And know all these by Heav'n 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. Be humble, learn thyself to scanKnow, pride was never made for man. 'Tis vanity that swells thy mind. What! heav'n and earth for thee design'd! For thee, made only for our need, That more important Fleas might feed.
The Hare and many Friends. FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame. The child whom many fathers share, Hath seldom known a father's care. 'Tis thus in friendship; who depend On many, rarely find a friend.
A Hare, who, in a civil way, Comply'd with ev'ry thing, like GAY, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain Her care was never to offend, And ev'ry 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 ev'ry burden's light.
The horse reply'd-Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see you thus!
Be comforted, relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear.
She next the stately bull implor'd;
And thus reply'd the mighty lord:-
Since ev'ry 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 fav'rite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
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 next 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.
FABLE I.
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 ev'ry 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;
For Scepticism's your profession;
You hold there's doubt in all expression.
Hence is the bar with fees supply'd,
Hence eloquence takes either side;
Your hand would have but paltry gleaning,
Could ev'ry man express his meaning.
Who dares presume to pen a deed,
Unless you previously are feed?
"Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost,
In dull prolixity engrost.
And now we're well secur'd by law,
Till the next brother find a flaw.
Read o'er a will. Was't ever known But you could make the will your own? For, when you read, 'tis with Intent To find out meanings never meant. Since things are thus, se defendendo, I bar fallacious inuendo.
Sagacious Porta's skill could trace Some beast or bird in ev'ry face: The head, the eye, the nose's shape, Prov'd this an owl, and that an ape. When, in the sketches thus design'd, Resemblance brings some friend to mind, You shew the piece, and give the hint, And find each feature in the print; So monstrous like the portrait's found, All know it, and the laugh goes round. Like him, I draw from gen'ral nature; Is't I or you, then, fix the satire?
So, Sir, 1 beg you spare your pains
In making comments on my strains.
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 gen'ral fiction,
Is't I apply, or self-conviction?
Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame,
If men in morals are the same?
|