Good gods! (fays he) how hard's my lot!
Is then my high defcent forgot?
Reduc'd to drudg'ry and difgrace,
(A life unworthy of my race)
Muft I too bear the vile attacks

Of ragged fcrubs, and vulgar hacks?
See fcurvy ROAN, that brute ill-bred,
Dares from the manger thrust my head!
Shall I, who boast a noble line,

On offals of these creatures dine?
Kick'd by old BALL! fo mean a foe!
My honour fuffers by the blow.
NEWMARKET speaks my grandfire's fame,
All jockeys ftill revere his name :
There yearly are his triumphs told,
There all his maffy plates enroll'd.
Whene'er led forth upon the plain,
You faw him with a liv'ry train ;
Returning too, with laurels crown'd,
You heard the drums and trumpets found.
Let it then, Sir, be understood,
Refpect's my due; for I have blood.
Vain-glorious fool (the Carrier cry'd)

Respect was never paid to pride.
Know, 'twas thy giddy wilful heart
Reduc'd thee to this slavish part.
Did not thy headstrong youth difdain
To learn the conduct of the rein ?

Thus

Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
In vicious frolics fancy fpirit.
What is't to me by whom begot.?
Thou reftif, pert, conceited fot.
Your fires I reverence; 'tis their due :
But, worthless fool, what's that to you?
Afk all the Carriers on the road,

They'll fay thy keeping's ill beftow'd.
Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
That neither mends thy ftrength or pace.
What profits me thy boaft of blood?
An afs hath more intrinfic good.

By outward fhew let's not be cheated:
An afs fhould like an ass be treated.

FABLE XII.

PAN and FORTUNE.

TO A YOUNG HEIR.

OON as your father's death was known,

SOON

(As if th' eftate had been their own)

The gamefters outwardly expreft
The decent joy within your breaft.
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.

No

No houfe, fays he, is more compleat ;
The garden's elegant and great.

How fine the park around it lies!
The timber's of a noble fize.

Then count his jewels and his plate.
Befides, 'tis no entail'd estate.

If cash run low, his lands in fee
Are, or for fale, or mortgage free.

Thus they, before you threw the main,

Seem'd to anticipate their gain.

Would you, when thieves were known abroad,.

Bring forth your treasures in the road?

Would not the fool abet the stealth,

Who rafhly thus expos'd his wealth?

Yet this you do, whene'er you play
Among the gentlemen of prey.

Could fools to keep their own contrive,

On what, on whom could gamefters thrive ?
Is it in charity you game,

To fave your worthy gang from shame?

Unless you furnish'd daily bread,

Which way could idleness be fed ?
Could these profeffors of deceit
Within the law no longer cheat,
They must run bolder risks for prey,
And strip the trav❜ler on the way.
Thus in your annual rents they share,
And 'scape the noose from year to year.

Confider,

Confider, ere you make the bet,

That fum might crofs your taylor's debt.
When you the piif'ring rattle shake,
Is not your honour too at stake?
Muft you not by mean fies evade
To-morrow's duns from ev'ry trade?
By promises so often paid,

Is yet your taylor's bill defray'd?
Muft you not pitifully fawn,

To have your butcher's writ withdrawn?
This must be done, in debts of play
Your honour fuffers no delay :

And not this year's and next year's rent

The fons of rapine can content.

Look round. The wrecks of play behold,

Eftates difmember'd, mortgag'd, fold!
Their owners, not to jails confin'd,

Shew equal poverty of mind.

Some, who the spoil of knaves were made,
Too late attempt to learn their trade.
Some, for the folly of one hour,

Become the dirty tools of pow'r,

And, with the mercenary lift,
Upon court charity fubfist.

You'll find at laft this maxim true,

Fools are the game which knaves pursue.

The forest (a whole cent'ry's fhade)

Must be one wafteful ruin made

No

No mercy's fhewn to age or kind;
The general maffacre is fign'd.
The park too shares the dreadful fate,
For duns grow louder at the gate.
Stern clowns, obedient to the 'Squire,
(What will not barb'rous hands for hire ?)
With brawny arms repeat the stroke.
Fall'n are the elm and rev'rend oak.
Through the long wood loud axes found,
And echo groans with ev'ry wound.
To see the defolation spread,
PAN drops a tear, and hangs his head :
His bofom now with fury burns;
Beneath his hoof the dice he fpurns.
Cards too, in peevish paffion torn,
The sport of whirling winds are born.

To fnails invet'rate hate I bear,
Who fpoil the verdure of the

The caterpillar I deteft,

year:

The blooming spring's voracious peft;
The locust too, whofe rav'nous band
Spreads fudden famine o'er the land.
But what are these? The dice's throw
At once hath laid a foreft low.
The cards are dealt, the bet is made,
And the wide park hath loft its fhade.
Thus is my kingdom's pride defac'd,
And all its ancient glories wafte.

All