1"


FABLE XI. 47
His state and dignity assumes,
And to the sun displays his plumes,
Which, like the heaven's o'er-arching skies,
Are spangled with a thousand eyes.
The circling rays, and varied light,
At once confound their dazzled sight;
On every tongue detraction burns,
And malice prompts their spleen by turns.1
"Mark with what insolence and pride
The creature takes his haughty stride,"—
The Turkey cries. "Can spleen contain?
Sure never bird was half so vain;
But were intrinsic merit seen,
We Turkeys have the whiter skin."
From tongue to tongue they caught abuse,
And next was heard the hissing Goose:
"What hideous legs! what filthy claws!
I scorn to censure little flaws;
Then what a horrid squalling throat!
E'en owls are frighted at the note."
"True: those are faults," the Peacock cries,
"My scream, my shanks, you may despise;
But such blind critics rail in vain;
What, overlook my radiant train 1
Know, did my legs (your scorn and sport),
The Turkey, or the Goose, support,
And did ye scream with harsher sound,
Those faults in you, had ne'er been found:
To all apparent beauties blind,
Each blemish strikes an envious mind."
(I) Jealousy has been well defined to be the art by which we punish ourselves
for being inferior to another.


48
FABLE XL
Thus in assemblies have I seen
A nymph, of brightest charms and mien,
Wake envy in each ugly face,
And buzzing scandal fills the place.1
(1) The moral here is applied to one species of envy alone, that of beauty,
but the fable may be referred to every kind of it equally. Scandal is like a snail,
which crawls over the loveliest fruit, and feeds on that which its own venom
has first made foul!



CUPllt, HYMEN AND PLUTUS.
As Cupid in Cythera's grove
Employ'd the lesser powers of Love;
Some shape the bow, or fit the string,
Some give the taper shaft its wing,
Or turn the polish'd quiver's mould,
Or head the darts with temper'd gold.
Amidst their toil and various care
Thus Hymen, with assuming air,
Address'd the god: "Thou purblind Chit,
Of awkward and ill-judging wit,
E


50 FABLli XII.
If matches are not better made,
At once I must forswear my trade.
You send me such ill-coupled folks,
That 'tis a shame to sell them yokes.
They squabble for a pin, a feather,
And wonder how they came together.
The husband's sullen, dogged, shy,
The wife grows flippant in reply:
He loves command and due restriction,
And she as well likes contradiction:
She never slavishly submits,
She'll have her will, or have her fits.
He this way tugs, she t' other draws;
The man grows jealous, and with cause.
Nothing can save him but divorce,
And here the wife complies, of course."1
"When," says the boy, "had I to do
With either your affairs, or you?
I never idly spend my darts;
You trade in mercenary hearts.
For settlements the lawyer's fee'd;
Is my hand witness to the deed?
If they like cat and dog agree,
Go rail at Plutus, not at me."
Plutus appear'd, and said, "'Tis true,
In marriage, gold is all their view;
They seek not beauty, wit, -or sense,
And love is seldom the pretence.
All offer incense at my shrine,
And I alone the bargain sign.
(1) "When souls that should agree to will the same,
To have one common object for their wishes,
Look different ways, regardless of each other,
Think what a train of wretchedness ensues ! "—Row


FABLE XII.
51
How can Belinda blame her fate?
She only ask'd a great estate.
Doris was rich enough, 'tis true,
Her lord must give her title too;.
And every man, or rich or poor,
A fortune asks, and asks no more."
Avarice, whatever shape it bears,
Must still be coupled with its cares.1
(1) Covetousness, evil at all times, is especially flagitious when entering into
connubial contracts; yet the Horatian motto seems to be retained by many
men and women both, in this particular,—
"Quaerenda pecunia primum,
Virtus post nummos."—Hor. Ep. i. 1.
The result is, that the professed affection which is bought, throws off disguise
after a short interval, even if the plighted pair do not, as Sir Peter and Lady
Teazle, "tiff a little going to church." What begins in mutual deception ends
in misery, and after a stormy succession of suspicions and reconcilements, the
farce terminates in divorce and separate maintenance! The only article of gold
that should enter into a wedding, is the ring, but Hannibal is not the only person
who has found poison in it!



THE TAME STAG.
As a young Stag the thicket past,
The branches held his antlers fast;
A clown, who saw the captive hung,
Across the horns his halter flung.
Now safely hamper'd in the cord,
He bore the present to his lord.
His lord was pleased, as was the clown,
When he was tipp'd with half-a-crown.
The Stag was brought before his wife;
The tender lady begg'd his life:


FABLE XIII. 53
"How sleeks the skin! how speck'd like ermine!
Sure never creature was so charming!"
At first within the yard confined,
He flies and hides from all mankind;
Now bolder grown, with fix'd amaze,
And distant awe, presumes to gaze;
Munches the linen on the lines,
And on a hood or apron dines,
He steals my little master's bread,
Follows the servants to be fed,
Nearer and nearer now he stands,
To feel the praise of patting hands;
Examines every fist for meat,
And, though repulsed, disdains retreat;
Attacks again with levell'd horns,
And man, that was his terror, scorns.
Such is the country maiden's fright,
When first a redcoat is in sight;
Behind the door she hides her face,
Next time, at distance, eyes the lace.
She now can all his terrors stand,
Nor from his squeeze withdraws her hand.
She plays familiar in his arms,
And every soldier hath his charms:
From tent to tent she spreads her flame;
For custom conquers fear and shame.1
(1) Added to the truth of the old adage illustrated here, that "familiarity
breeds contempt," we may observe, that nothing is more sure to disappoint
expectation, than injudicious association. Boldness and freedom united with
ignorance, form the basis of vulgarity; and low acquaintances, like dirty dogs,
soil those most, whom they fawn most upon.
"Nil adeo magnum, nee tarn mirabile quicquam,
Principio, quod non minuant mirarier omnes
Paulatim."—Lucelt. 2.



THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN THE WORLD.
A monkey, to reform the times,
Resolved to visit foreign climes;
For men in distant regions roam
To bring politer manners home.1
So forth he fares, all toil defies:
Misfortune serves to make us wise.2
At length the treacherous snare was laid;
Poor Pug was caught; to town convey'd;
There sold. (How envied was his doom,
Made captive in a lady's room !)
Proud, as a lover, of his chains,
He, day by day, her favour gains.
(1) Not always.
(2) "Curia actions mortalia corda."—Virg. Georg. 1.


FABLE XIV. 55
Whene'er the duty of the day
The toilet calls, with mimic play
He twirls her knots, he cracks her fan,
Like any other gentleman.
In visits, too, his parts and wit,
When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
Proud with applause, he thought his mind
In every courtly art refined;
Like Orpheus, burnt with public zeal,
To civilize the Monkey-weal;
So watch'd occasion, broke his chain,
And sought his native woods again.
The hairy sylvans round him press,
Astonish'd at his strut and dress:
Some praise his sleeve, and others gloat
Upon his rich embroider'd coat.
His dapper perriwig commending,
With the black tail behind depending;
His powder'd back, above, below,
Like hoary frosts, or fleecy snow;
But all, with envy and desire,
His fluttering shoulder-knot admire.
"Hear and improve," he pertly cries,
"I come to make a nation wise.
Weigh your own worth; support your place,
The next in rank to human race.
In cities long I pass'd my days,
Conversed with men, and learn'd their ways.
Their dress, their courtly manners see;
Reform your state, and copy me.
Seek ye to thrive? in flattery deal;
Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal.



THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE PHEASANTS.
The Sage, awaked at early day,
Through the deep forest took his way;
Drawn by the music of the groves,
Along the winding gloom he roves;
From tree to tree the warbling throats
Prolong the sweet alternate notes.
But where he past, he terror threw,
The song broke short, the warblers flew;
The thrushes chatter'd with affright,
And nightingales abhorr'd his sight;


58 FABLE XV.
All animals before him ran,
To shun the hateful sight of man.
"Whence is this dread of every creature?
Fly they our figure or our nature 1"
As thus he walk'd in musing thought,
His ear imperfect accents caught.
With cautious step he nearer drew,
By the thick shade conceal'd from view.
High on the branch a Pheasant stood,
Around her all her listening brood;
Proud of the blessings of her nest,
She thus a mother's care express'd:
"No dangers here shall 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 the kind.
The sheep, whose annual fleece is dyed
To guard his health, and serve his pride;
Forced from his fold and native plain,
Is, in the cruel shambles, slain.
The swarms who, with industrious skill,
His hives with wax and honey fill,
In vain whole summer days employ'd;
Their stores are sold, the race destroy'd.
What tribute from the goose is paid 1
Does not her wing all science aid?1
(1) It is strange how the plumage of one goose, serves the passion of another,
and the feather of the bird aids the enunciation of the venomous spleen of
the man! The quill is,—
"Torn from its parent-bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men !"—Byroh.


FABLE XV.
59
Does it not lovers' hearts explain,
And drudge to raise the merchant's gain?
What now rewards this general use?
He takes the quills, and eats the goose.
Man then avoid, detest his ways,
So safety shall prolong your days.
When services are thus acquitted,
Be sure we Pheasants must be spitted."1
(1) Listeners hear no good of themselves, and the sage in the fable, obtained
more knowledge of the real state of man's nature, as exhibited towards the
brutes and to his fellow, than he perhaps had ever procured before, from his
own contemplation. With sin came fear, and our first fall separated man from
the Creator on one side, and from creation on the other. Our language towards
the first, breathes fear and insincerity, and our acts to the other, combine selfishness and tyranny! Here it is evident that the phase of human nature turned
to meet the rebuke of the Pheasant, is ingratitude, and "if a man be accused of
this vice," say the Latins, "he is accused of every crime."

-1*~7%



THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE.
A pin who long had served a beauty,
Proficient in the toilet's duty,
Had form'd her sleeve, confined her hair;
Or given her knot a smarter air;
Now nearest to her heart was placed
Now in her manteau's tail disgraced;
But could she partial Fortune blame,
Who saw her lovers, served the same?
At length from all her honours cast,
Through various turns of life she past:


FABLE XVI. 61
Now glitter'd on a tailor's arm,
Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
Now, ranged within a miser's coat,
Contributes to his yearly groat;
Now, raised again from low approach,
She visits in the doctor's coach:
Here, there, by various fortune tost,
At last in Gresham-hall was lost.1
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On every side, above, below,
She now of this or that, inquires;
What least was understood, admires.
'Tis plain each thing so struck her mind,
Her head's of virtuoso kind.
"And pray what's this, and this, dear Sir?"
"A Needle," says the' interpreter.
She knew the name; and thus the fool
Address'd her, as a tailor's tool.
"A needle with that filthy stone,
Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown!
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 power and art,
That virtue, virtues can impart?
(1) This was originally the house of the celebrated founder of the Royal
Exchange, who not content with other munificent acts towards his fellow- citizens, converted his own dwelling into a museum. The Royal Society ori-
ginated here in 1645. For an account of the building, see a most excellent
work called " The Curiosities of London," by John Timbs, Esq., F.S.A.
/
i


62
FABLE XVL
Of all his talents I partake,
Who then can such a friend forsake 1
'Tis I direct the pilot's hand
To shun the rocks and treacherous 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 drudged as vulgar Needles do,
Of no more consequence than you."1
(1) Ignorance and presumption are common associates; hence we underrate
others, in proportion as we exalt ourselves, and in both cases, from being misled
by external appearances, to the neglect of inherent worth. Yet even the toad
bears some jewel within him, and every creature is valuable for its final
above all for its primary, cause. Moreover Gay gives a shrewd intimation of
the light and trivial notice bestowed by many, on the sources and subjects of
knowledge they profess to seek, and indeed there are few spectacles more
absurd, than that of the self-instituted cheat, palmed off by multitudes, who pay
their shilling to see some representation of twenty different topics in an hour,
and think they have really derived sound practical information upon them, and
are suddenly transformed into people of science, by a hurried ten minutes'
address from the lecturer! It is not every day, that Minerva starts from the
head even of a Jove-like Crichton,—fully armed I
The contact of virtue, like that of vice, is generative of its own likeness, and
a bag of half-pence, in which only one sovereign is placed, obtains particles of
the latter's brilliancy; but the action of mind upon itself, and the attrition of
thought upon circumstance, constitute true moral and intellectual growth.



THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.
A wolf, with hunger, fierce and bold, Ravaged the plains, and thinn'd the fold;Deep in the wood, secure he lay, The thefts of night regaled the day. In vain the shepherd's wakeful care Had spread the toils, and watch'd the snare;In vain the dog pursued his pace, The fleeter robber mock'd the chase.
As Lightfoot ranged the forest round,
By chance his foe's retreat he found.


64 FABLE XVII.
"Let us awhile the war suspend,
And reason as from friend to friend."
"A truce!" replies the Wolf. 'Tis done.
The Dog the parley thus begun.
"How can that strong intrepid mind
Attack a weak defenceless kind?
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 burn 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." 1
(1) As equivocation has been well termed a lie without the courage of it,
seeing that it is a lie guarded, so the "acting a lie," as Robert Hall expressed
it, shows the same tortuous spirit, with double the malignity. But of all lies,
deception in pretended friendship, and an hypocritical assumption of honourable
feeling, are the most destructive; for when detected, they impair man's opinion
of virtue, by showing how close its counterfeit may come to it: this caused the
poignancy of David's grief. (Ps. lv. 12.) But this should teach us that con-
fidence is a plant of slow growth, and that according to the old proverb quoted
by Aristotle, (Eth. b. viii. c. 4,) "it is impossible for men to know one another
before they have eaten a stated quantity of salt together;" upon which remark
Cicero's rule is founded, " Omnino amicitise, corroboratis jam confirmatisque, et
ingeniis et setatibus judicandae sunt."—Cic. de Amicit. c. 20.



THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND
EVERYBODY.
Lest men suspect your tale untrue, Keep probability in view.1 The traveller leaping o'er those bounds, The credit of his book confounds. Who with his tongue hath armies routed, Makes e'en his real courage doubted.2 But flattery never seems absurd, The flatter'd always take your word:Impossibilities seem just, They take the strongest praise on trust.
(1) Vide Arist. Poet. ch. 15.
(2) Which it is astonishing that Othello did not, when he recited his
'traveller's tales" to Desdemona. (Vide Othello, Act I.)


66 FABLE XVIII.
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.
So very like, a Painter drew,
That every eye, the picture knew.
He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom restored 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.1
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second pay.
Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He placed in view; resolved to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these,
From these corrected every 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
(1) Truth, like the shower-bath, requires in most men, a preparative discipline,
efore their nerves are rendered capable of bearing the shock of it.


FABLE XVIII. 67
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 replied
"Till now I thought my mouth was wide Besides, my nose is somewhat long;
Dear Sir, for me, 'tis far too young."
"Oh! pardon me, (the artist cried)
In this, we Painters must decide.
The piece, e'en common eyes must strike,
I 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 praised the Painter's art,—
—So like the picture in his heart!
To every age, some charm he lent,
E'en beauties were almost content.
Through all the town, his art they praised;
His custom grew, his price was raised.
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.1
(1) See some admirable remarks upon the nature of vanity in Montaigne's
Essays, p. 173, Hazlitt's ed.: also Arist. Ethics, b. iv. c. 7. The man who relies
for his success, like the painter in the fable, upon the vanity of the world, draws
upon a bank which never fails to honour such cheques at sight; for pride and
self-love within the heart, hold common cause for its destruction with the
falsehood and flattery of the world outside, and no man would ever be duped
by another, except he had first played the knave to himself I



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 nigh,
But from superior merit fly.1
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!
(1) The moral of this fable, as in the case of most others of our author, is
placed at the commencement, instead of at the end, of the story.


• FABLE XIX. 69
Nay, e'en 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 everything 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 I"
Elate with flattery and conceit,
He seeks his royal sire's retreat;
Forward, and fond to show his parts,
His Highness brays; the Lion starts.
"Puppy 1 that cursed 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."l
'(1) It is the characteristic of vulgar minds to grow close to earth, like
the mushroom, rather than to tower to heaven, like the oak; and low natures,
whose only relic of perhaps, noble descent, is an appetency of power, seek the


70
FABLE XIX.
gratification of this lust, in haunts of vice or pollution, which sometimes they
defend, under the questionable pretext of, "seeing life 1" In our day especially,
the exhibition of kennel existence, in numerous tales and cheap publications
current, glosses vulgarity over with a false attraction, and we fancy the cur has
become a spaniel, because his coat is combed, in the portrait given of him by
some popular writer, until the low habit of his innate disposition, discovers
itself to our disgust! Carew, the king of the beggars, was a most remarkable
instance of this love of self-degradation, who, though the son of a clergyman,
and descended from some of our noblest families, ran away from school, joined
the gipsies, and prostituted the finest talents to fraud and robbery, which ob-
tained him the dignity of a titular sovereignty, to which/unfortunately,—trans-
portation was attached. He terminated a long and eventful life in obscurity,
which would have better become him throughout, than the glory of a successful
vagrant, and the distinction of an arch-rogue.



THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK.
—" Restrain your child!" you'll soon believe
The text which says we sprung from Eve.1
As an old Hen led forth her train,
And seem'd to peck to show the grain,
She raked 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,
(1) Curiosity, which ends in destruction, is stimulated, like Eve with the
apple, by prohibition.


72 FABLE XX.
And prone she drops. The mother's breast
All day with sorrow was possest.
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 vigorous, 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 resolved, and dare th' event."
Thus said, he mounts the margin's round,
And pries into the depth profound.
He stretch'd his neck, and from below
With stretching neck advanced a foe:


FABLE XX.
73
With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears,
The foe with ruffled plumes appears;
Threat answer'd threat, his fury grew;
Headlong to meet the war he flew;
But when the watery death he found,
He thus lamented as he drown'd:
"I ne'er had been in this condition,
But for my mother's prohibition."1
(1) Some very beautiful examples of filial obedience have been framed upon
this fable, but I think that they have led the writers into an error as to Gay's
meaning in it, which went into a deeper principle than the mere recommenda-
tion of such a direct duty. He would exemplify that depraved habit of our
nature which causes restriction to become a provocative to disobedience; for
which cause the Persians were quite right in appointing one master, out of the
four they set over each of their young princes, to instruct his pupil in self-denial
and subjugation of his appetites. This thirst for forbidden knowledge, merely
because it is forbidden, has ever been the scourge of the soul, and "Nitimur in
vetitum" its motto, long before the time of Ovid,



THE RATCATCHER AND CATS.
The rats by night such mischief did,
Betty was every morning chid:
They undermined whole sides of bacon,
Her cheese was sapp'd, her tarts were taken;
Her pasties, fenced with thickest paste,
Were all demolish'd and laid waste:
She cursed the Cat, for want of duty,
Who left her foes a constant booty.
An engineer, of noted skill,
Engaged to stop the growing ill.



THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEARD.
'Tis certain that the modish passions
Descend among the crowd, like fashions.
Excuse me, then, if pride, conceit,
(The manners of the fair and great)
I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs.
I say that these are proud, what then 1
I never said they equal men.
A Goat (as vain as Goat can be) Affected singularity:


FABLE XXII. 79
When thus the fop with smiles of scorn:
"Are beards by civil nations worn?—
E'en Muscovites have mow'd their chins.
Shall we, like formal Capuchins,
Stubborn in pride, retain the mode,
And bear about the hairy load?
Whene'er we through the village stray,
Are we not mock'd along the way,
Insulted with loud shouts of scorn,
By boys, our beards disgraced and torn?"
"Were you no more with Goats to dwell,
Brother, I grant you reason well;"
Replies a bearded chief. "Beside,
If boys can mortify thy pride,
How wilt thou stand the ridicule
Of our whole flock? Affected fool!
Coxcombs, distinguish'd from the rest,
To all but coxcombs are a jest."1
(1) This fable is somewhat akin to that of the Fox without a Tail, in jEsop,
although what is there represented as a dexterous subterfuge to conceal a misfortune, is here the voluntary act of self-conceit. La Fontaine has copied iEsop,
liv. v. 5.
Eccentricity frequently passes for talent, because it happens sometimes to be
associated with it, so that many shallow-witted pretenders voluntarily copy the
one, in hopes of obtaining the fame of the other. Hence arise brusquerie and
rudeness in quacks and pedants, because Abernethy happened to be uncivilized and Porson and Parr unpresentable. This is a flimsy veil for deficient endow-
ment; as well might the man who had a wart on his nose, like Oliver Cromwell,
arrogate the genius of the great Protector: rather let us consider eccen-
tricity as a defect to be avoided, than a virtue to be copied, and deem that the
house of the mind, is but a paltry lodging, if it cannot find room for two inmates
together,—talent and propriety.



THE OLD WOMAN AND HER CATS.
Who friendship with a knave hath made,
Is judged 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.1
(1) "Noscitur a sociis."—Latin proverb.


FABLE XXIII. 61
A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
Beside a little smoky flame
Sate 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,1
An untamed scold of fourscore years:
About her swarm'd a numerous brood
Of Cats, who, lank with hunger, mew'd.2
Teased 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 1
Had ye been never housed and nursed,
I for a witch had ne'er been cursed.
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!3—
The stunted broom, the wenches hide,
For fear that I should up and ride;
(1) For an account of witches and the act of James, which, as Gifford says,
"decreed death for a variety of impossible crimes," see his note to Massinger's
play, "A new Way to pay old Debts:" also the learned notes by Drake, in his
work of "Shakspeare and his Times." The following is a description of a
witch's abode, by Spenser, (Faerie Queen, b. iii. c. 7.)
"There in a gloomy hollow glen, she found
A little cottage, built of stickes and reedes,
In homely wise, and wal'd with sods around,
In which a witch did dwell, in loathly weedes
And wilful want, all carelesse of her needes.
So choosing solitarie to abide
Far from all neighbours, that her devilish deeds,
And hellish arts, from people she might hide,
And hurt far off unknowne, whomever she envide."
(2) Vide Shakspear: Macbeth, Act iv. (3) Vide Drake, supra.
Q


82
FABLE XXIII.
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 starved beneath your roof,
We had, like others of our race,
In credit lived 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."*
(1) Expediency, that plausible cheat for glossing error, frequently induces
men to select their acquaintance for some temporary end, but as the world
"apes the virtue it has not," it immediately reckons a man's mere ac-
quaintance to be his friend, affirming that the latter only would be freely
associated with. Hence it arises that the connexion which we chose for our
benefit, insincerely, becomes the source of our condemnation ultimately, since
when the mere associate turns out a villain, we find it useless to repudiate his
acquaintance, for a bad companion, when detected, like Samson in his fall,
involves friends and foes in one.common ruin.



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,
Sate proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bosom glows;
His wings, all glorious to behold,
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,


84 FABLE XXIV.
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now-forgotten friend, a Snail,
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 plum'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 replied,
"How insolent is upstart pride!
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provoked my patience to complain,
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor traced thee to the scum of earth:
For scarce nine suns have waked 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 dragged 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 Snail shall end.


FABLE XXIV.
85
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." 1
(1) The moral here, as usual placed at the commencement, directs our scorn
to the vulgar pride and tyranny of upstart pretenders, in whom, like the ass in
the lion's skin, the meanness of their original nature will peep out, in spite of
all adventitious ornament of rank and fortune. Especially also is this mani-
fested by such coxcombs against their former associates, upon whom they drop
the dirt off their footsteps, as they ascend the ladder of ambition. The man of
really high birth is characterised by condescension, affability, and regard for his
inferiors, for he, like the oak, can stoop and regain his former attitude; but
arrogance, cruelty, and injustice, stamp the parvenu, who, like the mushroom,
of only a few hours' origin, does not possess the graceful elasticity of rank, and
therefore cannot bend, but snaps asunder the instant he swerves out of the
perpendicular line of starched pride and vulgar assumption. Vide the descrip-
tion of pride given by Ulysses. (Shakspear: Troilus and Cressida, Act ii.
scene 3.)



THE SCOLD AND THE PARfiOT.
The husband thus reproved 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.


88
FABLE XXV.
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."1
(1) The Chinese have a proverb, that a word spoken cannot be brought back
by a thousand horses; and every poet, from Virgil to Butler, has commented
upon the prolific power of Fame; the last indeed gives a history of the progress
of this dame, which,
"Like a thin chameleon, boards
Herself on air, and eats her words."— Well would it be, if we could adopt Sheridan's advice in the "School for
Scandal," and, if unable to find "the drawer of the lie," should give a right to
the injured parties to come on any of the indorsers. "But most of all, domestic
strife is a premium upon foreign malice," and if persons, to use Voltaire's quaint
simile, "will not wash their dirty linen at home," they must not be surprised
if the world exaggerate the foul state of their laundry. When anger gets astride
of the reason, the latter at once runs away under the goad of the fiery Tybalt;
and slander, like a second Phaeton, gives impulse to a career which terminates
in the destruction of a world of peace, marking its coursewith myriad reputa-
tions, slain at every word I


90 FABLE XXVI.
Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
And none could tell the reason why.1
A plan to rob the house was laid:
The thief with love seduced the maid,
Cajol'd the Cur, and stroked his head,
And bought his secrecy with bread.
He next the Mastiff's honour tried,
Whose honest jaws the bribe defied:
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 cursed," 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 sat. On either hand
The cited Dogs confronting stand;
The Cur the bloody tale relates,
And like a lawyer, aggravates.
"Judge not unheard," the Mastiff cried,
"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.2
(1) "Where there is no talebearer, the strife ceaseth."—Prov. xxvi. 20.
(2) From the above fable we learn not only the insidious destructiveness of
calumny, but the certain vindication of truth by the exposure of falsehood. A
liar to be successful ought to possess three qualities, each of which, from the


FABLE XXVI
91
very nature of his profession, he is void of. He ought to have invincible
courage, to meet the overwhelming obloquy of mankind, which is sure to overtake
his detection: the greatest foresight, to provide against the numerous unseen
perplexities which the contradictions, incident to falsehood, engender; and
perfect confidence and trust in his agents, who otherwise may deceive him, and
destroy his schemes in an instant. Now the nature, I say, of falsehood
precluding the possibility of obtaining these, ought at once to prove the danger
of such a course.
Some vices attach to certain states of life, and falsehood may be said to be a
poor vice; the children of the lower orders, servants especially, almost from
their birth, "going astray and speaking lies;" whereas in the higher ranks, the
fashionable relation to it, admitted into the upper circles, is its half-brother,
hypocrisy, for a downright lie is against the world's Bible,—honour, and is
therefore expelled from genteel company, less for its irreligion, than for its bad
manners.

r



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 1
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:


FABLE XXVII. 93'
'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 increased. 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,
Reduced a family to need,
My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.1
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 cried,
"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."
(1) The same word in Greek which signifies "grace," also means "charity,"
but with the usual waywardness and self-deceiving reliance upon their own merits,
exhibited by mankind, the poor wretch here depends upon the latter meaning of
the word, synonymous with his benevolent acts, instead of its proper meaning,
the free unmerited favour of Heaven. The angel's reply is very applicable to
detect the hypocrisy of his boasted piety.


94
FABLE XXVII.
"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 scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
And after death would fain atone,
By giving what is not your own."
"While there is life, there's hope," he cried,
"Then why such haste?"—so groan'dand died.1
(1) Were all physical beauty to be developed in its primary elements, how full
of loathsome corruption would the finest face and form appear 1 disease would
peer forth beneath the bloom of health, and the deformity of decay startle us
under the aspect of loveliness and splendour! So is it with our moral being; the
most exquisite leaf of pure benevolence, when unrolled, discloses the worm of
selfishness within, and whilst professing unbounded dedication of ourselves to
heaven, we cling to, and grovel in the wealth of earth! To the last we still
plead for time, so long as there is a vice to be favoured, or a desire to be
excused, the free abandonment of either, being the true test of our sincerity.
A false pretender to benevolence once expressed to a Quaker his deep sympathy
with a suffering friend in poverty: "Believe me," said he, "I feel for him
extremely." "Indeed," was the reply, "prithee didst thou ever feel for him in
thy pocket I"



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:


96 FABLE XXVIII.
The servile fiends her nod obey,
And all Curl's authors are in pay.1
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 1
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 moved,
Thus the proud calumny reproved;
"It was that god who claims my pray'r,
Who gave thee birth, and raised 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 combined."
The gale arose; the vapour tost
—The sport of winds,—in air was lost;
(1) Edmund Curl, a celebrated publisher in Gay's time; he often figures in the
works of Pope, Swift and Arbuthnot, and has lately been brought forward again
as one of the characters in "Not so bad as we seem," Sir E. Bulwer Lytton's
play, and is therein represented by Mr. Dickens.


FABLE XXVIII.
97
The glorious orb the day refines:
Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.1
(1) Detraction is the tax which virtue pays for being eminent, and such envious
temper does not suffer, as Falstaff urges in the 1st part of Henry the Fourth,
"honour to live with the living;" yet the fable shows that even this foul
vice tends rather to the exhibition, than to the extinction, of merit. As Satan is
depicted by Milton to "turn aside," and to "eye" the happiness of our first
parents "askance, with jealous leer malign," so the inheritors of the same
infernal spirit have ever endeavoured to spoil, from sheer malice, the aspect of
whatever was glorious and fair. One day, upon passing a fresh painted wall
in Leicester, which looked quite spotless in its newly endowed purity, I observed
a chimney-sweeper's boy pause for a moment, and regard it intensely; then
looking at his smutty fingers, he drew them deliberately down the fair and
polished surface of the paint, simply from hatred of the white,—such is envy!



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.1
His numerous race around him stand,
To learn their dying sire's command:
He raised 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.
(1) "Frangendus misero gingiva panis inermi."—Ju


FABLE XXIX. 99
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 stared,
And for the promised feast prepared.
"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."
"0 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.1
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."2
"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:
(1) "Quos diri conscia facti Mens habet attonitos et surdo verbere CEedit."—Jut.
(2) "Good name in man or woman, Is the immediate jewel of our souls."—Shak. Othello.


100
FABLE XXIX.
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 decreased,
We shall be thought to share the feast.
The change shall never be believed:
A lost good name is ne'er retrieved."
"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."1
(1) This fable of hypocrisy somewhat resembles Fable xxvn. except in the
additional feature here exhibited, of the fancy which besets men that they have
forsaken their vices, when really they are too old to practise them. Also
there is a fine touch in the second fox's reply, alluding, not merely to the loss of
a good name being irretrievable, but also to the obstacle placed in the way of
repentance, by the exhibition towards it of an unwise and ungenerous suspicion.
It is doubtless well to be on our guard against dissemblers, still we too often
oppose the return to good of the really sincere, by recording past offences with
prejudice, as if we disliked to facilitate the progress of virtuous recovery; yet,
"true repentance never comes too late.
As soon as born, she makes herself a shroud,
And swift as thought her airy journey takes;
Her hand heaven's azure gate with trembling strikes;
She tells her story in so sad a tone,
That angels start from bliss, and give a groan."—Lee, Mas*, of Par.
-, fev,



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;
A


102 FABLE XXX.
She mocks their toils, alarms her brood,
The covey springs, and seeks the wood;
But, ere her certain wing 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 served man's wicked ends,
Were generous foes, or real friends."
When thus the Dog, with scornful smile:
"Secure of wing, thou darest 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 enhanced a nation's debts;
Friend sets 1 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.
(1) The meaning here attached to this word, "set," as in the line but one above, is
to betray; the metaphor being obviously taken from the act of a dog discovering
game. The noun "setter" is used in the same sense by Poins, speaking of
Gadshill, Hen. IV. Part I. Act U. Scene 2.


FABLE XXX.
103
You came from court, you say—Adieu!"
She said, and-to the covey flew.1
(1) Climbing and crawling are performed in almost the same posture, and
by the use of pretty nearly the same muscles; we need not wonder then if, in a
similar way, ambition should employ the grovelling attitudes of sycophancy.
With his usual 'bitterness against court intrigue, engendered by his own dis-
appointment, Gay here attacks the servility with which the courtier fawns
upon his patron, and the treachery which is ever ready, in the pernicious
atmosphere of a court, to poison and betray friendship. Moreover, he alludes
to the exact reflection of the vices of the upper classes, which the lower strive
to exhibit, though those will admit, who have mixed much in upper society,
that the grossest vulgarity of feeling, if not of manner, is frequently found
amongst people of highest rank. "A grain of honesty," says Lord Shaftesbury,
"or native worth, is of more value than all the adventitious ornaments, estates,
or preferments, for the sake of which, some of the better sort, so oft turn
knaves, forsaking their principles, and quitting their honour and freedom, for a
mean, timorous, shifting state, of gaudy servitude."—Vide Characteristics.



THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION.
A rake, by every passion ruled,
With every vice his youth had cool'd;
Disease his tainted blood assails,
His spirits droop, his vigour fails:
With secret ills at home he pines,
And, like infirm old age, declines.
As twinged with pain, he pensive sits,
And raves, and prays, and swears, by fits;


FABLE XXXI.
107
Yet, to suppose that with all our observation of means and methods, we can
entirely neutralize that poison, care, which lurks in our very being, or limit its
power as the representative of sin's penalty, over all human aspects, would
be to disavow the yoke which the fall placed on us, and to disown the obligation
of existence itself!
"Scandit seratas vitiosa naves
Cura: nee turmas equitum relinquit,
Ocyor cervis, et agente nimbos
Ocyor Euro."—Hob.



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;


FABLE XXXII. 109
They weigh'd the dignity of fowls,
And pry'd into the depth of Owls.
Athens, the seat of learned fame,
With general voice revered our name;
On merit title was conferr'd,
And all adored the' Athenian bird."
"Brother, you reason well," replies
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 %i more respected."
A Sparrow, who was lodged 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 graced,
And on Minerva's helm were placed;
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;



THE COURTIER AND PROTEUS.
WhbnE'Ee 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.1
(1) Fide Plutarch in Vita.


112 FABLE XXXIII.
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,
Proteus 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.
"Know," says the Man, "tho' 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 gloat,
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 lived at court," he cries,
"Such transformation might surprise;
But there, in quest of daily game,
Each able Courtier acts the same.


FABLE XXXIII. 113
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, changed 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 forced to leave his lies."*
(1! This pungent satire upon the life of fraud, which is the wretched lot of a
courtier, is only to be equalled by Swift's biting apophthegm, "That a courtier's
creed is the shortest, but best observed, he ever knew, namely, always to keep
his place, and never to keep his promise." The various images of the wily venom
of the snake, the power without the generosity of the lion, the cat-like, cunning
cruelty of thelynx, the voracity and brutal sensuality of the bear, the craftiness
of the fox, and the dull indolence and stupidity of the ass,—all ingredients in
the character of courtiers,—are drawn literally after nature. Truly,
"What man of sense would rack his generous mind
To practise all the base formalities
And forms of business? Force a grave starch'd face
When he's a very libertine in's heart t
Seem not to know this or that man in public,
When privately perhaps they meet together,
And lay the scene of some brave fellow's ruin?
Such things are done in courts."—Otwat, Oph.



THE MASTIFF.
Those who in quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody nose.
A Mastiff, of true English blood,
Loved 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.


FABLE XXXIV. 1 15
He gloried in his limping pace;
The scars of honour seam'd his face;
In every limb a gash appears,
And frequent fights retrench'd his ears.
As, on a time, he heard from far
Two dogs engaged in noisy war,
Away he scours, and lays about him,
Resolved no fray should be without him.
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 cursed Mastiff cries aloud,
"Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone1
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 raved like thunder,
Then dragg'd their fasten'd dogs asunder;
While clubs and kicks from ev'ry side
Rebounded from the Mastiff's hide.
(1) Both these places were celebrated bear gardens, the former in Clerkenwell,
near the modem Ray Street. In the Beggar's Opera, Mrs. Peachum says to
Filch, "You must go to Hockley-in-the-Hole, and to Marybone, child, to learn valour."


116 FABLE XXXIV.
All reeking now with sweat and blood,
Awhile 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.1
(1) The humorous description given of a quarrelsome fellow by Mercutio, in
Romeo and Juliet, is not overcharged, for there are some persons so choleric,
that, like Salamanders, they can only live in a flame. Yet, not only in domestic
quarrel is all interposition unwise, but in every contention also, except the cause
of humanity obliges us to interfere, since strife proves the madness of anger to
be present, and where the latter is, the intentions of the friend are as likely to
invite destruction, as the hostility of the foe. When also we remember from how
small beginnings great dissensions arise,—as Montaigne notices the commence-
ment of the war between Marius and Sylla to have been the engraving of a seal,
(See Plutarch, Life of Marius, c. 3,)—it is wiser at times to forego even our
known right, than to involve in dispute to obtain it. This, Cicero, himself a
lawyer, and therefore living upon quarrels, like a gunsmith, or a swordsman,
advises. (De Off. xi. 18):—" Convenit alitibus quantum licet, et nescio an paulo
plus etiam quam licet abhorrentem esse: est enim non modo liberale, paululum
nonnunquam de suo jure decedere, scd interdum etiam fructuosum."

O*



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,1
And sprung like mushrooms in a day!
They think it mean to condescend
To know a brother or a friend;
(1) See the account of this in Ksight's London; in the biography of our
author, prefixed to this volume, it will be seen that he was involved in it. The
sudden transition from poverty to wealth is, of course, as general now, with
Australia on one side of Fortune's wheel, and Railway speculations on the
other.


118 FABLE XXXV.
They blush to hear their mother's name, And by their pride expose their shame.1
As 'cross his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He stopp'd, and, leaning on his fork,
Observed the flail's incessant work.
In thought he measured all his store,
His geese, his hogs, he number'd o'er;
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces shorn,
And multiplied the next year's corn.
A Barley-mow, which stood beside,
Thus to its musing master cried:
"Say, good Sir, is it fit or right
To treat me with neglect and slight 1
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
Why thus insulted, thus disgraced,
And that vile Dunghill near me placed?
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 replied:
"Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride:
Insult not thus the meek and low;
In me thy benefactor know;
My warm assistance gave thee birth,
Or thou hadst perish'd low in earth;
(1) Beau Nash being asked why he never mentioned his ancestors, as if he
were ashamed of them, replied, "I pass them over in silence not because I nm
ashamed of them, but because they would be ashamed of me." This might be a
true rejoinder, if uttered by many parvenus.



PYTHAGORAS AND THE COUNTRYMAN.
Pythag'ras rose at early dawn,
By soaring meditation drawn;
To breathe the fragrance of the day,
Through flowery fields he took his way.1
In musing contemplation warm,
His steps misled him to a farm,
(1) A bean field must have been rather obnoxious to him, notwithstanding its
fine smell, for he forbade his disciples to feed on that vegetable, considering that
it was formed of the same substance, as that, of which the world was com-
posed! His objection to the flesh of animals arose from his belief in the
metempsychosis, or transmigration of souls. For an analysis of the Pythago-
rean doctrines, see my "Schools of Ancient Philosophy," published in the
Monthly Series of the Religious Tract Society.


122
FABLE XXXVI.
For 'Petty rogues submit to Fate,
That great ones may enjoy their state.'"1
(1) That there is one law for the rich and another for the poor, is a very old
and true complaint, and the sophistical selfishness by which men endeavour to
gloss over their tyranny to each other, and their cruelty to the brutes, is abso-
lutely nauseating from its fulsome hypocrisy. Thus hunting is defended upon
the plea of suppressing vermin, which at the same time are diligently sought
for to stock woods, in order that there may be no lack of sport! The lordly
prelate tramples upon some poor clerical culprit, whose delinquency he magnifies
through the increasing lens of his own love of arbitrary power, which, if viewed
through the glass of charity, or in the reflection of one's own failings, would
vanish into the merest shadow of a fault! Hence men are judged not by the
greatness of offence, but of position, and as Lear says,—
-" Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks, Arm it in rags, a pigmy's spear will pierce it. Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear,
llobes and furr'd gowns hide all!"



THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN.
"Why are those tears? why droops your head!
Is then your other husbaud dead?
Or does a worse disgrace betide:
Hath no one since his death applied?"
"Alas! you know the cause too well;
The salt is spilt, to me it fell:1
(1) This is a very old superstition, and in the picture of the Last Supper, by
L. da Vinci, the saltcellar is overturned by Judas,


IM FABLE XXXVII.
Then, to contribute to my loss,
My knife and fork were laid across:1
On Friday, too !—the day I dread!
Would I were safe at home in bed!
Last night (I vow to Heaven 'tis true)
Bounce from the fire a coffin flew,
Next post some fatal news shall tell;
God send my Cornish friends be well!"
"Unhappy Widow, cease thy tears,
Nor feel affliction in thy fears;
Let not thy stomach be suspended;
Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended:
And when the butler clears the table,
For thy dessert, I'll read my Fable."
Betwixt her swagging pannier's load
A Farmer's Wife to market rode,
And, jogging on, with thoughtful care,
Summ'd up the profits of her ware;
When, starting from her silver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her scream:
"That Baven on yon left-hand oak
(Curse on his ill-betiding croak)
Bodes me no good." No more she said,2
When poor blind Ball, with stumbling tread
(1) Knives were introduced into England in 1563, but forks did not appear
until 1611. For an account of English superstitions and omens, see Drake's
"Shakspeare and his Times."
(2) For some amusing examples of the effect of superstition, compare
Hotspur's account of Owen Glendower. Shakspeare, Henry IV. Part 1.
Horace ridicules such absurd forebodings well.
"Prudens futuri temporis exitum
Caliginosa nocte premit Deus:
Ridetque, si mortalis ultra
Fas trepidat."—Hor. Od. iii. 29.


FABLE XXXVII. 125
Fell prone; o'erturn'd the pannier lay,
And her mash'd eggs bestrew'd the way.
She, sprawling in the yellow road,
Rail'd, swore, and cursed: "Thou croaking toad,
A murrain take thy whoreson throat!
I knew misfortune in the note."
"Dame," quoth the Raven, "spare your oaths. Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes.
But why on me those curses thrown?
Goody, the fault was all your own;
For had you laid this brittle ware
On Dun, the old sure-footed mare,
Though all the Ravens of the Hundred,
With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd,
Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs,
And you, good woman, saved your eggs."1
(I) Self-love is so involved in the very elements of our mental economy, that
the instant we fall into misfortune by our own fault, we lay the blame on luck,
fortune, or some unmeaning superstitious fatality. Yet these would never have
existed in our thought as operative agents to our good or ill, had not indolence
or stupidity vaguely looked out for some imaginary culprit, to bear the blame of
their own error. Well says Juvenal,
"Nos te,
"Nos facimus, Fortuna, deam, cceloque locamus." When, however, "imagination," to use Swift's quaint expression, "gets
at cuffs with reason," there is no end to the absurdities which the latter is forced
either tacitly to obey, or loudly to resist. Hence pages might be filled with
accounts of the effect of superstition upon ignorance; indeed, it has been truly
called "the religion of weak minds," from the servile obedience with which the
latter bow down to it; so that whilst, on the one side, labour is paralysed, and
duty omitted, on the other, injustice and cruelty are perpetrated, and charity
utterly forgotten. For the ludicrous effects of superstition, see Montaigne, and
Drake's Shakspeare, with the History of Witchcraft; and any one who would
desire to confirm the saying of Lucretius,
"Sffipe peperit olim scelerosa atque impia facta,
Religio,—"—where the last word is used in its bad sense of "superstition,"—may find
examples in the history of the Popish Church, pasaim.



THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.
In other men we faults can spy,
And blame the mote that dims their eye j1
Each little speck and blemish find,
To our own stronger errors blind.
A Turkey, tired of common food,
Forsook the barn, and sought the wood;
(1) This word "mote " does not rightly convey the antithesis to "beam," as
the original gives it, for the translation, instead of "mote," ought .to be
"splinter," which is the true meaning of xup^os in the Greek. Vide Dr.
S. Bloomfield on Matt. vii. 3.


FABLE XXXVIII. 127
Behind her ran an infant train,
Collecting here and there, a grain.
"Draw near, my Birds!" the mother cries,
"This hill delicious fare supplies.
Behold the busy negro race,
See millions blacken all the place!
Fear not; like me with freedom eat;
An Ant is most delightful meat.
How blest, how envied, were our life,
Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, curs'd man, on Turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days.
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the savoury chine;
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on every board.
Sure men for gluttony are curs'd,
Of the seven deadly sins, the worst."
An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach,
Thus answer'd from the neighbouring beech:
"Ere you remark another's sin,
Bid thy own conscience look within;
Control thy more voracious bill,
Nor, for a breakfast, nations kill."1
(1) A fiiendof Tedyuscung once said to him whena little intoxicated, "There
is one thing very strange, and which I cannot account for; it is, why the Indians
get drunk so much more than the white people!" "Do you think that
strange?" said the old chief; ''why, it is not strange at all. The Indians think
it no harm to get drunk whenever they can; but you white men say it is a sin,
and yet get drunk nevertheless." The cause of censoriousness, I may observe
also, is, that men are so taken up with playing the part of judges, that they
forget their own proper condition is that of culprits.


FABLE XXXIX. 129
Now more solicitous he grew,
And set their future lives in view;
He saw that all respect and duty
Were paid to wealth, to power, and beauty.
"Once more," he cries, "accept my prayer;
Make my loved progeny thy care:
Let my first hope, my favourite boy,
All Fortune's richest gifts enjoy.
My next with strong ambition fire;
May favour teach him to aspire,
Till he the step of power ascend,
And courtiers to their idol, bend.
With every grace, with every charm,
My daughter's perfect features arm.
If Heaven approve, a Father's bless'd."—
Jove smiles, and grants his full request.
The first, a miser at the heart,
Studious of every griping art,
Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain,
And all his life devotes to gain.
He feels no joy, his cares increase,
He neither wakes, nor sleeps, in peace;
In fancied want (a wretch complete)
He starves, and yet he dares not eat.1
The next to sudden honours grew;
The thriving art of courts he knew;
He reach'd the height of power and place,
Then fell, the victim of disgrace.2
(1) "Like a miser midst his store
Who grasps and grasps till he can hold no more;And when his strength is wanting to his mind, Looks back and sighs on what he left behind."—Drtdeh.
(2) See the fall of Sejanus magnificently described in the Tenth Satire of
Juvenal; and Johnson's Vanity of Human Wishes.
E


130 FABLE XXXIX.
Beauty with early bloom supplies
His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes.
The vain coquette each suit disdains,
And glories in her lovers' pains.
With age she fades, each lover flies;
Contemn'd, forlorn, she pines and dies.1
When Jove the Father's grief survey'd,
And heard him Heaven and Fate upbraid,
Thus spoke the God: "By outward show,
Men judge of happiness and woe.
Shall ignorance of good and ill
Dare to direct th' eternal will?
Seek virtue; and, of that possess'd,
To Providence resign the rest."2
(1) Vide dissection of a coquette's heart, Spectator, No. 281.
(2) Whilst the direction of the Christian religion to its professors is "in every
thing by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, to let their requests be
made known unto God," we are in no wise authorized to dictate blessings to the
Almighty will; for,
"If heaven should always grant what we think best,
We should be ruin'd by our own request."
Like the silly fly, which, walking over the lamp glass, and dazzled with the
glare, longs to reach that, which, if attained, would destroy it, so man wildly
invokes or madly upbraids heaven for results as unforeseen as illusory.
The Tenth Satire of Juvenal is an admirable exponent of this subject, and
Virgil gives advice which may serve as a moral to the fable. We append
Dryden's translation of the part.
"What then remains? are we deprived of will?
Must we not wish, for fear of wishing ill?
Receive my counsel and securely move;
Entrust thy fortune to the pow'rs above;
Leave them to manage for thee and to grant
What their unerring wisdom sees thee want.
In goodness, as in greatness, they excel:
Oh! that we loved ourselves but half so well."

rac



THE TWO MONKEYS.
The learned, full of inward pride,
The fops of outward show deride;
The fop, with learning at defiance,
Scoffs at the pedant and the science:
The Don, a formal solemn strutter,
Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter;
While Monsieur mocks the formal fool,
Who looks, and speaks, and walks, by rule.


132 FABLE XL.
Britain, a medley of the twain,
As pert as France, as grave as Spain,
In fancy wiser than the rest,
Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
Is not the Poet's chiming close,
Censured by all the sons of Prose?
While bards of quick imagination
Despise the sleepy prose narration.
Men laugh at apes, they men contemn;
For what are we, but apes to them?1
Two Monkeys went to Southwark fair,
No critics had a sourer air:
They forced their way through draggled folks,
Who gaped to catch Jack Pudding's jokes;
Then took their tickets for the show,
And got by chance, the foremost row.
To see their grave observing face
Provok'd a laugh throughout the place.
"Brother," says Pug, and turn'd his head,
"The rabble's monstrously ill-bred."
Now through the booth loud hisses ran,
Nor ended till the show began.
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
With sommersets he shakes the ground;2
The cord beneath the dancer springs;
Aloft in air the vaulter swings;
Distorted now, now prone depends,
Now through his twisted arms ascends;
(1) "Criticism is like a shuttlecock, and every one is furnished with a racket
to pass it off from himself to his neighbour."—Swift.
(2) The word " sommerset" is derived from "soubresaut;" it is sometimes
written " summersalt.'>


TABLE XL. 133
The crowd, in wonder and delight,
With clapping hands, applaud the sight.
With smiles, quoth Pug," If pranks like these
The giant apes of reason please,
How would they wonder at our arts?
They must adore us for our parts.
High on the twig I've seen you cling,
Play, twist, and turn in airy ring:
How can those clumsy things like me
Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
But yet, by this applause, we find
These emulators of our kind
Discern our worth, our parts regard,
Who our mean mimics thus reward."
"Brother," the grinning mate replies,
"In this I grant that man is wise;
While good example they pursue,
We must allow some praise is due;
But when they strain beyond their guide,
I laugh to scorn the mimic pride;
For how fantastic is the sight,
To meet men always bolt upright,
Because we sometimes walk on two!
I hate the imitating crew."1
(1) This is one of the most finished of Gay's productions if we consider the lively
vein of satire so justly levelled at the ignorant and supercilious conceit of
mankind, which, wishing to arrogate all excellency, even of physical power,
to itself, strives after what may be termed, "brute accomplishments." The
observation in the last line is a fac-simile of the indolent pride which characterises
the observation of many, and might pass, word for word, for a prim speech
of some fine lady, newly raised to a precarious dignity, looking down upon those
whose society she has just quitted, but now considers as her inferiors; or for the
pedantic arrogance of some inflated scholar, who boasts the knowledge of every
language and science, but whom a blacksmith could surpass, in common sense.


FABLE XLI. 135
Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound,
And fix the fate of Europe round.)1
Sheaves piled on sheaves, hid all the floor:—
At dawn of morn to view his store
The Farmer came. The hooting guest,
His self-importance, thus exprest:
"Reason in man is mere pretence:
How weak, how shallow, is his sense!
To treat with scorn the Bird of Night,
Declares his folly or his spite.
Then, too, how partial is his praise!
The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays,
To his ill-judging ears are fine,
And nightingales are all divine:
But the more knowing feather'd race
See wisdom stamp'd upon my face.
Whene'er to visit light I deign,
What flocks of fowl compose my train!
Like slaves, they crowd my flight behind,
And own me of superior kind."
The Farmer laugh'd, and thus replied:
"Thou dull important lump of pride!
Dar'st thou with that harsh grating tongue
Depreciate birds of warbling song J
Indulge thy spleen: know, men and fowl
Regard thee, as thou art, an Owl.
Besides, proud Blockhead! be not vain
Of what thou call'st thy slaves and train:
(1) Vide Wilkie's picture of the "Village Politicians." It requires sma 1
talent to acquire the fame of political sagacity, seeing that of politicians it may be
spoken, as of Apollo's oracle,
"Quidquid dixit Apollo
Aut erit aut non."


136
FABLE XLI.
Few follow Wisdom or her rules;
Fools in derision follow fools."1
(1) The criticisms of self-conceit, though worthless, form nevertheless a frequent
source of gratification, to those who find in them a safety valve, for the wounded
pride and sense of indignity which they entertain towards the world, for not
appreciating, what they consider, excellent in themselves. Hence arise ill-
tempered sallies at the misery of life, at the uncharitableness of mankind,
whereas true worth is sure to make its way, even by the striking qualification
of its humility; and the world, with all its faults, rarely blames unjustly, and
would least of all censure the excellence which is too valuable to be disregarded.
When, however, spleen and disappointment affect the judgment, we are apt to
pride ourselves upon the possession of what should constitute our shame, and
imagine that the notice of vulgar derision is the applause of the virtuous and
great. I may add, that of all humbugs, your grave sententious humbug is the
worst, who shakes his head at the wit he cannot comprehend, and who, like the
owl, is dazzled by the sun of intellect around him. Besides, such are generally
narrow-minded hypocrites, who will be guilty of a thousand meannesses,—if done in a quiet way; for verily, "Gravity," as Bolingbroke says, "is the essence
of imposture."



THE JUGGLERS.
A juggler long through all the town
Had raised his fortune and renown;
You'd think (so far his art transcends)
The devil at his fingers' ends.
Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
Convinced of his inferior skill,
She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defied the man of art aloud.


138 FABLE XLII.
"Is this then he so famed for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes."
Provoked, the Juggler cried, "'Tis done;
In science I submit to none."
Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd;
By turns this here, that there, convey'd.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.
His little boxes change the grain:
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair:
His fingers spread, and nothing there:
Then bids it rain with showers of gold;
And now his ivory eggs are told!
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amazed spectators hum applause.
Vice now stept forth, and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.
"This magic looking-glass," she cries,
"(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes." Each eager eye the sight desired,
And every man himself admired.1
Next, to a Senator addressing,
"See this bank-note,—observe the blessing—
Breathe on the bill. Hey, pass! 'Tis gone."
Upon his lips a padlock shown.
A second puff the magic broke; The padlock vanish'd, and he spoke.2
(1) This signifies the contamination of the moral perception, by vice.
(2) He here touches at the bribery which seals, or opens, the senator's lips:


FABLE XLII. 13!)
Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor stored,
By clean conveyance disappear;
And now two bloody swords are there.1
A purse she to a thief exposed;
At once his ready fingers closed.
He opes his fist, the treasure's fled;
He sees a halter in its stead.
She bids Ambition hold a wand;
He grasps a hatchet in his hand.2
A box of charity she shows.
Blow here; and a churchwarden blows.
'Tis vanish'd with conveyance neat,
And on the table smokes a treat.3
She shakes the dice, the board she knocks,
And from all pockets fills her box.4
She next a meagre rake addrest:
"This picture see; her shape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her." With surprise,
His hand exposed a box of pills,
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.6

now loud, now, "pulveris exigui jactu" with the gold upon his itching palm,
calm and quiet as a lamb; for
"Money is the only power
That all mankind fall down before."—HudiBras.
(1) "Who hath woe? who hath sorrow?
Who hath contentions? who hath babbling?
Who hath wounds without cause?
They that tarry long at the wine."—Prov. xxiii. 29, 30.
(2) Because the last ascent of ambition often terminates upon the scaffold.
(3) An admirable touch at the usual concomitants of philanthropy, in which
the wretchedness of the poor is washed down by bottles of port, and the charity
which should feed the .hungry panders to the appetite of the sensual and
purse proud.—Benevolence is dry fare, without turbot and lobster sauce.
(4) Vice knocks at every door, and is maintained at each man's cost.
(5) See the observations of the wise man to youth, Prov. ii. 16; v. 3; vii. 6.
Indiscretion in youth is a draught upon age, payable at ten years or months.
,


140 FABLE XUI.
A counter in a miser's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command:
She bids his heir the sum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.1
A guinea with her touch, you see
Take every shape but Charity;
And not one thing you saw, or drew,
But changed from what was first in view.2
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With this submission own'd her art:
"Can I such matchless sleight withstand!
How practice hath improved your hand!
But now and then I cheat the throng;
You every day, and all day long."3
(1) The extravagance of the spendthrift, follows the avarice of the miser,
as the shadow does the figure.
(2) This is well drawn, for, first, even the instrument of good, which gold
might be, is warped from its proper purpose, when vice employs it; next,
charity essentially differs from vice " in thinking no evil:" thirdly, the distorting
power of vicious indulgence is hinted at, which puts "evil for good, darkness for
light, and sweet for bitter."
(3) The whole of human life is one huge falsehood, from the cradle to the
grave, and it is no wonder that men should be knaves to each other, when even
the best of us is such a hypocrite to himself! First comes vanity with her
deceptive mirror, which has the power of making ugliness appear beauty, and
renders the vilest acts excusable in the perpetrator's own eyes. The " scurvy
politician" is loud against public abuses, until he has been paid his price, and
then, as Lear observes, " he takes glass eyes, and seems to see the things he doth
not." Wine unlocks the bars of prudence, therefore is an instrument by which
knavery deludes folly, under the garb of good fellowship, until the mask is torn
off by passion, and the feast ends in the fray! The crafty villain promises
himself indemnity, and success; the ambitious, power and security; forgetful
that ill-gotten treasure is soon spent, and purchases disgrace, and that " pride
goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." The heartless
hypocrisy, again, of those who can always bear "another's misfortune perfectly
like Christians," nauseates us by its frequent exhibition in men who, living in
palaces, and pampered in luxury, mouth out devotional exhortations which they
do not feel, upon burdens they touch not with one of their fingers, to the
poor outcast whose only inheritance has been care, who watches the growth
of his grey hairs with pleasure, and is longing for the end of the scene! Our
very tears are deceptions, for physical melancholy will often draw water, like the


FABLE XLII.
Ml
rod of Moses, out of the rocky heart, without in the least changing its nature,
and so we see selfishness with its eyes moist, and apathy even itself for a time
forgetting its indifference, whilst under the effect of fervent, but also insincere
eloquence, until when the speech is over, and the hurried accents silent, orator
and auditor relapse into more hardened callousness, and obtuse self-love. Vice
rules all, from the miser's papered window to the profligate's arena alternating
between the lazar-house and the gaol, and so universal is its sway, so omnipotent
its influence, that even to correct it we must employ itself,—match cunning
against cunning, and, as Shakspeare says,—
"Virtue of vice must oft-times pardon beg,
For leave to do it good!"



THE COUNCIL OF HORSES.
Upon a time a neighing Steed,
Who grazed among a numerous breed,
With mutiny had fired the train,
And spread dissension through the plain.
On matters that concern'd the state
The Council met in grand debate.
A Colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire,
Elate with strength and youthful fire,


FABLE XLIII. 143
In haste stept forth before the rest,
And thus the listening throng addrest:
"Good gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to slavery and disgrace!
Shall we our servitude retain,
Because our sires have borne the chain?
Consider, friends, your strength and might;
'Tis conquest to assert your right.
How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we design'd for daily toil,
To drag the ploughshare through the soil,
To sweat in harness through the road,
To groan beneath the carrier's load?
How feeble are the two-legged kind!
What force is in our nerves combined!
Shall then our nobler jaws submit
To foam and champ the galling bit?
Shall haughty man my back bestride?
Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
Forbid it heavens! Reject the rein;
Your shame, your infamy, disdain.
Let him the lion first control,
And still the tiger's famish'd growl.
Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
And make him tremble at our name."
A general nod approved the cause,
And all the circle neigh'd applause.1
When, lo! with grave and solemn pace,
A Steed advanced before the race,
(1) An application to human vanity, however fallacious, never fails of popular
applause, e.g. addresses of mob-orator, passim.


144 FABLE XLIII.
With age and long experience wise;
Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
And, to the murmurs of the train,
Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain:'
"When I had health and strength, like you,
The toils of servitude I knew;
Now grateful man rewards my pains,
And gives me all these wide domains.
At will, I crop the year's increase;
My latter life is rest and peace.
I grant to man we lend our pains,
And aid him to correct the plains;
But doth not he divide the care,
Through all the labours of the year?
How many thousand structures rise,
To fence us from inclement skies!
For us he bears the sultry day,
And stores up all our winter's hay;
He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain;
We share the toil, and share the grain.
Since every creature was decreed
To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act the part by Heaven assign'd."
The tumult ceased. The Colt submitted;
And, like his ancestors, was bitted.2
(1) "Ille regit dictis animos et pectora mulcet."—Virg.
(2) This fable in effect resembles that of the belly andthe members, said to
have been delivered by Menenius Agrippa, to appease a popular clamour, when,
in consequence of the great expense of war, the multitude refused further taxa-
tion. (Liv. ii. 32). Its object generally is to instil contentment in all members
of a community by representing that however worthless or burdensome, the
upper classes or ruling body, may appear, yet their maintenance is necessary for


FABLE XLIII.
145
the security of each person's individual enjoyment, as the key-stone is for the
stability of the arch. It is observable that those who most repine in an
inferior condition are the first to oppress when elevated, and no pressure of old
established authority is equal to the arrogance of the upstart, and the tyranny of
the vulgar parvenu. Though, as Aristotle observes in his Rhetoric, the young
are ardent, sanguine, and err on the side of excess, yet it is to their energy we
owe as much improvement as to the experience of the old, whose capacities
are impeded by too much caution, and their endeavours cramped by timidity.
Hence the colt in the fable, though "snubbed " as usual, by the aged horse, on
the score of his inexperience, argued from a just desire of liberty, which was
meagrely met by that plea, appropriate to age, selfish expediency. Nothing could
impugn the proper aim of the colt after freedom, but the impossibility to obtain
it: nothing, moreover, can sanction the ill-treatment of a quadruped by a biped
brute, to whom, the Pythagorean doctrine of transmigration of souls, presents
a fitting recompense for cruelty. If a horse could think, he could wish no
harder punishment for his driver, than to be in the shafts, instead of on the
box!

r


FABLE XLIV. 147
The morning wakes, the Huntsman sounds,
At once rush forth the joyful Hounds;
They seek the wood with eager pace,
Through bush, through brier, explore the chase.
Now scatter'd wide they try the plain,
And snuff the dewy turf in vain.
What care, what industry, what pains!
What universal silence reigns!
Ringwood, a dog of little fame,
Young, pert, and ignorant of game,
At once displays his babbling throat;
The pack, regardless of the note,
Pursue the scent; with louder strain
He still persists to vex the train.
The Huntsman to the clamour flies,
The smacking lash he smartly plies.
His ribs all welk'd, with howling tone
The puppy thus express'd his moan:—
"I know the music of my tongue
Long since the pack with envy stung.
What will not spite? these bitter smarts
I owe to my superior parts."
"When Puppies prate," the Huntsman cried,
"They show both ignorance and pride:
Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise;
For envy is a kind of praise.
Had not thy forward noisy tongue
Proclaim'd thee always in the wrong,
Thou might'st have mingled with the rest,
And ne'er thy foolish nose confest:
But fools, to talking ever prone, Are sure to make their follies known."1
(1) This fable is ably drawn to show the impossibility of tcachirg ignorance


148
FABLE XLIV.
its own folly, when corroborated (as always) by self-conceit. The observation
that envy is a kind of praise, is strictly true; moreover it is one concomitant of
conceit, to be ever carping for praise, so that by seeking attention it attracts ob-
servation to its absurdity, which might otherwise escape censure from the power-
ful, or at all events the notice of the wise. "Argutos inter strepit anser olores,"
is the motto of every impertinent coxcomb, and in no instance, when intro-
duced into society, does he fail to act up to it. Reiterated disappointment, the
neglect which cuts the spirit like a sword, or the actual cautery of the world's
scorn, together with those oppressive and continual cares, which wither in the
soul all hope and energy of resistance, and render it, at length, passive beneath
assault, test the difference between pride and conceit; for the latter, akin to
vanity, falls speedily prostrate; the other, founded upon true self-esteem, is im-
pregnable. Hence it has been well said, that a proud man is too proud to be
vain, for vanity draws its support from the applause of the world, pride from the
approbation of self, looking down with just contempt upon the fitful gusts of
the "popularis aura," whose scorn or smile it neither seeks nor fears.



THE POET AND THE ROSE.
I hate the man who builds his name
On ruins of another's fame:1
Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown,
Imagine that they raise their own;
Thus scribblers covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays.
(1) Juvenal's observation is:—
"Miserum est aliense incumbere famse."—Sat. viii. 76.


150 FABLE XLV.
Beauties and bards have equal pride,
With both all rivals are decried.
Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
Must call her sister ''awkward creature;"
For the kind flattery's sure to charm,
When we some other nymph disarm.1
As in the cool of early day
A Poet sought the sweets of May,
The garden's fragrant breath ascends,
And every stalk with odour bends.
A Rose he pluck'd: he gazed, admired,
Thus singing, as the Muse inspired:—
"Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace;
How happy should I prove,
Might I supply that envied place
With never-fading love!
There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye,
Involved in fragrance, burn and die.
"Know, hapless flower! that thou shalt find
More fragrant Roses there:
I see thy withering head reclined
With envy and despair!
One common fate we both must prove;
You die with envy, I with love."
"Spare your comparisons," replied
An angry Rose, who grew beside;
"Of all mankind you should not flout us; What can a Poet do without us!
(1) "For malice will with joy, the lie receive.
Report, and what it wishes true, helieve."
fide Yalden's Ovid's Art of Love.


FABLE XLV.
151
In every love-song Roses bloom,
We lend you colour and perfume.
Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,
To found her praise on our abuse?
Must we, to flatter her, be made
To wither, envy, pine, and fade?" 1
(1) The rose remarks justly, upon the poet's need of flowers for apostrophe to
his "ladye love," for indeed all the blossoms of creation,—above, the stars, and
below, the flowers,—have been ransacked to furnish images of compliment, by
every poetaster that ever penned a sonnet "to his mistress' eyebrow." Hence
"to speak ill of the bridge which carries one over" is sheer ingratitude, yet
how often do we sacrifice a friend, to court the pleasure of a mere acquaint-
ance, and willingly deteriorate the service of one who had no more to give, in
order to obtain the good offices of him, whose only superiority is in the power,
and not the will, to serve us! It is seldom, but that the most independent charac-
ters leave some stain upon the steps by which they climb to fame. The Ethics of
Aristotle, b. iv. c. 4, should be studied in relation to this fable, as he therein
draws, with his usual accuracy, this distinction, amongst others, between the
magnanimous and the little-minded man, viz. that the first is not fond of talking
of people,—cares more for truth than opinion.—and does not care that he himself
should be praised, nor that others should be blamed. Hence, I am sorry to say,
you do notoften find magnanimity amongst women, whose friendship is easier got
by maligning a rival, than by impartial vindication of truth.



THE CUR, THE HORSE, AND THE SHEPHERD'S DOG.
The lad of all-sufficient merit,
With modesty ne'er damps his spirit;1
(1) Which, strange to say, is in one sense, good policy; for never was there
a high-mettled steed yet, who won the race, and would have done so, had he
started, already beaten in his own estimation. A proper self-estimate is the
sure stimulus to successful exertion ; the abuse of it, as exhibited here, is to be
repudiated. Many clap-trap sentiments have obtained currency, from the
inattention to the marks by which right is separated from wrong; but one
thing is certain, that if clever men had not known their own value in some
degree, they would not have troubled the world with their lucubrations, and
art, science, and industry, had perished together.
X


FABLE XLVI. 153
Presuming on his own deserts,
On all alike his tongue exerts:
His noisy jokes at random throws,
And pertly spatters friends and foes.
In wit and war the bully race
Contribute to their own disgrace:
Too late the forward youth shall find
That jokes are sometimes paid in kind;
Or if they canker in the breast,
He makes a foe, who makes a jest.
A village Cur, of snappish race,
The pertest puppy of the place,
Imagined that his treble throat
Was blest with Music's sweetest note;
In the mid road he basking lay,
The yelping nuisance of the way;
For not a creature pass'd along
But had a sample of his song.
Soon as the trotting Steed he hears,
He starts, he cocks his dapper ears;
Away he scours, assaults his hoof;
Now near him snarls, now barks aloof;
With shrill impertinence attends,
Nor leaves him till the village ends.
It chanced, upon his evil day,
A Pad came pacing down the way;
The Cur, with never-ceasing tongue,
Upon the passing traveller sprung.
The Horse, from scorn provoked to ire,
Flung backward; rolling in the mire,
The Puppy howl'd, and bleeding lay;
The Pad in peace pursued his way.
.


154 FABLE XLVI.
A Shepherd's Dog, who saw the deed,
Detesting the vexatious breed,
Bespoke him thus: "When coxcombs prate,
They kindle wrath, contempt, or hate;
Thy teazing tongue had judgment tied,
Thou hadst not like a puppy died."1
(1) The malice which often disgraces irony, is never better detected and
chastised, than by a blow from the same weapon, and this remark applies to
many talented but ill-bred men, who reckless where they plant the thorn,
whilst they pursue for themselves the garland, sometimes by an unlucky " con-
tretemps," exchange the two, to their own cost. Thus ajest is frequently paid in
kind, as in the case of the poet, Madera, who having calumniated a noble
lady, called Fontana, was called to account for his impropriety, by Pope Sextus
V. He declared he had no reason for the slander, but that 'Putana' rhymed to
'Fontana,' upon which the witty Pontiff, in the same humour, condemned him to
the galleys, "merely," said he,"because 'Galera.'is a good rhymeto 'Madera.'"
Upon another occasion, a young man having picked his friend's pocket in joke,
in order to witness his distress when requiring his money, found the tables most
unpleasantly turned upon himself, for on putting his hand into his own pocket, to
refund the money, he discovered that a real thief had walked off with it, in no
joke, and left him to pay the cost in sad earnest. So true is it, that those who
"come to shear, often go back shorn."



THE COURT OE DEATH.
Death, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terror sate:
The' attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire,—a ghastly train—
Crowd the vast court! With hollow tone
A voice thus thunder'd from the throne:
"This night our minister we name;
Let every servant speak his claim;
/


FABLE XLVII. 157
Plague represents his rapid power,
Who thinn'd a nation in an hour.1
All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand.—
Now expectation hush'd the band,
When thus the Monarch from the throne:
"Merit was ever modest known.
What, no Physician speak his right!
None here! but fees their toils requite.2
Let then Intemperance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest,
(Whom wary men, as foes, detest)
Forego your claim; no more pretend;
Intemperance is esteem'd a friend.
He shares their mirth, their social joys,
And as a courted guest destroys:
The charge on him must justly fall,
Who finds employment for you all."3
purchase positions in parliament, where they prate about educating the ignorant,
the rights of the poor, and enunciate principles of peace and charity '.—Vide
Minutes of the Factory System before the House of Commons, passim.
(1) Aided by fear, of course, for when the Plague promised the dervise, to slay
only 30,000, and double that number fell, the disease exonerated itself from blame
fairly, by declaring " fear killed the rest."
(2) Byron's epigram upon his doctor, applies to several cases:—
"Youth, vigour, and relenting Jove To keep my lamp in, vainly strove, For Farinelli blew so stout He beat all three, and blew it out I"
(8) This admirable but melancholy picture of the "thousand natural ills that
flesh is heir to," is one of the finest efforts of our poet's muse, and the deduction
is forcible and clear. If death stands behind the chair which health fills, and
picks out guest after guest, at the banquet of life, he does so primarily in the
garb of intemperance which, like Othello's murder, "slays where itdoth love!" The man who, in youth, never did " add hot and rebellious liquors to his blood,"
has the surest guarantee that in age, "his pulse shall beat equal time, and
keep a healthful music." To prove how human life may protract its span, we
have only to review the self-denial and rigid rule of Cornaro, the early hours


158
FABLE XLVII.
of Parkhurst, the temperance of Parr, and to cut short its career, we have merely
to mix the discontent of Unctius with the intemperance of Alexander, "and
soon," to vary a little the lines of Sir Samuel Garth:—
"Disease you'll find
Unto physicians only ever kind;
Who in return all diligence will pay,
To fix its empire, and confirm its sway!"
I cannot forbear appending a versified translation of Martial's epigram upon
physicians * Mart. vi. 53.
"Andragoras bathd, supp'd well, and went to bed Last night, but in the morning was found dead;
Would'st know, Faustinus, what was his disease?
He dreaming saw—the quack Hermocrates!"



TUB GARDENER AND THE HOG.
A gardener of peculiar taste,
On a young Hog his favour placed,
Who fed not with the common herd;
His tray was to the hall preferr'd:
He wallow'd underneath the board,
Or in his master's chamber snored,
Who fondly stroked him every day,
And taught him all the puppy's play.


160 FABLE XLVIII.
Where'er he went, the grunting friend
Ne'er fail'd his pleasure to attend.
As on a time the loving pair
Walk'd forth to tend the garden's care,
The master thus address'd the Swine:
"My house, my garden, all is thine!
On turnips feast whene'er you please,
And riot in my beans and peas;
If the potatoe's taste delights,
Or the red carrot's sweet invites,
Indulge thy morn and evening hours,
But let due care regard my flow'rs:
My tulips are my garden's pride:
What vast expense those beds supplied!"
The Hog by chance one morning roam'd,
Where with new ale the vessels foam'd:
He munches now the steaming grains,
Now with full swill the liquor drains.
Intoxicating fumes arise;
He reels, he rolls his winking eyes;
Then staggering through the garden scours,
And treads down painted ranks of flowers:
With delving snout he turns the soil,
And cools his palate with the spoil.
The Master came, the ruin spied;
"Villain I suspend thy rage," he cried,
"Hast thou, thou most ungrateful sot,
My charge, my only charge, forgot?
What, all my flowers!" no more he said,
But gazed, and sigh'd, and hung his head.
The Hog with stuttering speech returns;
"Explain, Sir, why your anger burns.


FABLE XLVIII. 161
See there, untouch'd, your tulips strown,
For I devour d the roots alone."
At this the Gardener's passion grows;
From oaths and threats he fell to blows:
The stubborn brute the blow sustains,
Assaults his leg, and tears the veins.
Ah! foolish Swain! too late you find
That styes were for such friends, design'd!
Homeward he limps with painful pace,
Reflecting thus on past disgrace—
"Who cherishes a brutal mate,
Shall mourn the folly soon or late."1
(1) "Vulgar acquaintance, like dirty dogs," says Swift, " soil those most, whom
they chiefly fawn upon; " and this may be considered as the moral, generally,
of the fable. The treachery to friendship which it glances at, is less to be
regarded as the result of evil intention than of that coarse constitution of mind,
which the uncultivated exhibit, and which prompts them to regard self only,
in the whole tenor of their conduct and affairs. More especially also, low
habits, the very essence of vulgarity, are irrespective equally of manners, as of
order, so that as this last can never be relied upon for restriction, the former
present no obstacle to men who are ignorant even of civility, and who observe
no rule but what they lay down for themselves, according to the endless variety
of humour and impulse. True friendship, on the contrary, can never exist
without mutual respect, and politeness, the latter principle being in its very
nature opposed to selfishness, and therefore alien from brutal minds; for, as is well
observed by a French writer, "La politesse est l'attention continuelle qui
inspire l'humanite, a complaire a tout le monde,_et a n'offenser personne."



THE MAN AND THE FLEA.
Whether on earth, in air, or main,
Sure everything alive is vain!
Does not the hawk all fowls survey,
As destined only for his prey?
And do not tyrants, prouder things,
Think men were born for slaves to kings?
When the crab views the pearly strands,
Or Tagus, bright with golden sands;1
(U
- turbato sordidus auro
Hermus et Hesperio qui sonat orbe Tagus."


FABLE XLIX. 1G3
Or crawls beside the coral grove,
And hears the ocean roll above;
"Nature is too profuse," says he,
"Who gave all these to pleasure me!"
When bordering pinks and roses bloom,
And every garden breathes perfume;
When peaches glow with sunny dyes,
Like Laura's cheek when blushes rise;
When the huge figs the branches bend,
When clusters from the vine depend,
The snail looks round on flower and tree,
And cries, "All these were made for me!"
"What dignity's in human nature?"
Says Man, the most conceited creature,
As from a cliff he cast his eye,
And view'd the sea and archSd sky."
The sun was sunk beneath the main;
The moon and all the starry train
Hung the vast vault of Heaven: the Man
His contemplation thus began:
"When I behold this glorious show,
And the wide watery world below,
The scaly people of the main,
The beasts that range the wood or plain,
The wing'd inhabitants of air,
The day, the night, the various year,
And know all these by Heaven design'd
As gifts to pleasure human-kind,
I cannot raise my worth too high;
Of what vast consequence am I!"
"Not of th' importance you suppose,"
Replies a Flea upon his nose:


1Q4 FABLE XLIX.
"Be humble, learn thyself to scan;
Know, pride was never made for man.
'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.
What, Heaven and earth for thee design'd!
For thee, made only for our need,
That more important Fleas might feed." 1
(1) Man, vain man, Indeed plays "such fantastic tricks before high Heaven
as make the angels weep," and the history of nations as of rndiv.duals, g.ves
endTess example of the absurdities perpetrated by egotism and self-conceit. These place us at once in that " paradise of fools," described by Addrson m the
Spectator, (No. 460,) until in the midst of his self-approbation, a straw >nh,s
oath brings down the giant from the zenith of his pride, and the pompous d.gmtary
Lpestered out of patience—by a flea! "What a dust I makesays the fly
upon the coach-wheel. •1 This comes of walking on the earth!" remarked the
haughty Castilian after his fall. Now, though the man might in his own opm.on,
perhaps" justly occupy a higher sphere than the insect, yet for tins -ry cause
his pride becomes more contemptible, not being so venial as that of his brother
W<TTe overweening principle of pride, however, "by which sin fell the Angels,"
is fos.erecTIy the sycophancy of those, who draw, in their own eyes, a reflected
us"rerom the " little great" men, whose tinsel pomp they swell, and who Uke
VauxnallTuns, turn their little night, to an artificial day. Thus pride spreads
IdTna corrupt circle binds the patron and the parasite!" If you could ask," "served Sidney Smith, "the animalcule which infest the body of a blue-bottle what they thought of him, they would state their conviction that their fly
was the noblest, grandest creature in the world, and that the universe would
immediately come to an end, if the great fluttering thing was to cease to buz." No wonder, therefore, that man similarly should think thus of himself, when not only his mere egotism, but the servitude of other creatures, tell the same of him!



THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
Friendship, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one, you stint the flame.1
The child, whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendships; who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare who, in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like Gay,2
(1) Because friendship is a species of goodness, and—'
"Rari quippe boni, numero sunt vix totidem quot,
Thebarum portse vel divitis Ostia Nili."—Juv.
(2) True enough!—Vide his Biography.


166 FABLE L.
Was known by all the bestial train
Who haunt the wood or graze the plain;
Her care was never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.
As forth she went, at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind, she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouth'd thunder, flies:
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back, her mazy round,
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear, she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the Horse appear'd in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight:
To friendship every burden's light."
The Horse replied, "Poor honest puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus:
Be comforted, relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."
She next the stately Bull implored;
And thus replied the mighty lord:
"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well;
I may, without offence, pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;


FABLE L. 167
And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind,
But see, the Goat is just behind."
The Goat remark'd her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye:
"My back," says he, "may do you harm;
The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."
The Sheep was feeble, and complain'd
His sides a load of wool sustain'd;
Said he was slow; confess'd his fears;
For hounds eat sheep as well as Hares.
She now the trotting Calf address'd,
To save from death a friend distress'd:
"Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler pass'd you by;
How strong are those! how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence.
Excuse me, then: you know my heart;
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu;
For see, the hounds are just in view." 1
(1) The deception of pretended friendship, the inconstancy of asserted love,
have been topics of endless comment to the philosopher, whether Democritus
or Heraclitus, and to the historian from Tacitus to Voltaire. In this, the most
masterly of our poet's fables, and hence deservedly the most popular, he follows
out the ramifications of human treachery, and shows how deceit is universally
allied to cowardice, and hypocrisy to equivocation. We dare not exhibit our
baseness to others, because we are thorough cowards to ourselves: hence when-
ever we desert duty or commit wrong, we run to expediency for an excuse for
the one, and to plausible pretexts of our incompetency, or vociferations of good-
will, to palliate the other!
Another shape of the same miserable spirit of artful selfishness, is wh


FABLES.
$)ati % SSttonfr.


ADVERTISEMENT.
These Fables were finished by Mr. Gat, and intended for the press
a short time before his death, when they were left, with his
other papers, to the care of his noble friend and patron the
Duke of Queensberry, who permitted them to be printed from
the originals in the Author's own hand-writing.1
(1) The Advertisement in the edition of 1793 proceeds to remark that "they
are mostly on subjects of a graver and more political turn. They will certainly
show him (the author) to have been (what he esteemed the best character) a
man of a truly honest heart, and a sincere lover of his country."



THE DOG AND THE FOX.
TO A LAWYER.
I know you Lawyers can, with ease,
Twist words and meanings as you please;
That language, by your skill made pliant,
Will bend to favour every client;
That 'tis the fee directs the sense,
To make out either side's pretence.
When you peruse the clearest case,
You see it with a double face:
'
,


FABLE I. 173
All private slander I detest,
I judge not of my neighbour's breast:
Party and prejudice I hate,
And write no libels on the state.
Shall not my Fable censure vice,
Because a knave is over nice?
And, lest the guilty hear and dread,
Shall not the decalogue be read?
If I lash vice in general fiction,
Is't I apply, or self-conviction?1
Brutes are my theme; am I to blame,
If men in morals are the same?
I no man call or ape or ass;
'Tis his own conscience holds the glass.
Thus void of all offence I write:
Who claims the fable, knows his right.
A shepherd's Dog, unskill'd in sports,
Pick'd up acquaintance of all sorts;
Among the rest, a Fox he knew:
By frequent chat, their friendship grew.
Says Reynard, "'Tis a cruel case,
That man should stigmatize our race.
No doubt, among us, rogues you find,
As among dogs and human kind;
And yet (unknown to me and you)
There may be honest men and true.
Thus slander tries whate'er it can
To put us on the foot with man.
Let my own actions recommend;
No prejudice can blind a friend:
(1) "Let the gall'd jade wince !— 'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all!"—Si. akspeare.

_


FABLE I. 175
If t'other night your master lost
Three lambs, am I to pay the cost?
Your vile reflections would imply
That I'm the thief:—You Dog, you lie!"
"Thou knave, thou fool," the Dog replied,
"The name is just, take either side;
Thy guilt these applications speak;
Sirrah, 'tis conscience makes you squeak."
So saying, on the Fox he flies:
The self-convicted felon dies.1
(1) The captiousness of guilt aping innocence, and of dishonesty paying the
penalty of extreme sensibility, are well exposed here. It is one of the just pun-
ishments of knavery, ever to be exposed to the real or supposed taunts, of the
most common observation, and, like the simile used by Lord Byron in another
case, guilt—
"Views its own feather on the fatal dart,
And wings the shaft that quivers in its heart."
The simplest remark alarms it; the stroke of external circumstance echoes
upon the bell of the guilty soul, and awakens it to the pangs of remorse. Hence
wickedness is thin-skinned, and the abraded surface shrinks from the touch
even of friendly association. "Quisque suos patimur manes," well observes
Virgil, and the self-accused culprit needs no interpreter of shame beyond his
own record, for,
"to our thoughts what edicts can give law,
Ev'n you yourself to your own breast shall tell,
Your crimes, and your own conscience be your hell."—Dryden."Ugly guilt flies in the conscious face,
And man is vanquish'd, slain with bosom-war."—Lee.

J_


FABLE II. 177
A captious fool may take offence,
What then 1 He knows his own pretence.1
I meddle with no state affairs,
But spare my jest to save my ears.
Our present schemes are too profound,
For Machiavel himself, to sound;To censure 'em I've no pretension,
I own they're past my comprehension.
You say, your brother wants a place,
("Tis many a younger brother's case,)
And that he very soon intends
To ply the court, and teaze his friends.
If there his merits chance to find
A patriot of an open mind,
Whose constant actions prove him just
To both a king's and people's trust,
May he, with gratitude, attend,
And owe his rise to such a friend.
You praise his parts, for business fit,
His learning, probity, and wit;
But those alone will never do,
Unless his patron have 'em too.2
I've heard of times (pray God defend us i
We're not so good but he can mend us)
When wicked ministers have trod
On kings and people, law and God;
With arrogance they girt the throne,
And knew no interest but their own.
(1) The word is here used in the sense of "design," or "purpose," as in
Sbakspeare, Gentlemen of Verona, Act. iii. Sc. 1. Winter's Tale, Act iii. Sc. 2.
(2) Interest beats merit at court, and a man is there judged, not by the
qualifications, but by the names which he bears, wealth being the potentate, at
whose nod, ministers bestow their gifts. "O nummi, vobis hunc preestat
honorem!"
H


178 FABLE II.
Then virtue, from preferment barr'd,
Gets nothing but its own reward.
A gang of petty knaves attend 'em,
With proper parts to recommend 'em.
Then if his patron burn with lust,
The first in favour's pimp the first.
His doors are never closed to spies,
Who cheer his heart with double lies;
They flatter him, his foes defame,
So lull the pangs of guilt and shame.
If schemes of lucre haunt his brain,
Projectors swell his greedy train:
Vile brokers ply his private ear
With jobs of plunder for the year;
All consciences must bend and ply;
You must vote on and not know why:
Through thick and thin you must go on;
One scruple, and your place is gone.1
Since plagues like these have cursed a land, And favourites cannot always stand,
Good courtiers should for change be ready,
And not have principles too steady;
For should a knave engross the power,
(God shield the realm from that sad hour!)
He must have rogues or slavish fools;
For what's a knave without his tools?
Wherever those a people drain,
And strut with infamy and gain,
(1) See Swift's Gulliver's Travels, "Voyage to Laputa." The poet here de-
scribes placemen, who make a high road of their conscience for their patrons to
walk on. For an instance of a successful member of this species, see Lord
Campbell's Lives of the Chancellors, in the Life of the Marquis of Winchester.



THE BABOON AND THE POULTRY.
TO A LEVEE-HUMTEK.
WE frequently misplace esteem,
By judging men by what they seem.1
To birth, wealth, power, we should allow
Precedence, and our lowest bow:
In that is due distinction shown;
Esteem is Virtue's right alone.
(1) "Decipimur specie recti." Juvenal's admonition of " Fronti nulla fides," is applicable here.
d


182 FABLE III.
With partial eye we're apt to see
The man of noble pedigree:
We're prepossess'd my Lord inherits,
In some degree, his grandsire's merits;
For those we find upon record,
But find him nothing but "my Lord."1
When we, with superficial view,
Gaze on the rich, we're dazzled too.
We know that wealth, well understood,
Hath frequent power of doing good,
Then fancy that the thing is done;
As if the power and will were one.
Thus oft the cheated crowd adore
The thriving knaves that keep 'em poor.2
The cringing train of power survey;
What creatures are so low as they!
With what obsequiousness they bend!To what vile actions condescend!Their rise is on their meanness built, And flattery is their smallest guilt. What homage, reverence, adoration, In every age, in every nation, Have sycophants to power address'd!No matter who the power possess'd. Let ministers be what they will, You find their levees always fill.3
(1) Great families are often like potatoes, the best part of them is under
ground.
(2) It was a remark of Dr. Henry Owen, the celebrated Hebrew scholar, that
the Almighty showed what He thought of money, by the knaves to whom He
gave it.
(3) Because a court is like a whirlpool, which drawing in every substance into
itself, brings up the vile and refuse, to the top, and sends all weighty and
valuable materials to the bottom!


FABLE III. 183
E'en those who have perplex'd a state,
Whose actions claim contempt and hate,
Had wretches to applaud their schemes,
Though more absurd than madmen's dreams.
When barbarous Moloch was invoked,
The blood of infants only smoked!
But here (unless all History lies)
Whole realms have been a sacrifice.
Look through all courts: 'tis power we find
The general idol of mankind,
There worshipp'd under every shape:
Alike the lion, fox, and ape,
Are follow'd by time-serving slaves,
Rich prostitutes and needy knaves.1
Who then shall glory in his post?
How frail his pride, how vain his boast!
The followers of his prosperous hour
Are as unstable as his power.
Power, by the breath of Flattery nurst,
The more it swells is nearer burst.
The bubble breaks, the gewgaw ends,
And in a dirty tear descends.2
Once on a time an ancient maid,
By wishes and by time decay'd,
To cure the pangs of restless thought,
In birds and beasts, amusement sought:
(1) See the history of most of our chief men and prelates; even public narra-
tive relates many specks upon their escutcheon, contracted in their progress to
power, and how much more black would it appear, if all the "back stairs" in-
fluence were related I
12) ——" my high-blown pride At length broke under me!"
fide Wolsey's Speech, Shaks. Hen. VIII. Act iii.


184 FABLE III.
Dogs, parrots, apes, her hours employ'd;
With these alone she talk'd and toy'd.
A huge Baboon her fancy took,
(Almost a man in size and look)
He finger'd everything he found,
And mimic'd all the servants round.
Then, too, his parts and ready wit
Show'd him for every business fit.
With all these talents 'twas but just
That Pug should hold a place of trust;
So to her favourite was assign'd
The charge of all her feather'd kind.
'Twas his to tend 'em eve and morn,
And portion out their daily corn.
Behold him now, with haughty stride,
Assume a ministerial pride.
The morning rose. In hope of picking,
Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks, and chicken,
Fowls of all ranks surround his hut,
To worship his important strut.
The minister appears: the crowd,
Now here, now there, obsequious bow'd.
This praised his parts, and that his face, ,
T' other his dignity in place.
From bill to bill the flattery ran:
He hears and bears it like a man;
For when we flatter Self-conceit,
We but his sentiments repeat.
If we're too scrupulously just,
What profit's in a place of trust?
The common practice of the great
Is to secure a snug retreat:
X


186
FABLE III.
flatterer, the latter equally as to its sycophancy and ingratitude—is a model of
statesmanship and intrigue. The reason why every change in an administration
costs a country much, is that the new officials have to feather their nest, whilst
the old covey have feathered theirs, so that each new plucking, renders the public
(the goose) more bare I Neither is it until disappointment has soured, orTro-sperity gorged him, that a minister learns—
"Corruption wins not more than honesty;"
and that his true duty is to,
"Be just and fear not:
Let all the ends he aims at, be his country's,
His God's, and truth's."—Shak. Hen. VIII. Act iii.'



THE ANT IN OFFICE.
TO A FRIEND.
You tell me that you apprehend
My verse may touchy folks offend.
In prudence, too, you think my rhymes
Should never squint at courtiers' crimes;
For though nor this nor that is meant,
Can we another's thoughts prevent?
/


188 FABLE IV.
You ask me, if I ever knew
Court-chaplains thus, the lawn pursue ?1
I meddle not with gown or lawn;
Poets, I grant, to rise, must fawn.
They know great ears are over nice,
And never shock their patron's vice.
But I this hackney path despise,
'Tis my ambition not to rise:
If I must prostitute the Muse,
The base conditions I refuse.
I neither natter nor defame,
Yet own I would bring guilt to shame.
If I Corruption's hand expose,
I make corrupted men my foes;
What then? I hate the paltry tribe:
Be virtue mine; be theirs the bribe.
I no man's property invade;
Corruption's yet no lawful trade.
Nor would it mighty ills produce,
Could I shame bribery out of use.
I know 'twould cramp most politicians,
Were they tied down to these conditions:
'Twould stint their power, their riches bound,
And make their parts seem less profound.
Were they denied their proper tools,
How could they lead their knaves and fools?
(1) See Sidney Smith's account of the rise of a Bishop, in his letters to Arch-
deacon Singleton; the promotion also of parish parsons to prelates, in Macaulay's
History of England, tells the same tale of supple knavery. The robes of most
lawn-sleeved hangers-on at courts, require a great deal of washing, to get rid of
the dirt accumulated in their elevation, indeed it is astonishing they are so white
as they are.


189
Were this the case, let's take a view
What dreadful mischiefs would ensue.
Though it might aggrandize the state,
Could private luxury dine on plate?
Kings might indeed their friends reward,
But ministers find less regard.
Informers, sycophants, and spies,
Would not augment the year's supplies.
Perhaps, too, take away this prop,
An annual job or two, might drop.
Besides, if pensions were denied,
Could Avarice support its pride?
It might even ministers confound,
And yet the state be safe and sound.
I care not though 'tis understood,
I only mean my country's good:
And (let who will my freedom blame)
I wish all courtiers did the same.
Nay, though some folks the less might get,
I wish the nation out of debt.
I put no private man's ambition
With public good in competition:
Bather than have our laws defaced,
I'd vote a minister disgraced.
I strike at vice, be't where it will;
And what if great folks take it ill?
I hope corruption, bribery, pension,
One may with detestation mention;
Think you the law (let who will take it)
Can scandalum magnalum make it?
I vent no slander, owe no grudge,
Nor of another's conscience, judge.



THE BEAR IN A BOAT.
TO A COXCOMB.
That man must daily wiser grow,
Whose search is bent, himself to know.
Impartially he weighs his scope,
And on firm reason founds his hope;
He tries his strength before the race,
And never seeks his own disgrace;
He knows the compass, sail, and oar,
Or never launches from the shore;
Before he builds, computes the cost,
And in no proud pursuit is lost;


FABLE V. 195
He learns the bounds of human sense,
And safely walks within the fence.
Thus, conscious of his own defect,
Are pride and self-importance check'd.1
If, then, self-knowledge to pursue,
Direct our life in every view,
Of all the fools that pride can boast,
A Coxcomb claims distinction most.
Coxcombs are of all ranks and kind;
They're not to sex or age confined,
Or rich or poor, or great or small,
And vanity besets them all.
By ignorance is pride increased;
Those most assume, who know the least;
Their own false balance gives them weight,
But every other finds them light.2
Not that all Coxcombs' follies strike,
And draw our ridicule alike.
To different merits each pretends.
This in love-vanity transcends;
That smitten with his face and shape,
By dress distinguishes the ape;
T' other with learning crams his shelf,
Knows books, and all things but himself.3
All these are fools of low condition, Compared with Coxcombs of ambition;
(1) A good result, yet almost unattainable by the process! "Nosmetipsos
noscere difficillimum est." (Cicero.) Yet the poet is right, for the more self-
knowledge, the greater humility!
(2) A coxcomb, rightly defined, is a self-deceiver, with whom the pronoun " I"
is too much in the individual's and public eye.
(3) See Erasmus, "Praise of Folly," and College Tutors turned into parish
priests, or Bishops made out of schoolmasters, by the sensible and judicious
Minister!


FABLE V.
199
fear. "He," speaking of a certain lord, "would undertake the navigation of a
ship though he was never at sea, preside over a steam-engine though perfectly
ignorant of its construction, or take the surgeon's knife and attempt a most
difficult operation." It is true, that the passengers might be swamped in the first
case, be blown up in the second, or die under the third; but those contingencies
are not taken into the account,—he would brave them all, simply because he has
no moral fear.
Statesmanship must be very easy, when there appear so many practising that
art, without study of it,—so many who, supplanting the interests of a nation by
their own, sacrifice a whole people to their presumption and ignorance, and, like
"fools, rush on, where angels fear to tread 1"


202 FABLE VI.
Antiochus,1 with hardy pace,
Provoked the dangers of the chase; And, lost from all his menial train,
Traversed the wood, and pathless plain.
A cottage lodged the royal guest;
The Parthian clown brought forth his best;
The King, unknown, his feast enjoy'd,
And various chat, the hours employ'd.
From wine what sudden friendship springs!
Frankly they talk'd of courts and kings.
"We country-folks," the Clown replies,
"Could ope our gracious monarch's eyes.
The King, (as all our neighbours say,)
Might he (God bless him!) have his way,
Is sound at heart, and means our good,
And he would do it, if he could.
If truth in courts were not forbid,
Nor kings nor subjects, would be rid.
Were he in power we need not doubt him; But that transferr'd to those about him,
On them he throws the regal cares;
And what mind they? Their own affairs.
If such rapacious hands he trust,
The best of men may seem unjust.
From kings to cobblers 'tis the same;
Bad servants wound their masters' fame.
In this our neighbours all agree:
Would the king knew as much as we!"
Here he stopt short. Repose they sought;
The Peasant slept, the Monarch thought.
(1) Plutarch.


FABLE VI. 205
For why? he lived in constant fear,
Lest truth by chance should interfere.
If any stranger dared intrude,
The noisy Cur his heels pursued;
Now fierce with rage, now struck with dread,
At once he snarled, bit, and fled.
Aloof he bays, with bristling hair,
And thus in secret growls his fear:
"Who knows but Truth, in this disguise,
May frustrate my best-guarded lies?
Should she (thus mask'd) admittance find,
That very hour, my ruin's sign'd."
Now in his howl's continued sound,
Their words were lost, their voice was drown'd.
Ever in awe of honest tongues,
Thus every day he strain'd his lungs.
It happen'd, in ill-omen'd hour,
That Yap, unmindful of his power,
Forsook his post, to love inclin'd,
A favourite bitch was in the wind.
By her seduced, in amorous play,
They frisk'd the joyous hours away:
Thus by untimely love pursuing,
Like Antony he sought his ruin.
For now the Squire, unvex'd with noise,
An honest neighbour's chat, enjoys.
"Be free," says he, "your mind impart;
I love a friendly open heart.
Methinks my tenants shun my gate;
Why such a stranger grown of late?
Pray tell me what offence they find—
'Tis plain they're not so well inclined.



THE COUNTRYMAN AND JUPITER,
Have you a friend (look round and spy)
So fond, so prepossess'd as I?
Your faults, so obvious to mankind,
My partial eyes could never find.
When, by the breath of Fortune blown,
Your airy castles were o'erthrown,
Have I been ever prone to blame,
Or mortified your hours with shame?


208 FABLE VII.
Was I e'er known to damp your spirit,
Or twit you with the want of merit JTis not so strange that Fortune's frown
Still perseveres to keep you down:
Look round, and see what others do.
Would you be rich and honest too? Have you (like those she raised to place)
Been opportunely, mean and base?
Have you (as times required), resign'd
Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind?
If these are scruples, give her o'er;
Write, practise morals, and be poor.1
The gifts of Fortune truly rate;
Then, tell me what would mend your state.
If happiness on wealth were built,
Rich rogues might comfort find, in guilt.
As grows the miser's hoarded store,
His fears, his wants, increase the more.
Think, Gay, (what ne'er may be the case,)
Should Fortune take you into grace,
Would that your happiness augment?
What can she give beyond content?
Suppose yourself a wealthy heir,
With a vast annual income clear 1
In all the affluence you possess,
You might not feel one care the less.
Might you not, then, like others, find
With change of fortune, change of mind?
(1) Swift compares, in his Tale of a Tub, "honesty to an old pair of shoes
cobbled out in the dirt."
"Thou knowest in the days of innocency Adam fell; and what shall poor Jack
Falstaff do in the days of knavery I "—Shaks. Hen. IV.


210 FABLE VII.
O'erspent with toil, beneath the shade,
A Peasant rested on his spade:
"Good gods!" he cries, "'tis hard to bear
This load of life from year to year!
Soon as the morning streaks the skies,
Industrious Labour bids me rise;
With sweat I earn my homely fare,
And every day renews my care."
Jove heard the discontented strain,
And thus rebuked the murmuring swain:
"Speak out your wants, then, honest friend:
Unjust complaints, the gods offend.
If you repine at partial Fate,
Instruct me what could mend your state.
Mankind in every station see—
What wish you? tell me what you'd be."
So said, upborne upon a cloud,
The Clown survey'd the anxious crowd.
"Yon face of Care," says Jove, "behold,
His bulky bags are fill'd with gold:
See with what joy he counts it o'er!
That sum to-day hath swell'd his store."
"Were I that man," the Peasant cried,
"What blessing could I ask beside?"
"Hold," says the god, "first learn to know
True happiness from outward show.
This optic glass of intuition—
Here, take it; view his true condition."
He look'd, and saw the miser's breast
A troubled ocean, ne'er at rest;
Want ever stares him in the face,
And fear anticipates disgrace.


FABLE VII. 211
With conscious guilt he saw him start,
Extortion gnaws his throbbing heart, And never, or in thought or dream,
His breast admits one happy gleam.
"May Jove," he cries, "reject my pray'r,
And guard my life from guilt and care!
My soul abhors that wretch's fate—
Oh keep me in my humble state!
But see, amidst a gaudy crowd,
Yon minister so gay and proud;
On him what happiness attends,
Who thus rewards his grateful friends!"
, First take the glass," the god replies;
"Man views the world with partial eyes."
"Good gods!" exclaims the startled wight,
"Defend me from this hideous sight! Corruption, with corrosive smart,
Lies cankering on his guilty heart.
I see him with polluted hand
Spread the contagion o'er the land.
Now Avarice with insatiate jaws,
Now Rapine with her harpy claws,
His bosom tears; his conscious breast
Groans, with a load of crimes opprest.
I see him, mad and drunk with power,
Stand tottering on Ambition's tower.
Sometimes, in speeches vain and proud,
His boasts insult the nether crowd;
Now, seized with giddiness and fear,
He trembles lest his fall is near.
Was ever wretch like this?" he cries,
"Such misery in such disguise!


212 FABLE VII.
The change, 0 Jove! I disavow—
Still be my lot the spade and plough."
He next, confirm'd by speculation,
Rejects the lawyer's occupation;
For he the statesman seem'd in part,
And bore similitude of heart.
Nor did the soldier's trade inflame
His hopes, with thirst of spoil and fame:
The miseries of war he mourn'd,
Whole nations into deserts turn'd.
By these have laws and rights been braved;
By these was free-born man enslaved:
When battles and invasion cease,
Why swarm they in the lands of peace?
"Such change," says he, "may I decline—
The scythe, and civil arms, be mine!"
Thus, weighing life in each condition,
The Clown withdrew his rash petition.
When thus the god: "How mortals err!
If you true happiness prefer;
'Tis to no rank of life confined,
But dwells in every honest mind.
Be justice, then, your sole pursuit—
Plant virtue, and content's the fruit."
So Jove, to gratify the Clown,
Where first he found him, set him down.1
(1) The prayer of Agur, the son of Jakeh, recorded in Prov.xxx. 8, touches
upon most of the evils alluded to here. "Give me neither poverty nor riches;
feed me with food convenient for me:" he also introduces the courtier, and the
lawyer, when he says, "Remove from me vanity and lies."
The former, added to " vexation of spirit," comprehends, in Solomon's idea, the
sum total of human pleasure, and what can any one do, "after the king?" It
is not that a man may not possess wealth, and yet be happy, but the natural



THE MAN, THE CAT, THE DOG, AND THE ELY.
TO MY nATIVE COUNTRY.
Hail, happy land! whose fertile grounds
The liquid fence of Neptune bounds;
By bounteous Nature set apart,
The seat of Industry and Art.
0 Britain! chosen port of trade,
May luxury ne'er thy sons invade!
May never minister (intent
His private treasures to augment)


FABLE VIII. 215
Corrupt thy state!1 If jealous foes
Thy rights of commerce dare oppose,
Shall not thy fleets their rapine awe?
Who is't prescribes the ocean law?
Whenever neighbouring states contend,
Tis thine to be the general friend,
What is't who rules in other lands?2
On trade alone thy glory stands:
That benefit is unconfined,
Diffusing good among mankind:
That first gave lustre to thy reigns,
And scatter'd plenty o'er thy plains:
'Tis that alone thy wealth supplies,
And draws all Europe's envious eyes.
Be commerce, then, thy sole design—
Keep that, and all the world is thine.
When naval traffic ploughs the main,
Who shares not in the merchant's gain?
'Tis that supports the regal state,
And makes the farmer's heart elate:
The numerous flocks that clothe the land
Can scarce supply the loom's demand;
Prolific culture glads the fields,
And the bare heath, a harvest yields.
Nature expects mankind should share
The duties of the public care.
Who's born for sloth?3 To some we find
The ploughshare's annual toil assign'd;
(1) If the former fables be just, this apostrophe is very much like " shutting
the stable door after the horse is stolen." It is, of course, like the expression,
"happy land," employed before—a poetic fiction!
(2) This line, clearly, refers to a time when, the name of England, was re-
spected, abroad. (3) Barrow.


FABLE VIII. 219
The Man, his pert conceit, derides,
And thus the useless coxcomb, chides:
"Hence from that peach, that downy seat—
No idle fool deserves to eat.
Could you have sapp'd the blushing rind,
And on that pulp ambrosial, dined,
Had not some hand, with skill and toil,
To raise the tree, prepared the soil 1
Consider, sot, what would ensue,
Were all such worthless things, as you.
You'd soon be forced (by hunger stung),
To make your dirty meals on dung,
On which such despicable need,
Unpitied, is reduced to feed.
Besides, vain, selfish, insect, learn
(If you can right and wrong discern),
That he who, with industrious zeal,
Contributes to the public weal,
By adding to the common good,
His own, hath rightly understood."
So saying, with a sudden blow,
He laid the noxious vagrant low:
Crush'd in his luxury and pride,
The spunger on the public, died.1
(1) A useless man is a cipher in existence, and nothing lower than a unit at
least can be tolerated in life. The great aim of self-exertion and independence of
spirit, is to convert one's own cipher into a power. Society, like nature, abhors
a vacuum, and the listless idler is a vacuum.
Yet the fly—so erroneous is our superficial judgment—had he feed me, to
plead his cause, should have not been so speedily condemned. Every creature
has his use, and where would health be, or what would be the value of riches,
without the public scavenger? Your fly is an unsworn commissioner of public
sewers, and does his business much better than many who have taken the


«MH\

THE JACKAL, LEOPARD, AND OTHER BEASTS.
TO A. MODERI) POLITICIAn.
I grant corruption sways mankind;
That interest, too, perverts the mind;
That bribes have blinded common sense,
Foil'd reason, truth, and eloquence:
I grant you, too, our present crimes
Can equal those of former times.
Against plain facts shall I engage,
To vindicate our righteous age?


FABLE IX.
Now see these wretches in disgrace,
Stript of their treasures, power, and place;
View 'em abandon'd and forlorn,
Exposed to just reproach, and scorn.
What now is all your pride, your boast?
Where are your slaves, your flattering host?
What tongues now feed you with applause?
Where are the champions of your cause?
Now e'en that very fawning train,
Which shared the gleanings of your gain,
Press foremost who shall first accuse
Your selfish jobs, your paltry views,
Your narrow schemes, your breach of trust,
And want of talents to be just.
What fools were these amidst their power!
How thoughtless of their adverse hour!
What friends were made? A hireling herd,
For temporary votes preferr'd.
Was it these sycophants to get,
Your bounty swell'd a nation's debt?
You're bit, for these, like Swiss, attend—
No longer pay, no longer friend.1
The lion is (beyond dispute)
Allow'd the most majestic brute;
His valour and his generous mind
Prove him superior of his kind:
(1) Witness the fall of all great men, not only as with Caesar, after death—
"Now lies he there, and none so poor to do him reverence!"—
but also upon their dismission from power, whether it be Wolsey or Sejanus. the cry from all the satellites, who run from the setting sun to greet a newer
planet, is—
"Curramus prsecipites, et
Dum jacet in ripa, calcemus Cxsaris hostem."—Jut. Sat. X.


226
FABLE IX.
By you, your bubbled master's taught,
Time-serving tools, not friends, are bought."1
(1) Dishonesty is always insecure, and the dealer with knaves; for falsehood ii
never sure that these last have not, like Snake, in the "School for Scandal,'1
•' received a greater bribe for speaking the truth." The hypocrisy with which
each venal rogue rails against wickedness, yet allows a "fiat " to his own sins;
the severity, too, with which, as Lear says, "the usurer hangs the cozener,'
or attacks the very faults in another, which are rampant in self, are human to a
hair, and now as ever,
"Clodius accusat maechos, Catilina Cethegum."
Honesty, indeed, is the best policy in every case, but especially for courtiers and
ministers of state, since the quality being least expected in them, would, when
employed, serve to mask their designs, better than all the arts of deception,
since who would ever suspect them of speaking the truth 1


FABLE X. 229
Which (though unlike our present state)
I, for the moral's sake, relate.
A Bee of cunning, not of parts,
Luxurious, negligent of arts,
Rapacious, arrogant, and vain,
Greedy of power, but more of gain,—
Corruption sow'd throughout the hive:
By petty rogues, the great ones thrive.
As power and wealth his views supplied,
'Twas seen in overbearing pride.
With him, loud impudence had merit;
The Bee of conscience wanted spirit;
And those who follow'd honour's rules,
Were laugh'd to scorn, for squeamish fools.
Wealth claim'd distinction, favour, grace,
And poverty alone, was base.
He treated industry with slight,
Unless he found his profit by't.
Rights, laws, and liberties, gave way,
To bring his selfish schemes in play.
The swarm forgot the common toil,
To share the gleanings of his spoil.
"While vulgar souls, of narrow parts,
Waste life in low mechanic arts;
Let us," says he, "to genius born,
The drudgery of our fathers, scorn.
The Wasp and Drone, you must agree,
Live with more elegance, than we.
Like gentlemen, they sport and play;
No business interrupts the day:
Their hours to luxury, they give,
And nobly on their neighbours live."


FABLE X.
231
essence of friendship, and, as humanity must have an outlet for its affections, so,
in contrast to the "empoisoned venom of his blood," kindly association with a
few congenial spirits, appears to have been
"the fountain
From the which his current flow'd,"
or it had assuredly " dried up."
As to suffering for his boldness, this was not only Swift's case, but will ever be
the fate of poor but proud intellects, who will not truckle to injustice, and
cupidity, in high places. Merit has ever been a martyr, whether the penalty
has been the sword or the fire—the oppressor, a corporation or an individual—the
sufferer, a " Whiston" or a " Sir Thomas More." It is true that after many
years are passed, and the sufferer buried, he will be called a hero, but his friends
will leave him to fight the " battle of life" alone, except he be wealthy—then he
will be considered a worthy man.
"Quantum habet nummi in area, tantum habet fidei."

m« swift.



THE PACK-HOKSE AND THE CARRIER.
TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN.
Begin, my Lord, in early youth,
To suffer, nay, encourage truth;
And blame me not for disrespect,
If I the flatterer's style reject;1
With that, by menial tongues supplied,
You're daily cocker'd up in pride.
(1) It is not because a person abjures the practice of flattery that he is there-
fore more sincere: there are those in the world who declare they " cannot cog," they "cannot bend," and are all the while the veriest hypocrites of the pack.


FABLE II. 235
Kick'd by old Ball! so mean a foe!
My honour suffers by the blow.
Newmarket speaks my grandsire's fame,
All jockeys still revere his name;
There, yearly, are his triumphs told,
There all his massy plates enroll'd.
Whene'er led forth upon the plain,
You saw him with a livery train;
Returning, too, with laurels crown'd,
You heard the drums and trumpets sound.
Let it then, Sir, be understood,
Respect's my due, for I have blood."
"Vain-glorious fool!" the Carrier cried.
"Respect was never paid to pride.
Know 'twas thy giddy wilful heart
Reduced thee to this slavish part.
Did not thy headstrong youth disdain
To learn the conduct of the rein?
Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
In vicious frolics, fancy spirit.
What is't to me by whom begot,
Thou restive, pert, conceited sot?
Your sires I reverence—'tis their due,
But, worthless fool, what's that to you?
Ask all the Carriers on the road,
They'll say thy keeping's illbestow'd.
Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
That neither mends thy strength nor pace.
What profits me, thy boast of blood?
An ass hath more intrinsic good.
By outward show let's not be cheated;
An ass, should, like an ass, be treated." *
(1) A young noble once taunted a member of the House of Commons, with his



PAN AND FORTUNE.
TO A YOUNG HEIR.
Soon as your father's death was known,
(As if th' estate had been their own,)
The gamesters outwardly exprest
The decent joy within your breast;
So lavish in your praise they grew,
As spoke their certain hopes in you.
One counts your income of the year,
How much in ready money clear.


FABLE XII. 241
Than all the hungry insect-race,
Combined, can in an age deface."
Fortune, by chance, who near him past,
O'erheard the vile aspersion cast:
"Why, Pan," says she, "what's all this rant 1
'Tis every country-bubble's cant.
Am I the patroness of vice?
Is't I who cog or palm the dice?
Did I the shuffling art reveal,
To mark the cards, or range the deal?
In all th' employments men pursue,
I mind the least, what gamesters do.
There may (if computation's just)
One, now and then, my conduct trust.
I blame the fool, for what can I,
When ninety-nine, my power defy?
These trust alone, their fingers' ends,
And not one stake, on me, depends.
Whene'er the gaming-board is set,
Two classes of mankind are met;
But if we count the greedy race,
The knaves, fill up the greater space.
'Tis a gross error, held in schools,
That Fortune always favours fools.
In play, it never bears dispute;
That doctrine, these fell'd oaks confute.
Then why to me, such rancour show?
'Tis Folly, Pan, that is thy foe.
By me, his late estate he won,
But he by Folly, was undone."
(1) So infatuated is the mind by itself, that, so long as it can throw blame
upon physical or moral constitution, peculiarity of circumstances, or even upon
B


242
FABLE XII.
that ghost of a subterfuge, Fortune, it will attribute to each, or all, of these, the
results of its own folly. Yet of all persons most to be pitied, he who is styled, " a
man of fortune," is entitled to our commiseration, when we consider the vastness
of his responsibilities, and the insidiousness of his temptations. Released from
the necessity of employing the body, or mind, he loses the two great elements
of happiness, and health. He is surrounded by sycophants he cannot trust, and
by seductions he can hardly repel; with everything to fear, he has nothing to
hope, and pays by the anxiety of his mind, a heavy interest, for the wealth which
surfeits his spirit. The gifts of fortune, as Terence remarks, depend for good
or ill upon the disposition of the possessors:
"Habc perinde sunt ut illius animus qui ea possidet, Qui uti scit, ei bona; illi qui non utitur recte, mala."—Heaut. I. iii. 21.
Should the young heir, in search of stimulant to fill up the "ennui" of pro-
sperity, enter upon gambling, the race is soon run through the different courses
of recklessness, mortgage, embarrassment, insolvency, despair. The vice
grows more rooted, as the game becomes more fearfully important—'1insomuch,"
as old George Whetstone observes, speaking of the prevalency of gaming in
Elizabeth's time, "I heard a distemperate dicer solemnly sweare, that he
faithfully believed, that dice were first made of the bones of a witch, and cards
of her skin, in which there hath ever sithence remained an inchantment, yt
whosoever once taketh delight in either, he shall never have power utterly to
leave them." Vide " The Enemie to Unthryftinesse," 1586.


248 FABLE XIII.
All comfort, on themselves, depends;
They want nor power, nor wealth, nor friends.
Love, then, hath every bliss in store;
'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more.
Each other every wish they give:
Not to know love, is not to live."
"Or love, or money," Time replied,
"Were men the question to decide,
Would bear the prize: on both intent,
My boon's neglected or mis-spent
.
'Tis I who measure vital space,
And deal out years to human race.
Though little prized, and seldom sought,
Without me, love and gold are nought.
How does the miser, time employ?
Did I e'er see him life enjoy? By me, forsook, the hoards he won
Are scatter'd by his lavish son.
By me, all useful arts are gain'd;
Wealth, learning, wisdom, is attain'd.
Who, then, would think (since such my power),
That e'er I knew an idle hour?
So subtle and so swift I fly,
Love's not more fugitive than I.
Who hath not heard coquettes complain
Of days, months, years, mis-spent in vain?
For time misused, they pine and waste,
And love's sweet pleasures never taste.
Those who direct their time aright,
If love or wealth their hopes excite,
In each pursuit, fit hours employ'd,
And both by Time have been enjoy'd.
N


FABLE XIV. 251
Impartially their talents scan:
Just education forms the man.
Perhaps (their genius yet unknown)
Each lot of life's already thrown;
That this shall plead, the next shall fight,
The last assert the church's right.
I censure not the fond intent;
But how precarious is th' event! By talents misapplied and crost,
Consider, all your sons are lost.
One day (the tale's by Martial penn'd)
A Father thus address'd his friend:
"To train my boy, and call forth sense,
You know I've stuck at no expense.
I've tried him in the several arts
(The lad, no doubt, hath latent parts);
Yet trying all, he nothing knows,
But, crab-like, rather backward goes.
Teach me what yet remains undone—
'Tis your advice shall fix my son."
"Sir," says the friend, "I've weigh'd the matter;
Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter:
Make him (nor think his genius check'd)
A herald, or an architect."
Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known)
He heard th' advice, and took his own.
The boy wants wit; he's sent to school,
Where learning but improves the fool:1 The college next must give him parts,
And cram him with the liberal arts.
(1) See Cowper's "Tirocinium, or Review of Schools."


252 FABLE XIV.
Whether he blunders at the bar,
Or owes his infamy to war,
Or if by licence or degree
The sexton share the doctor's fee;
Or from the pulpit by the hour
He weekly floods of nonsense pour,
We find (th' intent of Nature foil'd)
A tailor or a butcher spoil'd.
Thus ministers have royal boons
Conferr'd on blockheads and buffoons;
In spite of nature, merit, wit,
Their friends for every post were fit.
But now let every Muse confess
That merit finds its due success.
Th' examples of our days regard;
Where's virtue seen without reward?
Distinguish'd, and in place, you find
Desert and worth of every kind.
Survey the reverend bench, and see
Religion, learning, piety:1
The patron, ere he recommends,
Sees his own image in his friend's.
Is honesty disgraced and poor J2
What is't to us what was before?
We all of times corrupt have heard,
When paltry minions were preferr'd;
When all great offices, by dozens,
Were fill'd by brothers, sons, and cousins.
What matter ignorance and pride?
The man was happily allied.
(1) Ironically, of course.
(2) The passage here noted recals Pope's line:
"Praise undeserved is censure in disguise."


FABLE XIV. 253
Provided that his clerk was good,
What though he nothing understood?
In church and state, the sorry race
Grew more conspicuous fools, in place.
Such heads, as then, a treaty made,
Had bungled in the cobbler's trade.
Consider, patrons, that such elves
Expose your folly with themselves.
'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
To fix each genius in its sphere.
Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
But never give a blockhead sense.
An Owl of magisterial air,
Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
Assumed the pride of human race,
And bore his wisdom in his face;
Not to depreciate learned eyes,
I've seen a pedant look as wise.
Within a barn, from noise retired,
He scorn'd the world, himself admired;
And, like an ancient sage, conceal'd
The follies public life reveal'd.
Philosophers of old, he read,
Their country's youth to science bred;
Their manners form'd for every station,
And destined each his occupation.
When Xenophon, by numbers braved,
Retreated, and a people saved,1
That laurel was not all his own;
The plant by Socrates was sown.
(1) The retreat of the ten thousand Greeks under Xenophon, after the defeat
of Cyrus.
.-'


FABLK XIV. 255
The court shall be the Spider's sphere:
Power, fortune, shall reward him there.
In music's art the Ass's fame
Shall emulate Corelli's name."
Each took the part that he advised,
And all were equally despised.
A Farmer, at his folly moved,
The dull preceptor thus reproved:
"Blockhead," says he, "by what you've done,
One would have thought 'em each your son;
For parents, to their offspring blind,
Consult nor parts nor turn of mind,
But e'en in infancy decree
What this, what t'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 fool, in every class
The blockhead had appear'd an Ass." 1
(1) "Knowledge," says Montaigne, "is an excellent drug, but no drug has
virtue enough to preserve from corruption and decay, if the vessel be tainted
and impure wherein it is put to keep. Plato's principal institution in his
Republic is to fit his citizens in the employments suitable to their nature.
Cripples are very unfit for exercises of the body, and lame souls for exercises of
the mind. Degenerate and vulgar souls are unworthy of philosophy. Experience
often presents us with a physician worse physicked, a divine worse reformed,
and most frequently a scholar of less sufficiency than another."
His celebrated essay upon the education of children (ch. xxv.) is of course
too long to be even condensed effectually here; he regards the culture of the
young " as the greatest and most important difficulty of human science," but
confesses the "symptoms of their inclinations are so obscure, as to render it very
hard, to establish any solid judgment upon them." Doubtless it is owing to
these causes, and the few lines into which, human intellect can be driven, to
d


25Q
FABLE XIV.
become lucrative, (for this is the main speculation,) that we deal with young
minds by the gross, and with their education by the hundred, sacrificing
individuality to general rules, and stretching or cramping personal mental growth,
upon the Procrustean bed, of a prescribed scholastic system. And what is the
result? Why, that each really great mind has, after it has left school, to unteach
itself habits it ought never to have contracted, and to study subjects it ought
there to have learned; and this to the loss of its time, its energy, and its
freshness of power, so that he who survives to reach the altitude of distinction,
is obliged to confess that his mind has not been justly dealt by, and that he is
not what he might have been.
As to the choice of professions, indeed, the case is lamentable. A lawyer, having
successfully shorn the public, forces his son to adopt the profitabledisgrace which,
his soul, more ingenuous, abhors, longing, it may be, for the prosecution of
scientific truth; the surgeon goads on his young lancet, to operations, the latter
would rather endure than perform; whilst the bishop, thinking nothing of
sacrificing the interests of whole parishes, hurries his infantine prebend into the
Church, there to trade for promotion with souls, when the youngster might have
conducted a similar, though more honest business, in knocking down lots to the
best bidder, as a tolerable auctioneer!

"


FABLE XV.
261
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.1
(1) The moral of the fable is contained in the third and fourth lines of the
opening verse:—
"'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
That makes you wretched: God is just"—
an observation often admitted, seldom retained. Dryden well says:
"All great souls still make their own content.
We to ourselves may all our wishes grant;For nothing coveting, we nothing want."
To the real Christian there is no thought so consolatory as that all things
having been primarily arranged by, so ever still depend upon, one infallible
Goodness; and that, however remote the veins of existence may ramify throughout
the various kinds of beings, they are all connected with one great Fountain-soul,
which is cognizant by Omniscient sympathy with even an insect's throb of pain!
"Trust in God," therefore, but especially that trust which springs from habitual
communion with Him, is the only anodyne to human sorrow; and discontent at
our lot, is equally unjust to Him, "whose goodness is over all His works," as
it is injurious to ourselves, since it barbs the arrow of misfortune, and makes
the mind its own tormentor.



THE RAVENS, THE SEXTON, AND THE EARTH-WORM.
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 denied,
Indulged by every tongue beside?
>






1925