Provided that his clerk was good,
What though he nothing understood?
In church and ftate, the forry race
Grew more confpicuous fools in place.
Such heads as then a treaty made,
Had bungled in the cobler's trade.
Confider, patrons, that fuch elves
Expofe your folly with themfelves;
'I is yours, as 'tis the parents' care,
To fix each genius in its fphere.
Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
But never give a blockhead sense.
An Owl of magisterial air,

Of folemn voice, of brow auftere,
Affum'd the pride of human race,
And bore his wifdom in his face:
Not to depreciate learned eyes,
I've feen a pedant look as wife.

Within a barn from noife retir'd,
He fcorn'd the world, himfelf admir'd,
And, like an ancient fage, conceal'd
The follies public life reveal'd.
Philofophers of old, he read,
Their country's youth to fcience bred;
Their manners form'd for ev'ry station,
And deftin'd each his occupation.
When Xenephon, by numbers brav'd,
Retreated, and a people fav'd,

That laurel was not all his own;
The plant by Socrates was fown.
To Ariftotle's greater name,
The Macedonian ow'd his fame.

Th' Athenian bird, with pride replete,
Their talents equall'd in conceit;
And, copying the Socratic rule,
Set up for master of a school.
Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart,
Trite fentences, hard terms of art,

To vulgar ears feem'd fo profound,
They fancy'd learning in the found.

The fchool had fame; the crouded place
With pupils fwarm'd of ev'ry race.
With thefe the Swan's maternal care
And fent her fcarce-fledg'd cygnet heir:
The Hen, though fond and loth to part,
Here lodg'd the darling of her heart:
The Spider, of mechanic kind,
Afpir'd to fcience more refin'd:
The Afs learnt metaphors and tropes,
But most on mufic fix'd his hopes.
The pupils now, advanc'd in age,
Were call'd. to tread life's bufy ftage;
And to the mafter 'twas fubmitted,
That each might to his part be fitted.
The Swan, fays he, in arms fhall fhine;
The foldier's glorious toil be thine.
The Cock fhall mighty wealth attain;
Go, feek it on the ftormy main.

The court fhall be the Spider's sphere;
Pow'r, fortune, fhall reward him there.
In mufic's art the Afs's fame

Shall emulate Corelli's name.

Each took the part that he advis'd, And all were equally defpis'd.

A Farmer, at his folly mov'd,

The dull Preceptor thus reprov'd.

Blockhead, fays he, by what you've done, One would have thought 'em each your fon; For parents, to their offspring blind,

Confult nor parts nor turn of mind;

But ev'n in infancy decree

What this, what t'other fon fhall be.
Had you with judgment weigh'd the cafe,
Their genius thus had fix'd their place:
The Swan had learnt the failor's art,
The Cock had play'd the foldier's part,

U 2

The

The Spider in the weaver's trade
With credit had a fortune made;
But for the foal, in ev'ry clafs
The blockhead had appear'd an Afs.

LXV.

C

The COOK-MAID, the TURNSPIT, and the Ox.
To a POOR MAN.

ONSIDER man in ev'ry fphere;
Then tell me, is your lot fevere?

'I is murmur, difcontent, diftruft,

That makes you wretched. God is just.
I grant that hunger must be fed,
That toil too earns thy daily bread.

What then? thy wants are feen and known;
But ev'ry mortal feels his own.

We're born a restlefs, needy crew:

Show me the happier man than you.
Adam, though bleft above his kind,
For want of focial woman pin'd:
Eve's wants the fubtle ferpent faw;
Her fickle tafte tranfgrefs'd the law:
Thus fell our fire; and their difgrace
The curfe entail'd on human race.

When Philip's fon by glory led,
Had o'er the globe his empire fpread;
When altars to his name were dreft,
That he was man his tears confeft.
The hopes of avarice are check'd;
The proud man always wants refpect.
What various wants on pow'r attend?
Ambition never gains its end.

Who hath not heard the rich complain
Of furfeits and corporeal pain?

He, barr'd from ev'ry ufe of wealth,
Envies the plowman's ftrength and health:

Ano

Another in a beauteous wife
Finds all the miferies of life;
Domeftic jars and jealous fear
Embitter all his days with care.
This wants an heir,-the line is loft:
Why was that vain entail engrost?
Canft thou difcern another's mind?
What is't you envy? Envy's blind.
Tell Envy, when the would annoy,
That thousands want what you enjoy.
The dinner must be difh'd at one:
Where's this vexatious Turnfpit gone?
Unless the skulking cur is caught,
The fir-loin's fpoil'd, and I'm in fault.
Thus faid; (for fure you'll think it fit
That I the Cook-maid's oaths omit)
With all the fury of a cook,

Her cooler kitchen Nan forfook;

The broomstick o'er her head fhe waves,
She fweats, the ftamps, fhe puffs, fhe raves;
The fneaking Cur before her flies,
She whistles, calls, fair fpeech fhe tries,
Thefe nought avail; her choler burns,
The fift and cudgel threat by turns;
With hafty ftride fhe preffes near,
He flinks aloof, and howls with fear.
Was ever Cur fo curs'd, he cry'd,
What ftar did at my birth prefide?
Am I for life by compact bound
To tread the wheel's eternal round?
Inglorious task! Of all our race,
No flave is half fo mean and base.
Had Fate a kinder lot affign'd,
And form'd me of the lap-dog kind,
I then, in higher life employ'd,
Had indolence and eafe enjoy'd,
And, like a gentleman careft,
Had been the lady's fav'rite gueft.

Or were I fprung from fpaniel line,
Was his fagacious noftril mine,
By me, their never erring guide,
From wood and plain their feafts supply'd,
Knights, fquires, attendant on my pace,
Had fhar'd the pleafures of the chace.
Endu'd with native ftrength and fire,
Why call'd I not the lion fire;
A lion! fuch mean views I fcorn,
Why was I not of woman born?
Who dares with reafon's pow'r contend?
On man we brutal flaves depend;
To him all creatures tribute pay,
And luxury employs his day.

An Ox by chance o'erheard his moan,
And thus rebuk'd the lazy drone:

Dare you at partial Fate repine?
How kind's your lot compar'd with mine!
Decreed to toil, the barb'rous knife
Hath fever'd me from focial life;
Urg'd by the ftimulating goad,

I drag the cumb'rous waggon's load:
'Tis mine to tame the ftubborn plain,
Break the ftiff foil, and house the grain;
Yet I without a murmur bear

The various labours of the year:
But then confider, that one day,
(Perhaps the hour's not far away)
You, by the duties of your post,
Shall turn the fpit when I'm the roaft;
And for reward fhall fhare the feast,
I mean fhall pick my bones at least.

'Till now, th' aftonish'd Cur replies,
I look'd on all with envious eyes;
How falfe we judge by what appears!
All creatures feel their fev'ral cares.
If thus yon mighty beaft complains,
Perhaps man knows fuperior pains.

Let