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Happy were kings, could they disclose
Their real friends and real foes!

Were both themselves and fubjects known,
A monarch's will might be his own.
Had he the use of ears and eyes,

Knaves would no more be counted wife.
But then a minifter might lose

(Hard cafe!) his own ambitious views.
When fuch as these have vex'd a state,
Purfu'd by univerfal hate,

Their false support at once hath fail'd,
And perfevering truth prevail'd.
Expos'd, their train of fraud is feen;
Truth will at laft remove the screen.

A country 'Squire, by whim directed,
The true, ftaunch dogs of chafe neglected.
Beneath his board no hound was fed
His hand ne'er strok'd the spaniel's head.
A snappish Cur, alone carest,

By lies had banish'd all the reft.
YAP had his ear; and defamation
Gave him full scope of conversation.
His fycophants must be preferr'd;
Room must be made for all his herd:
Wherefore, to bring his fchemes about,
Old faithful fervants all muft out.
The Cur on ewry creature flew,
(As other great mens puppies do),

Unless

Unless due court to him were shown,
And both their face and bus'nefs known.
No honeft tongue an audience found:
He worried all the tenants round;
For why, he liv'd in conftant fear,
Left truth by chance should interfere.
If any stranger dar'd intrude,

The noify Cur his heels purfu'd.

Now fierce with rage, now ftruck with dread,
At once he fnarled, bit, and fled.
Aloof he bays, with bristling hair,
And thus in fecret growls his fear.
Who knows but truth, in this disguise,
May fruftrate my best guarded lies?
Should the (thus mask'd) admittance find,
That very hour my ruin's fign'd.

Now in his howl's continu'd found,

Their words were loft, the voice was drown'd.

Ever in awe of honeft tongues,

Thus ev'ry day he ftrain'd his lungs.
It happen'd, in ill-omen'd hour,
That YAP, unmindful of his pow'r,
Forfook his poft, to love inclin'd;
A fav'rite bitch was in the wind.
By her feduc'd, in am'rous play,
They frifk'd the joyous hours away.
Thus by untimely love pursuing,
Like ANTONY, he fought his ruin.

For

For now the 'Squire, unvex'd with noife,
An honeft neighbour's chat enjoys.
Be free (fays he) your mind impart;
I love a friendly open heart.
Methinks my tenants fhun my gate,
Why fuch a stranger grown of late?
Pray tell me what offence they find:
'Tis plain they're not fo well inclin'd.

Turn off your Cur (the farmer cries)
Who feeds your ear with daily lies.
His fnarling infolence offends.

"Tis he that keeps you from your friends.
Were but that faucy puppy checkt,
You'd find again the same respect.
Hear only him, he'll fwear it too,
That all our hatred is to you.

But learn from us your true eftate;

"Tis that curs'd Cur alone we hate.

The 'Squire heard truth. Now YAP rush'd in;

The wide hall echoes with his din:

Yet truth prevail'd; and, with disgrace,

The Dog was cudgell'd out of place.

FABLE

H

FABLE VII.

The COUNTRYMAN and JUPITER.

TO MYSELF.

"Ave you a friend (look round and spy)
So fond, fo prepoffefs'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 mortify'd your hours with fhame ?
Was I e'er known to damp your spirit,
Or twit you with the want of merit ?
'Tis not fo ftrange, that fortune's frown
Still perfeveres to keep you down.

Look round, and fee what others do.
Would you be rich and honest too?
Have you (like those she rais'd to place)
Been opportunely mean and base?
Have you (as times requir'd) refign'd
Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind?
If these are scruples, give her o'er ;
Write, practise morals, and be poor.
The gifts of fortune truly rate;
Then tell me what would mend

your

ftate.

If

If happiness on wealth were built,

Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt,
As grows the mifer's hoarded store,

His fears, his wants, increase the more.
Think, GAY, (what ne'er may be the cafe)
Should fortune take you into grace,
Would that your happiness augment ?
What can fhe give beyond content?
Suppose yourself a wealthy heir,
With a vast annual income clear;
In all the affluence you poffefs,
You might not feel one care the lefs.
Might you not then (like others find)
With change of fortune, change of mind?
Perhaps, profufe beyond all rule,
You might start out a glaring fool ;
Your luxury might break all bounds:
Plate, table, horfes, ftewards, hounds,
Might fwell your debts: then, luft of play
No regal income can defray.

Sunk is all credit, writs affail,
And doom your future life to jail.

Or were you dignify'd with pow'r,
Would that avert one penfive hour ?
You might give avarice its swing,
Defraud a nation, blind a king:
Then, from the hirelings in your cause,
Though daily fed with false applause,

Could

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