Seem only to regard your friends, Be prompt to lie, whene'er 'tis fit. Now, warm'd with malice, envy, spite, Studious of every coxcomb's airs, He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and swears; O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts, For vice is fitted to his parts. THE Sage, awaked at early day, To shun the hateful sight of man. FABLE XV. "Whence is this dread of every creature? Than man, of animals the worst: A vice peculiar to the kind. The sheep, whose annual fleece is dyed The swarms who, with industrious skill, What tribute from the goose is paid! Does not her wing all science aid? Does it not lovers' hearts explain, And drudge to raise the merchant's ́gain? He takes the quills, and eats the goose. Man then avoid, detest his ways, Be sure we Pheasants must be spitted." A PIN who long had served a beauty, Had form'd her sleeve, confined her hair, At length, from all her honours cast, |