FABLE

XXXVII.

The FARMER'S WIFE and the RAVEN.

WHY are thofe tears? why droops your heads?

Is then your other husband dead ?

Or does a worse difgrace betide?
Hath no one fince his death apply'd?
Alas! you know the cause too well:

The falt is fpilt, to me it fell.
Then, to contribute to my lofs,
My knife and folk were laid across;
On Friday too! the day I dread!
Would I were fafe at home in bed!
Laft night (I vow to heav'n 'tis true)
Bounce from the fire a coffin flew
Next poft fome fatal news fhall tell,
God fend my Cornish friends be well!
Unhappy widow, cease thy tears,
Nor feel affliction in thy fears,

Let not thy ftomach be fufpended;

Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended;
And when the butler clears the table,
For thy defert, I'll read my fable.
Betwixt her fwagging pannier's load
A farmer's wife to market rode,
And, jogging on, with thoughtful care
Summ'd up the profits of her ware ;
When, ftarting from her filver dream,
Thus far and wide was heard her fcream.
That raven on yon left hand oak
(Curfe on his ill-betiding croak)
Bodes me no good. No more fhe faid,

When poor blind Ball, with ftumbling tread,
Fell prone; o'erturn'd the pannier lay,
And her mash'd eggs beftrow'd the way.
She, fprawling in the yellow road,

Rail'd, fwore and curs'd. Thou croaking toad,
A murrain take thy whore fon throat!

I knew misfortune in the note.

Dame, quoth the Raven, fpare your oaths,
Unclench your fift, and wipe your cloaths.

But why on me thofe curfes thrown ?
Goody, the fault was all your own;
For had you laid this brittle ware,
On Dun, the old fure footed mare,
Though all the Ravens of the hundred,
With croaking had your tongue out-thunder'd,
Sure-footed Dun had kept his legs,

And you, good woman, fav'd your eggs.

FABLE

F A

A BLE

XXXVIII.

The TURKEY and the AN T.

N other men we faults can spy,

IN

And blame the moat that dims their eye,

Each little fpeck and blemish find,

To our own ftronger errors blind.

A Turkey tir'd of common food,
Forfook the barn, and fought the wood;
Behind her ran her infant train,
Collecting here and there a grain,

Draw near, my birds, the mother cries,
This hill delicious fare fupplies;

Behold,

Behold, the bufy Negro race,

Fear not.

See, millions blacken all the place
Like me with freedom eat;
An Ant is most delightful meet.

How blefs'd, how envy'd were our life,
Could we but 'fcape the poult'rer's knife!
But man, curs'd man, on Turkey preys,
And Christmas fhortens all our days:
Sometimes with oyfters we combine,
Sometimes affift the fav'ry chine,
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey fmokes on ev'ry board,
Sure men for gluttony are curs'd,
Of the fev'n deadly fins the worst.

An Ant, who climb'd beyond his reach,
Thus anfwer'd from the neighb'ring beech.
Ere you remark another's fin,

Bid thy own conscience look within;
Controul thy more voracious bill,
Nor for a breakfaft nations kill.

F ABLE

FABLE

XXXIX.

The FATHER and JUPITER.

THE

HE Man to Jove his fuit preferr'd ; He begg'd a wife. His prayer was heard. JOVE wonder'd at his bold addreffing: For how precarious is the bleffing:

A wife he takes. And now for heirs Again he worries heav'n with prayers. Jove nods affent. Two hopeful boys And a fine girl reward his joys.

Now, more folicitous he grew, And fet their future lives in view;