ADVERTISEMENT.

THESE Fables were finished by Mr. GAY, and intended for the press a short time before his death, when they were left, with his other papers, to the care of his noble friend and patron the Duke of Queensberry, who permitted them to be printed from the originals in the Author's own hand-writing.1

(1) The Advertisement in the edition of 1793 proceeds to remark that "they are mostly on subjects of a graver and more political turn. They will certainly show him (the author) to have been (what he esteemed the best character) a man of a truly honest heart, and a sincere lover of his country."

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 every 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 is your profession;
You hold there's doubt in all expression.
Hence is the bar with fees supplied,
Hence eloquence takes either side.
Your hand would have but paltry gleaning,
Could every man express his meaning.
Who dares presume to pen a deed,
Unless you previously are fee'd?
'Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost,
In dull prolixity engross❜d.

And now we're well secured 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 every face.
The head, the eye, the nose's shape,
Proved this an owl, and that an ape;
When, in the sketches thus design'd,
Resemblance brings some friend to mind,
You show 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 general nature;
Is't I or you, then, fix the satire ?—

So, Sir, I 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 general fiction,
Is't I apply, or self-conviction? 1
Brutes are my theme; am I to blame,
If men in morals are the same?
I no man call or ape or ass;

'Tis his own conscience holds the glass.
Thus void of all offence I write:

Who claims the fable, knows his right.
A shepherd's Dog, unskill'd in sports,
Pick'd up acquaintance of all sorts;
Among the rest, a Fox he knew:
By frequent chat, their friendship grew.
Says Reynard, ""Tis a cruel case,
That man should stigmatize our race.
No doubt, among us, rogues you find,
As among dogs and human kind;
And yet (unknown to me and you)
There may be honest men and true.
Thus slander tries whate'er it can
To put us on the foot with man.
Let my own actions recommend;
No prejudice can blind a friend:

(1) "Let the gall'd jade wince !

"Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all!"-SHAKSPEARE.

You know me free from all disguise;
My honour as my life, I prize."

By talk like this, from all mistrust
The Dog was cured, and thought him just.
As on a time the Fox held forth
On conscience, honesty, and worth,
Sudden he stopp'd; he cock'd his ear;
Low dropt his brushy tail with fear.
"Bless us! the hunters are abroad:

What's all that clatter on the road?"

"Hold," says the Dog, "we're safe from harm, 'Twas nothing but a false alarm: At yonder town 'tis market-day; Some farmer's wife is on the way; 'Tis so; I know her pyebald mare, Dame Dobbins with her poultry-ware. Reynard grew huff. Says he, "This sneer From you I little thought to hear; Your meaning in your looks I see: Pray what's Dame Dobbins, friend, to me? Did I e'er make her poultry thinner? Prove that I owe the dame a dinner."

"Friend," quoth the Cur, "I meant no harm; Then why so captious, why so warm? My words, in common acceptation, Could never give this provocation. No lamb, for aught I ever knew, May be more innocent than you." At this, gall'd Reynard winced, and swore Such language ne'er was given before.

"What's lamb to me? this saucy hint Shows me, base knave, which way you squint.