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 ev'ry creature was decreed
To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act that part by Heav'n assign'd.
The tumult ceas'd. The colt submitted,
And, like his ancestors, was bitted.
The Hound and the Huntsman.
IMPERTINENCE at first is borne With heedless slight, or smiles of scorn: Teaz'd into wrath, what patience bears The noisy fool who perseveres?
The morning wakes; the Huntsman
sounds;
At once rush forth the joyful hounds.
They seek the wood with eager pace;
'Thro' bush, thro' brier, explore the chace:
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
cry'd,
They shew 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 mightst 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.
FABLE XLV.
The Poet and the Rose.
I HATE the man who builds his name On ruins of another's fame.
Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown,
Imagine that they raise their own.
Thus scribblers, covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays.
Beauties and bards have equal pride;
With both all rivals are decry'd.
Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,
Must call her sister aukward creature;
For the kind flattery's sure to charm,
When we some other nymph disarm.
As, in the cool of early day,
A Poet sought the sweets of May,
The garden's fragrant breath ascends,
And ev'ry stalk with odour bends.
A Rose he pluck'd-he gaz'd, admir'd,
Thus singing as the Muse inspir'd:-
'Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace;
'How happy should I prove,
'Might I supply that envy'd place
'With never-fading love!
'There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye,
'Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die!
Know, hapless flow'r, that thou shalt find 'More fragrant roses there: 'I see thy with'ring head reclin'd With envy and despair!
'One common faith we both must prove"You die with envy, I with love.'
Spare your comparisons, reply'd An angry Rose, who grew beside; Of all mankind, you should not flout us; What can a Poet do without us! In ev'ry love-song roses bloomWe 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?
The Cur, the Horse, and the Shepherd's Dog.
THE lad of all-sufficient merit
With modesty ne'er damps his spirit;
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,
Imagin'd that his treble throat
Was bless'd 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 chanc'd, upon his evil day,
A Pad came pacing down the way:
The Cur, with never-ceasing tongue,
Upon the passing trav'ller sprung.
The Horse, from scorn provok'd to ire,
Flung backward; rolling in the mire,
The Puppy howl'd, and bleeding lay;
The Pad in peace pursu'd his way.
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 ty'd,
Thou hadst not like a puppy dy’d.
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