The Old Woman and her Cats.
WHO friendship with a knave hath made,
Is judg'd a partner in the trade:
The matron who conducts abroad
A willing nymph, is thought a bawd!
And if a modest girl is seen
With one who cures a lover's spleen,
We guess her not extremely nice,
And only wish to know her price.
'Tis thus that, on the choice of friends,
Our good or evil name depends.
A wrinkled Hag, of wicked fame,
Beside a little smoky flanie
Sat hov'ring, pinch'd with age and frost;
Her shrivell'd hands, with veins emboss'd,
Upon her knees her weight sustains;
While palsy shook her crazy brains:
She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
An untam'd scold of fourscore years.
About her swarm'd a numerous brood
Of Cats, who, lank with hunger, mew'd.
Teas'd with their cries, her choler grew,
And thus she sputter'd: Hence, ye crew!
Fool that I was to entertain
Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
Had ye been never hous'd and nurs'd,
1 for a witch had ne'er been curs'd!
To you I owe that crowds of boys
Worry me with eternal noise;
Straws, laid across, my pace retard;
The horse-shoe's nail'd (each threshold's
guard);
The stunted broom the wenches hide,
For fear that I should up and ride;
They stick with pins my bleeding seat,
And bid me shew my secret teat.
To hear you prate would vex a saint;
Who hath most reason of complaint?
Replies a Cat. Let's come to proof.
Had we ne'er starv'd beneath your roof,
We had, like others of our race,
In credit liv'd, as beasts of chace.
'Tis infamy to serve a Hag;
Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag; And boys against our lives combine, Because, 'tis said, your Cats have nine,
FABLE XXIV.
The Butterfly and the Snail.
ALL upstarts, insolent in place,
Remind us of their vulgar race.
As, in the sunshine of the morn,
A Butterfly (but newly born)
Sat proudly perking on a rose,
With pert conceit his bosom glows
His wings (all glorious to behold),
Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold,
Wide he displays; the spangled dew
Reflects his eyes and various hue.
His now forgotten friend, a 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 glows 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 reply'd;
How insolent is upstart pride!
Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain,
Provok'd my patience to complain.
I had conceal'd thy meaner birth,
Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth:
For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours,
To swell the fruit, and paint the flow'rs,
Since I thy humbler life survey'd,
In base and sordid guise array'd;
A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
You dragg'd a slow and noisome train,
And from your spider bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clue.
I own my humble life, good friend:
Snail was I born, and Snail shall end.
And what's a Butterfly? At best,
He's but a caterpillar drest;
And all thy race (a numerous seed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed.
FABLE XXV.
The Scold and the Parrot.
THE husband thus reprov'd his wife:Who deals in slander, lives in strife. Art thou the herald of disgrace, Denouncing war to all thy race? Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage, Which spares nor friend, nor sex, nor age? That vixen tongue of yours, my dear, Alarms our neighbours far and near. Good Gods! 'tis like a rolling river, That murm'ring flows, and flows for ever! Ne'er tir'd, perpetual discord sowing! Like fame, it gathers strength by going. Heyday! the flippant tongue replies; How solemn is the fool! how wise! Is Nature's choicest gift debarr'd? Nay, frown not; for I will be heard! Women of late are finely ridden, A Parrot's privilege forbidden! You praise his talk, his squalling song; But wives are always in the wrong.
Now reputations flew in pieces,
Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces:
She ran the Parrot's language o'er-
Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slut, and whore;
On all the sex she vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without a jury.
At once the torrent of her words
Alarm'd cat, monkey, dogs, and birds.
All join their forces to confound her:
Puss spits; the monkey chatters round her;
The yelping cur her heels assaults;
The magpie blabs out all her faults;
Poll, in the uproar, from her cage,
With this rebuke out-scream'd her rage:-
A Parrot is for talking priz'd,
But prattling women are despis'd.
She who attacks another's honour,
Draws ev'ry living thing upon her.
Think, Madam, when you stretch your
lungs,
That all your neighbours, too, have tongues:
One slander must ten thousand get;
The world with int'rest pays the debt.
FABLE XXVI.
The Cur and the Mastiff.
A SNEAKING Cur, the master's spy, Rewarded for his daily lie,
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