For what you speak and what you write,
Dread you at once and bear you spite.
Such freedoms in your works are fhewn,
They can't enjoy what's not their own.
All dunces too in church and state
In frothy nonfenfe fhew their hate,
With all the petty fcribbling crew,
(And those pert fots are not a few)
'Gainft you and Pope their envy fpurt.
The bookfellers alone are hurt.

Good Gods! by what a powerful race
(For blockheads may have pow'r and place)
Are fcandals rais'd, and libels writ,
To prove your honefty and wit!

Think with yourfelf: Thofe worthy men
You know have fuffer'd by your pen;
From them you've nothing but your due.
From hence 'tis plain, your friends are few:
Except myself, I know of none,
Befides the wife and good alone.
To fet the cafe in fairer light,
My fable fhall the reft recite;
Which (though unlike our present state)
I for the moral's fake relate.

A Bee, of cunning, not of parts,
Luxurious, negligent of arts,
Rapacious, arrogant, and vain,
Greedy of pow'r, but more of gain,
Corruption fow'd throughout the hive.
By petty rogues the great ones thrive.
As pow'r and wealth his views fupply'd,
"Twas feen in overbearing pride;
With him loud impudence and merit,
The Bee of confcience wanted spirit;
And those who followed honour's rules
Were laugh'd to fcorn for fqueamish fools:
Wealth claim'd diftinction, favour, grace,
And poverty alone was bafe;

He

He treated induftry with flight,
Unless he found his profit by't:
Rights, laws, and liberties gave way,
To bring his felfifh fchemes in play:
The fwarm forgot the common toil,
To fhare the gleanings of his fpoil.
While vulgar fouls, of narrow parts,
Waste life in low mechanic arts,
Let us, fays he, to genius born,
The drudg'ry of our fathers fcorn.
The Wafp and Drone, you must agree,
Live with more elegance than we;
Like gentlemen they fport and play,
No bus'nefs interrupts the day;
Their hours to luxury they give,
And nobly on their neighbours live.
A ftubborn Bee among the fwarm,
With honeft indignation warm,
Thus from his cell with zeal reply'd:

I flight thy frowns, and hate thy pride,
The laws our native rights protect;
Offending thee, I thofe refpect.
Shall luxury corrupt the hive,
And none against the torrent strive?
Exert the honour of your race;
He builds his rife on your difgrace.
'Tis induftry your ftate maintains:
'Twas honeft toils and honest gains
That rais'd our fires to pow'r and fame.
Be virtuous; fave yourselves from fhame:
Know, that in selfish ends pursuing,
You fcramble for the public ruin.

He fpoke; and from his cell difmifs'd,
Was infolently fcoff'd and hiss'd.
With him a friend or two refign'd,
Difdaining the degen'rate kind.

Thofe drones, fays he, thefe infects vile, (I treat them in their proper ftile)

May

May for a time opprefs the state,
They own our virtue by their hate;
By that our merits they reveal,
And recommend our public zeal;
Difgrac'd by this corrupted crew,
We're honour'd by the virtuous few.

LXI. The PACK-HORSE and the CARRIER.

BE

To a Young Nobleman.

EGIN, my Lord, in early youth,
To fuffer, nay, encourage truth;
And blame me not for difrefpect,
If I the flatt'rers ftile reject;
With that, by menial tongues- fupply'd,
You're daily cocker'd up in pride.
The tree's diftinguith'd by the fruit:
Be virtue then your first purfuit;
Set your great ancestors in view,
Like them deferve the title too :
Like them ignoble actions fcorn,
Let virtue prove you greatly born.

Tho' with lefs plate their fideboards fhone,
Their confcience always was their own;
They ne'er at levees meanly fawn'd,
Nor was their honour yearly pawn'd;
Their hands, by no corruption ftain'd,
The minifterial bribe difdain'd;
They ferv'd the crown with loyal zeal,
Yet jealous of the public weal;
They ftood the bulwark of our laws,
And wore at heart their country's caufe;
By neither place or penfion bought,
They spoke and voted as they thought.
Thus did your fires adorn their feat;
And fuch alone are truly great.

If you the paths of learning flight,
You're but a dunce in ftronger light:
In foremost rank the coward plac'd,
Is more confpicuously disgrac'd.
If you, to ferve a paltry end,
To knavifh jobs can condefcend,
We pay you the contempt that's due;
In that you have precedence too.

Whence had you this illuftrious name?
From virtue and unblemish'd fame.
By birth alone the name defcends;
Your honour on yourself depends.
Think not your coronet can hide
Affuming ignorance and pride:
Learning by ftudy must be won,
"Twas ne'er entail'd from fon to fon.
Superior worth your rank requires,
For that mankind reveres your fires:
If you degen'rate from your race,
Their merits heighten your difgrace.

A Carrier every night and morn,
Would fee his horfes eat their corn:
This funk the hoftler's vails, 'tis true,
But then his horfes had their due.
Were we fo cautious in all cafes,
Small gain would rife from greater places.
The manger now had all its mealure,
He heard the grinding teeth with pleasure;
When all at once confufion rung,
They fnorted, joftled, bit, and flung.
A Pack-horfe turn'd his head afide,
Foaming, his eyeballs fwell'd with pride.
Good Gods! fays he, how hard's my lot!
Is then my high defcent forgot?
Reduc'd to drudg'ry and difgrace,
(A life unworthy of my race)
Mult I too bear the vile attacks
Of ragged fcrubs and vulgar hacks?

See

See fcurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred,
Dares from the manger thruft my head!
Shall I, who boaft a noble line,
On offalls of thefe creatures dine?
Kick'd by old Ball! fo mean a foe!
My honour fuffers by the blow;
Newmarket fpeaks my grandfire's fame,
All jockies ftill revere his name :
There yearly are his triumphs told,
There all his maffy plates enroll'd:
Whene'er led forth upon the plain,
You faw him with a liv'ry train;
Returning too, with laurels crown'd,
You heard the drums and trumpets found.
Let it then, Sir, be understood,
Refpect's my due, for I have blood.
Vain-glorious fool, the Carrier cry'd,
Refpect was never paid to pride.
Know, 'twas thy giddy, wilful heart,
Reduc'd thee to this flavish part.
Did not thy headstrong youth difdain
To learn the conduct of the rein?
Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
In vicious frolics fancy fpirit.
What is't to me by whom begot?
Thou reftive, pert, conceited fot.
Your fires I rev'rence, 'tis their due;.
But, worthlefs fool, what's that to you?
Afk all the carriers on the road,
They'll fay thy keeping's ill beftow'd.
Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
That neither mends thy ftrength nor pace.
What profits me thy boaft of blood?
An afs hath more intrinfic good.
By outward fhow let's not be cheated;
An afs fhould like an afs be treated.