Decreed to toil, the barbarous knife
Hath fever'd me from focial life;
Urg'd by the ftimulating goad,
I drag the cumbrous waggon's load: "Tis mine to tame the stubborn 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 poft,
Shall turn the spit when I'm the roaft;
And for reward shall share the feast,
I mean, fhall pick my bones at leaft.”
"Till now, th' aftonish'd Cur replies,
I look'd on all with envious eyes.
How false we judge by what appears!
All creatures feel their feveral cares.
If thus yon' mighty beast complains;
Perhaps man knows fuperior pains,
Let envy then no more torment:
Think on the Ox, and learn content.'
Thus faid, close following at her heel,
With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel.
THE RAVEN, THE SEXTON, AND THE EARTH
LAURA, methinks you 're over-nice.
True; flattery is a fhocking vice:
Yet fure, whene'er the praife is juft,
One may commend without difguft.
Am I a privilege deny'd,
Indulg'd by every tongue befide?.
How fingular are all your ways!
A woman, and averse to praise!
If 'tis offence fuch truths to tell,
Why do your merits thus excel?
Since then I dare not speak my mind,
A truth confpicuous to mankind;
Though in full luftre every grace
Diftinguish your celestial face;
Though beauties of inferior ray
(Like ftars before the orb of day)
Turn pale and fade; I check my lays,
Admiring what I dare not praise.
If you the tribute due difdain,
The Mufe's mortifying strain
Shall, like a woman in mere spite,
Set beauty in a moral light.
Though fuch revenge might shock the ear
Of many a celebrated fair,
I mean that fuperficial race
Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face;
What's that to you? I but difplease
Such ever-girlish ears as these.
Virtue can brook the thoughts of age,
That lafts the fame through every stage.
Though you by time muft fuffer more
Than ever woman loft before,
To age is fuch indifference fhown,
As if your face were not your own.
Were you by Antoninus taught?
Or is it native ftrength of thought
That thus, without concern or fright,
You view yourself by Reason's light?
Those eyes, of fo divine a ray,
What are they? Mouldering, mortal clay.
Those features, caft in heavenly mould,
Shall, like my coarser earth, grow old;
Like common grafs, the fairest flower
Muft feel the hoary feason's power.
How weak, how vain, is human pride!
Dares man upon himself confide?
The wretch, who glories in his gain,
Amaffes heaps on heaps in vain.
Why lose we life in anxious cares,
To lay-in hoards for future years?
Can thofe (when tortur'd by disease)
Cheer our fick heart, or purchase ease?
Can those prolong one gafp of breath,
Or calm the troubled hour of death?
VOL. XXXVII.
What's beauty? Call ye that your A flower that fades as foon as blown. What's man in all his boast of sway? Perhaps the tyrant of a day.
Alike the laws of life take place
Through every branch of human race.
The monarch of long regal line
Was rais'd from duft as frail as mine.
Can he pour health into his veins,
Or cool the fever's restless pains?
Can he (worn down in Nature's course)
New-brace his feeble nerves with force?
Can he (how vain is mortal power!)
Stretch life beyond the deftin'd hour?
Confider, Man; weigh well thy frame;
The king, the beggar, is the fame.
Duft form'd us all. Each breathes his day,
Then fmks into his native clay.
Beneath a venerable yew,
That in the lonely church-yard grew,
Two Ravens fate. In folemn croak
Thus one his hungry friend bespoke.
"Methinks I scent some rich repast;
The favour ftrengthens with the blast;
Snuff then, the promis'd feaft inhale;
I taste the carcafe in the gale.
Near yonder trees, the farmer's steed,
From toil and every drudgery freed,
Hath groan'd his laft. A dainty treat!
To birds of tafte, delicious meat!"
A Sexton, busy at his trade,
To hear their chat suspends his spade.
Death ftruck him with no farther thought,
Than merely as the fees he brought.
"Was ever two fuch blundering fowls,
In brains and manners less than owls!
Blockheads, fays he, learn more refpect:
Know ye on whom ye thus reflect ?
In this fame grave (who does me right,
Must own the work is ftrong and tight)
The 'Squire, that yon' fair hall poffeft,
To-night shall lay his bones at reft.
Whence could the grofs miftake proceed?
The 'Squire was somewhat fat indeed.
What then? the meaneft bird of prey
Such want of fense could ne'er betray;
For fure some difference must be found
(Suppose the smelling organ found)
In carcaffes (fay what we can),
Or where's the dignity of man?”
With due respect to human race,
The Ravens undertook the case.
In fuch fimilitude of scent,
Man ne'er could think reflections meant.
As epicures extol a treat,
And seem their favoury words to eat,
They prais'd dead horfe, luxurious food!
The venison of the prefcient brood.
The Sexton's indignation, mov'd,
The mean comparison reprov'd;
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