Brother, fays Pug, and turn'd his head, The rabble's monft'roufly ill-bred.
Now thro' the booth rude hiffes ran,
Nor ended till the fhow began.
The tumbler whirls the flip-flap round,
With fommerfets he fhakes the ground;
The cord beneath the dancer fprings;
Aloft in air the vaulter fwings,
Distorted now, now prone depends,
Now thro' his twisted arms afcends;
The crowd, in wonder and delight,
With clapping hands applaud the fight.
With fmiles, quoth Pug, if pranks like these
The giant apes of reafon please,
How would they wonder at our arts!
They must adore us for our parts.
High on the twig I've feen you cling,
Play, twift, and turn in airy ring;
How can thefe clumfy things, like me,
Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
But yet, by this applaufe, we find
Thefe emulators of our kind
Difcern our worth, our parts regard,
Who our mean mimics thus reward.
Brother, the grinning mate replies,
In this I grant that man is wife,
While good example they pursue,
We must allow fome praife is due;
But when they ftrain beyond their guide,
I laugh to fcorn the mimic pride:
For how fantaftic is the fight,
To meet men always bolt upright,
Because we fometimes walk on two!
I hate the imitating crew.
XLII. The OWL and the FARMER.
N Owl of grave deport and mein,
Who, like a Turk, was feldom feen,
Within a barn had chofe his ftation,
As fit for prey and contemplation:
Upon a beam aloft he fits,
And nods, and feems to think, by fits.
So have I feen a man of news
Or Poft-boy, or Gazette perufe,
Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound,
And fix the fate of Europe round.
Sheaves pil'd on fheaves hid all the floor:
At dawn of morn, to view his store,
The Farmer came. The hooting guest
His felf-importance thus expreft:
Reason in man is mere pretence
How weak, how fhallow is his fenfe!
To treat with 'fcorn the bird of night,
Declares his folly or his fpite;
Then too, how partial is his praife!
The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays,
To his ill-judging ears are fine,
And nightingale's are all divine:
But the more knowing feather'd race
See wifdom ftamp'd upon my face.
Whene'er to vifit light I deign,
What flocks of fowl compofe my train!
Like flaves, they crowd my flight behind,
And own me of fuperior kind.
The Farmer laugh'd, and thus reply'd:
Thou dull, important lump of pride,
Dar'st thou, with that harfh, grating tongue,
Depreciate birds of warbling fong?
Indulge thy fpleen. Know, men and fowl
Regard thee, as thou art, an owl:
Befides, proud blockhead, be not vain
Of what thou call'ft thy flaves and train;
Few follow wifdom, or her rules,
Fools in derifion follow fools.
XLIII. The JUGGLERS.
Juggler, long thro' all the town
Had rais'd his fortune and renown;
You'd think, fo far his art tranfcends,
The Devil at his finger ends.
Vice heard his fame, fhe read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior fkill,
She fought his booth, and from the crowd
Defy'd the Man of Art aloud :
Is this then he fo fam'd for flight?
Can this flow bungler cheat your fight?
Dares he with me difpute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes.
Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, 'tis done;
In fcience I fubmit to none.
Thus faid. The cups and balls he play'd,
By turns, this here, that there, convey'd;
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds;
His little boxes change the grain,
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he fhows all fair,
His fingers fpread, and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with fhowers of gold,
And now his iv'ry eggs are told;
But when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd fpectators hum applaufe........
Vice now step'd forth and took the place,
With all the forms of his grimace.
This magic looking-glafs, the cries,
(There, hand it round) will charm your eyes.
Each eager eye the fight defir'd,
And every man himself admir'd.
Next, to a fenator addreffing,
See this bank-note: Obferve the bleffing:
Breathe on the bill. Heigh, pafs! 'Tis gone.
Upon his lips a padlock fhone;
The fecond puff the magic broke,
The padlock vanifh'd, and he spoke.
Twelve bottles rang'd upon the board,
All full, with heady liquor ftor'd,
By clean conveyance dilappear,
And now two bloody fwords are there.
A purfe fhe to a thief expos'd,
At once his ready fingers clos'd;
He opes his fift, the treasure's fled,
He fees a halter in its ftead.
She bids ambition hold a wand,
He grafps a hatchet in his hand.
A box of charity fhe fhows:
Blow here; and a churchwarden blows,
'Tis vanif'd with conveyance neat,
And on the table fmokes a treat.
She shakes the dice, the board the knocks,
And from all pockets fills her box.
She next a meagre rake addrest:
This picture fee,-her shape, her breast!
What youth, and what inviting eyes!
Hold her, and have her. With furprize,
His hand expos'd a box of pills,
And a loud laugh proclaim'd his ills.
A counter, in a mifer's hand,
Grew twenty guineas at command;
She bids, his heir the fum retain,
And 'tis a counter now again.
A guinea with her touch you fee,
Take every fhape but charity;
And not one thing you faw or drew,
But chang'd from what was first in view.
The Juggler now, in grief of heart,
With his fubmiflion own'd her art.
Can I fuch matchlefs flight withstand?
How practice hath improv'd your hand?
But now and then I cheat the throng,
You every day,-and all day long.
XLIV. The COUNCIL of HORSES.
PON a time a neighing Steed,
Who graz'd among a num'rous breed,
With mutiny had fir'd the train,
And fpread diffention thro' the plain.
On matters that concern'd the state
The council met in grand debate,
A Colt whofe eyeballs flam'd with ire,
Elate with ftrength and youthful fire,
In hafte ftept forth before the reft,
And thus the lift'ning throng addreft:
Good Gods! how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to flav'ry and difgrace!
Shall we our fervitude retain,
Because our fires have borne the chain?
Confider, friends, your ftrength and might;
'Tis conqueft to affert your right.
How cumb'rous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we defign'd for daily toil?
To drag the ploughfhare thro' the foil?
To fweat in harnefs thro' the road?
To groan beneath the carrier's load?
How feeble are the two-legg'd kind!
What force is in our nerves combin'd!
Shall then our nobler jaws fubmit
To foam and champ the galling bit?
Shall haughty man my back beftride?
Shall the tharp fpur provoke my fide?
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