MORA L.

Thus bravely spoke the nurse of ancient Rome,
Thus the starv'd Swifs, and hungry Grifons roam,
On barren hills, clad with eternal fnow,

And look with fcorn on the prim slaves below.
Thus Cato fcap'd by death the tyrant's chains,
And walks unshackled in th' Elyfian plains.
Thus, Britons, thus, your great forefathers stood
For liberty, and fought in feas of blood.

To barren rocks, and gloomy woods confin'd,
Their virtues by neceffity refin'd,

Nor cold, nor want, nor death, could shake their
steady mind.

No faucy Druid then durft cry aloud,

And with his flavifh cant debauch the crowd:

No paffive legions in a fcoundrel's caufe
Pillage a city, and affront the laws.
The state was quiet, happy, and ferene,
For Boadicea was the Britons queen;
Her fubjects their just liberties maintain'd,

And in her peoples hearts the happy monarch reign'd.

TWO

(But in what chapter, page, or line,

Ye criticks, if ye please, define)

Had found an oyster in their way.

Contest and foul debate arofe,

Both view'd at once with greedy eyes,
Both challeng'd the delicious prize,
And high words foon improv❜d to blows.

Actions on actions hence fucceed,
Each hero's obftinately ftout,

Green bags and parchments fly about,
Pleadings are drawn, and counfel fee'd.

The parfon of the place, good man!
Whofe kind and charitable heart
In human ills ftill bore a part,
Thrice fhook his head, and thus began.

Neighbours and friends, refer to me
This doughty matter in difpute,
I'll foon decide th' important fuit,
And finish all without a fee.

HOR.

Give me the oyfter then-'tis well

He opens it, and at one fup Gulps the contested trifle up, And fmiling gives to each a shell. Henceforth let foolish difcord ceafe,

Your oyfter 's good as e'er was eat; I thank you for my dainty treat, God bless you both, and live in peace.

MORA L.

Ye men of Norfolk and of Wales,
From this learn common fenfe;
Nor thrust your neighbours into gaols,
For every flight offence.

Banish thofe vermin of debate,

That on your fubftance feed;

The knaves, who now are ferv'd in plate,

Would ftarve, if fools agreed.

FA B L E IX.

THE SHEEP AND THE BUSH.

"Lætus forte tuâ vives fapientèr."

A Sheep, well-meaning brute! one morn

Retir'd beneath a spreading thorn,
A pealing ftorm to fhun;
Efcap'd indeed both rain and wind,
But left, alas! his fleece behind:

Was it not wifely done?

T 2

HOR.

MORAL.

Beneath the blast while pliant ofiers bend,

The ftubborn oak each furious wind fhall rend;
Difcreetly yield, and patiently endure,

Such common evils as admit no cure.

Thefe Fate ordains, and Heaven's high will has fent:
In humble littleness fubmit content.

But thofe thy folly brings, in time prevent.

F A B L E X.

THF

FROGS

CHOICE.

Ω πόποι, οἷον δή νυ Θεὸς βροτοὶ ἀπιόωνται.

Εξ ημέων γάρ φασι κάκ ̓ ἔμμεναι· οἱ δὲ καὶ αυτοὶ
Σφῆσιν ἀτασθαλίησιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγι' ἔχεσιν.

Na wild ftate of nature, long

IN

The frogs at random liv'd,

The weak a prey unto the strong,
With anarchy opprefs'd and griev'd.
At length the lawless rout,

Taught by their fufferings, grew devout:
An embaffy to Jove they fent,

And begg'd his highness would bestow
Some fettled form of government,

A king to rule the fens below.
Jove, fmiling, grants their odd request,
A king th' indulgent power beftow'd,

(Such

(Such as might fuit their genius best): A beam of a prodigious fize,

With all its cumberous load,
Came tumbling from the skies.
The waters dafh against the shore,
The hollow caverns roar;

The rocks return the dreadful found,
Convulfions shake the ground.
The multitude with horror fled,
And in his oozy bed

Each skulking coward hid his head.

When all is now grown calm again,
And fmoothly glides the liquid plain,
A frog more refolute and bold,
Peeping with caution from his hold;
Recover'd from his firft furprize,
As o'er the wave his head he popt,
He faw-but fcarce believ'd his eyes,
On the fame bank where first he dropt,
Th' imperial lubber lies,

Stretch'd at his eafe, carelefs, content:
Is this the monarch Jove has fent,
(Said he) our warlike troops to lead?
Ay! 'tis a glorious prince indeed!
By fuch an active general led,

The routed mice our arms fhall dread,

Subdued fhall quit their claim :

Old Homer fhall recant his lays,

For us new trophies raife,

Sing our victorious arms, and justify our fame.