We're born a restless, needy crew:
Show me the happier man than you.

Adam, though blest above his kind,
For want of social woman, pined.
Eve's wants the subtle serpent saw-
Her fickle taste transgress'd the law:
Thus fell our sires, and their disgrace
The curse entail'd on human race.

When Philip's son, by glory led,
Had, o'er the globe, his empire spread;
When altars to his name were dress'd,
That he was man, his tears confess'd.
The hopes of avarice are check'd:
The proud man always wants respect.
What various wants on power attend!
Ambition never gains its end.

Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of surfeits and corporeal pain?

He, barr'd from every use of wealth,
Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
Another, in a beauteous wife
Finds all the miseries of life:
Domestic jars and jealous fear
Imbitter all his days with care.1
This wants an heir-the line is lost:
Why was that vain entail engross❜d?
Canst thou discern another's mind?
What is't you envy? Envy's blind.
Tell Envy, when she would annoy,
That thousands want what you enjoy.

(1) The Greek proverb is, that he who marries a beauteous wife, finds her either κοινή or ποινή.

"The dinner must be dish'd at one.
Where's this vexatious Turnspit gone?
Unless the skulking Cur is caught,
The sirloin's spoil'd, and I'm in fault."
Thus said, (for sure you'll think it fit
That I the Cook-maid's oaths omit,)
With all the fury of a cook,

Her cooler kitchen, Nan forsook.

The broomstick o'er her head she waves;
She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves;
The sneaking Cur before her flies,

She whistles, calls, fair speech she tries:
These nought avail. Her choler burns;
The fist and cudgel threat by turns:
With hasty stride she presses near;
He slinks aloof, and howls with fear.

"Was ever Cur so cursed!" he cried;
"What star did at my birth preside!
Am I for life by compact bound
To tread the wheel's eternal round?
Inglorious task! of all our race
No slave is half so mean and base.
Had Fate a kinder lot assign'd,
And form'd me of the lap-dog kind,
I then, in higher life employ'd,
Had indolence and ease enjoy'd;
And, like a gentleman, caress'd,
Had been the lady's favourite guest.
Or were I sprung from spaniel line,
Was his sagacious nostril, mine,

By me, their never-erring guide,

From wood and plain their feasts supplied,

Knights, squires, attendant on my pace,
Had shared the pleasures of the chase.
Endued with native strength and fire,
Why call'd I not the lion, sire?
A lion! such mean views I scorn-
Why was I not of woman born?
Who dares with reason's power contend?
On man, we brutal slaves, depend:
To him, all creatures, tribute pay,
And luxury employs his day."

An Ox by chance o'erheard his moan,
And thus rebuked the lazy drone:

"Dare you at partial Fate repine? How kind's your lot compared with mine! Decreed to toil, the barbarous knife Hath sever'd me from social life; Urged by the stimulating goad, I drag the cumbrous waggon's load. "Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain, Break the stiff soil, and house the grain; Yet I without a murmur bear The various labours of the year. But then, consider, that one day (Perhaps the hour's not far away) You, by the duties of your post, Shall turn the spit when I'm the roast; And for reward shall share the feastI mean, shall pick my bones at least.”

"Till now," th' astonish'd Cur replies, “I look'd on all with envious eyes. How false we judge by what appears! All creatures feel their several cares.

If thus yon mighty beast complains,
Perhaps man knows superior pains.
Let envy, then, no more torment:
Think on the Ox, and learn content."

Thus said, close following at her heel,
With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel.1

(1) The moral of the fable is contained in the third and fourth lines of the opening verse:

"'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,

That makes you wretched: God is just "

an observation often admitted, seldom retained. Dryden well says: "All great souls still make their own content.

We to ourselves may all our wishes grant;

For nothing coveting, we nothing want."

To the real Christian there is no thought so consolatory as that all things having been primarily arranged by, so ever still depend upon, one infallible Goodness; and that, however remote the veins of existence may ramify throughout the various kinds of beings, they are all connected with one great Fountain-soul, which is cognizant by Omniscient sympathy with even an insect's throb of pain! "Trust in God," therefore, but especially that trust which springs from habitual communion with Him, is the only anodyne to human sorrow; and discontent at our lot, is equally unjust to Him, "whose goodness is over all His works," as it is injurious to ourselves, since it barbs the arrow of misfortune, and makes the mind its own tormentor.

TO LAURA.

LAURA, methinks you're over-nice,
True, flattery is a shocking vice;
Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just,
One may commend without disgust.
Am I a privilege denied,

Indulged by every tongue beside?