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?
What now rewards this general use?
He takes the quills, and eats the goofe.
Man then avoid, deteft his ways,
So fafety shall prolong your days.
When fervices are thus acquitted,
Be fure we Pheasants must be fpitted."

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A

THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE.

PIN who long had ferv'd a beauty,
Proficient in the toilette's duty,

Had form'd her fleeve, confin'd her hair,
Or given her knot a smarter air,
Now nearest to her heart was plac'd,
Now in her manteau's tail disgrac❜d:
But could fhe partial Fortune blame,
Who faw her lovers ferv'd the fame?

At length from all her honours caft,
Through various turns of life she past;
Now glitter'd on a taylor's arm,
Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
Now, rang'd within a miser's coat,
Contributes to his yearly groat;
Now, rais'd again from low approach,
She vifits in the doctor's coach:

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Here,

Here, there, by various fortune toft,
At laft in Grefham-hall was loft.
Charm'd with the wonders of the show,
On every fide, above, below,

She now of this or that enquires,

What leaft was understood admires.

'Tis plain, each thing fo ftruck her mind, Her head's of virtuofo kind.

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"And pray what's this, and this, dear Sir?" 25 "A Needle," fays th' interpreter.

She knew the name; and thus the fool
Addrefs'd her as a tailor's tool.

"A Needle with that filthy ftone,
Quite idle, all with ruft o'ergrown;
You better might employ your parts,
And aid the fempstress in her arts;
But tell me how the friendship grew
Between that paltry flint and you."

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"Friend, fays the Needle, ceafe to blame; 35

I follow real worth and fame.

Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,

That virtue virtues can impart?

Of all his talents I partake:

What had I been? the guide of thread,

And

And drudg'd as vulgar Needles do,

Of no more confequence than you."

FABLE

XVII.

THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.

A

WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold,

Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold;

Deep in the wood fecure he lay,

The thefts of night regal'd the day.

In vain the shepherd's wakeful care

Had spread the toils, and watch'd the snare ;
In vain the Dog pursued his pace,

The fleeter robber mock'd the chace.

As Lightfoot rang'd the foreft round, By chance his foe's retreat he found.

Let

us a while the war suspend,

And reafon as from friend to friend.

"A truce?" replies the Wolf. 'Tis done. The Dog the parley thus begun.

"How can that strong intrepid mind
Attack a weak defenceless kind?
Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lion's blood.
Great fouls with generous pity melt,
Which coward tyrants never felt.
How harmless is our fleecy care!
Be brave, and let thy mercy fpare."

"Friend, fays the Wolf, the matter weigh;

Nature defign'd us beafts of prey;

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As

As fuch, when hunger finds a treat,
'Tis neceffary wolves should eat.
If, mindful of the bleating weal,
Thy bofom burn with real zeal,
Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech;
To him repeat the moving speech:
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then,
Ten thousands are devour'd by men.
An open foe may prove a curse,
But a pretended friend is worse."

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THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY.

AND EVERY BODY.

LEST men fufpect your tale untrue,

Keep probability in view.

The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.

Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes even his real courage doubted.
But flattery never seems abfurd;
The flatter'd always take your word:
Impoffibilities feem juft;

They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er fo great,
Will ftill come short of self-conceit.

So very
like a Painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;

He hit complexion, feature, air,
So juft, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom reftor'd the faded maid;

He
gave each muscle all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nofe's length;
His honeft pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.

He loft his friends, his practice fail'd;
Truth should not always be reveal'd :
In dufty piles his pictures lay,
For no one fent the second pay.
Two buftos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He plac'd in view; refolv'd to please,
Whoever fat he drew from these,
From thefe corrected every feature,
And spirited each aukward creature.

All things were fet; the hour was come,

His palette ready o'er his thumb.

T

The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,

Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;

Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;

The features, fraught with fenfe and wit,
You'll grant, are very hard to hit ;

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But