The goat remark'd her pulfe was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye:
My back, fays he, may do you harm;
The fheep's at hand, and wool is warm.
The fheep was feeble, and complain'd
His fides a load of wool fuftain'd,
Said he was flow, confeft his fears;
For hounds eat fheep as well as hares.
She now the trotting calf addreft,
To fave from death a friend diftreft.
Shall I, fays he, of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler paft you bye;
How ftrong are thofe ! how weak am I !
Should I prefume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine might take offence,
Excufe me then. You know my heart.
But dearest friends, alas, muft part!
How fhall we all lament! Adieu.
For fee the hounds are juft in view.

KNOW you Lawyers can with eafe,
Twift words and meanings as you please;
That language, by your fkill made pliant,
Will bend to favour every client;
That 'tis the fee directs the fenfe
To make out either fide's pretence.
When you perufe the cleareft cafe,
You fee it with a double facé;
For fcepticism's your profeffion :
You hold there's doubt in all expreffion.
Hence is the bar with fees fupply'd;
Hence eloquence takes cither fide:
Your hand would have but paltry gleaning,
Could every man exprefs his meaning.

Who

Who dares prefume to pen a deed,
Unless you previously are fee'd?
'Tis drawn; and to augment the coft,
In dull prolixity engroft:

And now we're well fecur'd 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, fe defendendo,
I bar fallacious inuendo.

Sagacious Porta's fkill could trace Some beaft or bird in every face; The head, the eye, the nofe's thape, Prov'd this an owl, and that an ape. When, in the fketches thus defign'd, Refemblance brings fome friend to mind, You fhow 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 gen'ral nature; Is't I or you, then fix the fatire?

So, Sir, I beg you fpare your pains, In making comments on my ftrains; All private flander I deteft,

I judge not of my neighbour's breast;
Party and prejudice I hate,

And write no libels on the state.

Shall not my Fable cenfure vice,
Because a knave is over-nice?

And, left the guilty hear and dread,
Shall not the Decalogue be read?
If I lafh vice in gen'ral fiction,
Is't I apply or felf-conviction?
Brutes are my theme: Am I to blame,
If Men in morals are the fame ?

I no man call or ape or afs,

'Tis his own confcience holds the glass.
Thus void of all offence I write;
Who claims the Fable, knows his right.
A Shepherd's Dog, unfkill'd in fports,
Pick'd up acquaintance of all forts;
Among the reft, a Fox he knew,
By frequent chat their friendship grew.
Says Reynard, 'Tis a cruel cafe,
That man fhould ftigmatize 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 honeft men and true.
Thus flander tries, whate'er it can,
To put us on the foot with man.
Let my own actions recommend,
No prejudice can blind a friend
You know me free from all difguife,
My honour as my life I prize.

;

By talk like this, from all mistrust
The Dog was cur'd, and thought him juft.
As on a time the Fox held forth,
On confcience, honefty, and worth,
Sudden he ftopp'd, he cock'd his ear;
Low dropt his bushy tail with fear.

Blefs us the hunters are abroad:
What's all that clatter on the road?
Hold, fays the Dog, we're safe from harm,
'Twas nothing but a falfe alarm.
At yonder town 'tis market-day,
Some farmer's wife is in the way;
'Tis fo, (I know her pyeball'd mare)
Dame Dobbins with her poultry ware.
Reynard grew huff. Says he, I his fneer
From you I little thought to hear;
Your meaning in your looks I fee:
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 fo captious? Why fo warm?
My words, in common acceptation,
Could never give this provocation.
No lamb (for ought I ever knew)
May be more innocent than you.

At this gall'd Reynard winc'd and fwore,
Such language ne'er was given before.
What's lamb to me? This faucy hint
Shews me bafe knave, which way you fquint.
If t'other night your mafter loft
Three lambs, am I to pay the cost?
Your vile reflections would imply
That I'm the thief. You Dog, you lie.
Thou knave, thou fool, (the Dog reply'd)
The name is juft, take either fide;
Thy guilt thefe applications fpeak,
Sirrah, 'tis confcience makes you fqueak.
So faying, on the Fox he flies;

The felt-convicted felon dies.

LIII.

'ER

The VULTURE, the SPARROW, and the other
BIRDS.

To a FRIEND in the Country.

RE I begin, I must premife,
Our minifters are good and wife;
So, though malicious tongues apply,
Pray, what care they, or what care I?
If I am free with courts, be't known,
I ne'er prefume to mean our own.
If gen'ral morals feem to joke
On minifters, and fuch like folk,

A captious fool may take offence,
What then? He knows his own pretence.
I meddle with no ftate affairs,
But fpare my jeft to fave my ears.
Our prefent fchemes are too profound
For Machiavel himself to found:
To cenfure 'em I've no pretenfion,
I own they're paft my comprehenfion.
You fay your brother wants a place,
('Tis many a younger brother's cafe)
And that he very foon intends

To ply the court and teaze his friends.
If there his merits chance to find
A patriot of an open mind,

Whofe conftant actions prove him juft
To both a king's and people's truft,
May he with gratitude attend,
And owe his rife to fuch a friend.
You praife his parts for bus'nefs fit,
His learning, probity, and wit;
But thofe alone will never do,
Unless his patron have 'em too.

I've heard of times (pray God defend us,
We're not fo good but he can mend us)
When wicked minifters have trod
On kings and people, law and God;
With arrogance they girt the throne,
And knew no int'reft but their own.
Then virtue, from preferment barr'd,
Gets nothing but its own reward.
A gang of petty knives attend 'em,
With proper parts to recommend 'em :
Then, if his patron burn with luft,
The first in favour's pimp the firft.
His doors are never clos'd, he fpies
Who chear his heart with double lies:
They flatter him, his foes defame,
So lull the pangs of guilt and fhame.