Whoever offers himself for sale to both sides, will live a life of disgrace, hateful to them both.

FABLE XIX.

THE NIGHTINGALE, THE HAWK, AND THE FOWLER.

While a Hawk was sitting in a Nightingale's nest, on the watch for a Hare, he found there some young ones. The Mother, alarmed at the danger of her offspring, flew up, and suppliantly entreated him to spare her young ones. "I will do what you wish," he replied, "if you will sing me a tuneful song with a clear voice." On this, much as her heart failed her, still, through fear, she obeyed, and being compelled, full of grief she sang. The Hawk, who had seized the prey, {then} said: "You have not sung your best;" and, seizing one of the young ones with his claws, began to devour it. A Fowler approaches from another direction, and stealthily extending his reed,[5] touches the perfidious {creature} with bird-lime, and drags him to the ground.

Whoever lays crafty stratagems for others, ought to beware that he himself be not entrapped by cunning.

[Footnote AF.5: Extending his reed)—Ver. 13. From this it would appear, that fowlers stood behind trees, and used reeds tipped with birdlime, for the purpose of taking birds.]

FABLE XX.

THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE SHEPHERD.

A Wolf, in the course of time, had collected a store in his den, that he might have food, which he might enjoy at his ease for many months. A Fox, on learning this, went to the Wolf's den, and {said} with tremulous voice: "Is all right, brother? For not having seen you on the look-out for prey in your woods, life has been saddened every day." The Wolf, when he perceived the envy of his rival, {replied}: "You have not come hither from any anxiety on my account, but that you may get a share. I know what is your deceitful aim." The Fox enraged, comes to a Shepherd, {and} says: "Shepherd, will you return me thanks, if to-day I deliver up to you the enemy of your flock, so that you need have no more anxiety?" The Shepherd {replied}: "I will serve you, and will with pleasure give you anything you like." She points out the Wolf's den to the Shepherd, who shuts him in, despatches him immediately with a spear, and gladly gratifies his rival with the property of another. When, however, the Fox had fallen into the Hunter's hands, being caught and mangled by the Dogs, she said: "Hardly have I done an injury to another, ere I am now punished {myself}."

Whoever ventures to injure another, ought to beware lest a greater evil befall himself.

FABLE XXI.

THE SHEEP AND THE WOLVES.

When the Sheep and the Wolves[6] engaged in battle, the former, safe under the protection of the dogs, were victorious. The Wolves sent ambassadors, and demanded a peace, ratified on oath, on these terms; that the Sheep should give up the Dogs, and receive as hostages the whelps of the Wolves. The Sheep, hoping that lasting concord would be thus secured, did as the Wolves demanded. Shortly after, when the whelps began to howl, the Wolves, alleging as a pretext, that their young ones were being murdered, and that the peace had been broken by the Sheep, made a simultaneous rush on every side, and attacked the latter {thus} deprived of protectors; {and} so a late repentance condemned their folly in putting faith in their enemies.

If a person gives up to others the safeguard under which he has previously lived in security, he will afterwards wish it back, but in vain.

[Footnote AF.6: The Sheep and the Wolves)—Ver. 1. Demosthenes is said to have related this Fable to the Athenians, when dissuading them from surrendering the Orators to Alexander.]

FABLE XXII.

THE APE AND THE FOX.

An Ape asked a Fox to spare him some part of her exceeding length of tail, with which he might be enabled to cover his most unseemly hinder parts. "For of what use," said he, "is a tail of such extraordinary length? For what purpose do you drag such a vast weight along the ground?" The Fox {answered}: "Even if it were longer, and much bulkier, I would rather drag it along the ground and through mud and thorns, than give you a part; that you might not appear more comely through what covers me."

Greedy and rich {man}, this Fable has a lesson for you, who, though you have a superabundance, still give nothing to the poor.

FABLE XXIII.

THE WOLF, THE SHEPHERD, AND THE HUNTSMAN.

A Wolf, flying from the Huntsman's close pursuit, was seen by a Shepherd, {who noticed} which way he fled, and in what spot he concealed himself. "Herdsman," {said} the terrified fugitive, "by all your hopes, do not, I do adjure you by the great Gods, betray an innocent being, who has done you no injury."

"Don't fear," the Shepherd replied; "I'll point in another direction." Soon after, the Huntsman comes up in haste: "Shepherd, have you not seen a Wolf come this way? Which way did he run?" The Shepherd replied, in a loud voice: "He certainly did come, but he fled to the left," but he secretly motioned with his eyes towards the right. The other did not understand him, and went on in haste. Then {said} the Shepherd to the Wolf: "What thanks will you give me for having concealed you?" "To your tongue, I give especial ones," said the Wolf, "but on your deceitful eyes I pray that the darkness of eternal night may fall."

He who, courteous in his words, conceals deceit in his heart, may understand that he is himself described in this Fable.

FABLE XXIV.

THE TRUTHFUL MAN, THE LIAR, AND THE APES.

A Liar and a Truthful Man, while travelling together, chanced to come into the land of the Apes. One of the number, who had made himself King, seeing them, ordered them to be detained, that he might learn what men said of him, {and} at the same time he ordered all the Apes to stand in lengthened array on the right and left; and that a throne should be placed for himself, as he had formerly seen was the practice with the Kings among men. After this he questions the men {so} ordered to be brought before him: "What do you think of me, strangers?" "You seem to be a most mighty King," the Liar replied. "What of these whom you see now about me?" "These are ministers,[7] these are lieutenants, and leaders of troops." The Ape thus lyingly praised, together with his crew, orders a present to be given to the flatterer. On this the Truth-teller {remarked} to himself: "If so great the reward for lying, with what gifts shall I not be presented, if, according to my custom, I tell the truth?" The Ape then {turns} to the Truthful Man: "And what do you think of me and those whom you see standing before me?" He made answer: "You are a genuine Ape, and all these {are} Apes, who are like you." The King, enraged, ordered him to be torn with teeth and claws, because he had told the truth.

A courtly lie is praised by the wicked; plain-spoken truth brings destruction on the good.

[Footnote AF.7: Your ministers)—Ver. 13. "Comites" here seems to mean "ministers," in the sense in which the word was used in the times of the later Roman emperors.]

FABLE XXV.

THE MAN AND THE LION.

A Man was disputing with a Lion which was the stronger of the two, and while they were seeking evidence on the matter in dispute, they came at last to a sepulchre, on which {the human disputant} pointed out a Lion, depicted with his jaws rent asunder by a Man—a striking proof of superior strength. The Lion made answer: "This was painted by a human hand; if Lions knew how to paint, you would see the man undermost. But I will give a more convincing proof of our valour." He {accordingly} led the Man to some games,[8] where, calling his attention to men slain in reality by Lions, he said: "There is no need of the testimony of pictures here; real valour is shown by deeds."

{This} Fable teaches that liars use colouring in vain, when a sure test is produced.

[Footnote AF.8: Some games)—Ver. 9. "Spectaculum," or "venatio." These were exhibited by the wealthy Romans in the amphitheatre or circus, and on some occasions many hundred beasts were slain in one day. Of course, as here mentioned, their assailants would sometimes meet with an untimely end.]

FABLE XXVI.

THE STORK, THE GOOSE, AND THE HAWK.

A Stork, having come to a well-known pool, found a Goose diving frequently beneath the water, {and} enquired why she did so. The other replied: "This is our custom, and we find our food in the mud; and then, besides, we thus find safety, and escape the attack of the Hawk when he comes against us." "I am much stronger than the Hawk," said the Stork; "if you choose to make an alliance with me, you will be able victoriously to deride him." The Goose believing her, and immediately accepting her aid, goes with her into the fields: forthwith comes the Hawk, and seizes the Goose in his remorseless claws and devours her, while the Stork flies off. The Goose {called out after her}: "He who trusts himself to so weak a protector, deserves to come to a still worse end."

FABLE XXVII.

THE SHEEP AND THE CROW.

A Crow, sitting at her ease upon a Sheep's back, pecked her with her beak. After she had done this for a long time, the Sheep, so patient under injury, remarked: "If you had offered this affront to the Dog, you could not have endured his barking." But the Crow {thus answered} the Sheep: "I never sit on the neck of one so strong, as I know whom I may provoke; my years having taught me cunning, I am civil to the robust, but insolent to the defenceless. Of such a nature have the Gods thought fit to create me."

{This} Fable was written for those base persons who oppress the innocent, {and} fear to annoy the bold.

FABLE XXVIII.

THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER.

In winter time, an Ant was dragging forth from her hole, and drying, the grains which, in her foresight, she had collected during the summer. A Grasshopper, being hungry, begged her to give him something: the Ant {replied}: "What were you doing in summer?" The other {said}: "I had not leisure to think of the future: I was wandering through hedges and meadows, singing away." The Ant laughing, and carrying back the grains, said: "Very well, you who were singing away in the summer, dance in the winter."

Let the sluggard always labour at the proper time, lest when he has nothing, he beg in vain.

FABLE XXIX.

THE HORSE AND THE ASS.

An Ass asked a Horse for a little barley. "With all my heart," said he, "if I had more than I wanted, I would give you plenty, in accordance with my dignified position; but bye-and-bye, as soon as I shall have come to my manger in the evening, I will give you a sackful of wheat." The Ass replied: "If you now deny me on a trifling occasion, what am I to suppose you will do on one of greater importance?"

They who, while making great promises, refuse small favours, show that they are very tenacious of giving.

FABLE XXX.

THE OLD LION AND THE FOX.

Worn with years, a Lion pretended illness. Many Beasts came for the purpose of visiting the sick King, whom at once he devoured. But a wary Fox stood at a distance before the den, saluting the King. On the Lion asking her why she did not come in: "Because," {said she}, "I see many foot-marks of those who have gone in, but none of those who came out."

The dangers of others are generally of advantage to the wary.

FABLE XXXI.

THE CAMEL AND THE FLEA.

A Flea, chancing to sit on the back of a Camel who was going along weighed down with heavy burdens, was quite delighted with himself, as he appeared to be so much higher. After they had made a long journey, they came together in the evening to the stable. The Flea immediately exclaimed, skipping lightly to the ground: "See, I have got down directly, that I may not weary you any longer, {so} galled as you are." The Camel {replied}: "I thank you; but neither when you were on me did I find myself oppressed by your weight, nor do I feel myself at all lightened now you have dismounted."

He who, while he is of no standing, boasts to be of a lofty one, falls under contempt when he comes to be known.

FABLE XXXII.

THE KID AND THE WOLF.

A She-Goat, that she might keep her young one in safety, on going forth to feed, warned {her} heedless Kid not to open the door, because she knew that many wild beasts were prowling about the cattle stalls. When she was gone, there came a Wolf, imitating the voice of the dam, and ordered the door to be opened for him. When the Kid heard him, looking through a chink, he said to the Wolf: "I hear a sound like my Mother's {voice}, but you are a deceiver, and an enemy to me; under my Mother's voice you are seeking to drink my blood, and stuff yourself with my flesh. Farewell."

'Tis greatly to the credit of children to be obedient to their parents.

FABLE XXXIII.

THE POOR MAN AND THE SERPENT.

In the house of a certain Poor Man, a Serpent was always in the habit of coming to his table, and being fed there plentifully upon the crumbs. Shortly after, the Man becoming rich, he began to be angry with the Serpent, and wounded him with an axe. After the lapse of some time he returned to his former poverty. When he saw that like the varying lot of the Serpent, his own fortunes also changed, he coaxingly begged him to pardon the offence. Then said the Serpent to him: "You will repent of your wickedness until my wound is healed; don't suppose, however, that I take you henceforth with implicit confidence to be my friend. Still, I could wish to be reconciled with you, if only I could never recall to mind the perfidious axe."

He deserves to be suspected, who has once done an injury; and an intimacy with him is always to be renewed with caution.

FABLE XXXIV.

THE EAGLE AND THE KITE.

An Eagle was sitting on a branch with a Kite, in sorrowful mood. "Why," {said} the Kite, "do I see you with such a melancholy air?" "I am looking out," said she, "for a mate suited to myself, and cannot find one." "Take me," {said the Kite}, "who am so much stronger than you." "Well, are you able to get a living by what you can carry away?" "Many's the time that I have seized and carried off an ostrich in my talons." Induced by his words, the Eagle took him as her mate. A short time having passed after the nuptials, the Eagle {said}: "Go and carry off for me the booty you promised me." Soaring aloft, the Kite brings back a field-mouse, most filthy, and stinking from long-contracted mouldiness. "Is this," said the Eagle, "the performance of your promise?" The Kite replied to her: "That I might contract a marriage with royalty, there is nothing I would not have pledged myself to do, although I knew that I was unable."

Those who seek anxiously for partners of higher rank, painfully lament a deception that has united them to the worthless.

* * * * * * * * *

THE FABLES OF PHAEDRUS,

Translated Into English Verse By CHRISTOPHER SMART, A.M., Fellow Of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge.



BOOK I.

PROLOGUE.

What from the founder Esop fell, In neat familiar verse I tell: Twofold's the genius of the page, To make you smile and make you sage. But if the critics we displease, By wrangling brutes and talking trees, Let them remember, ere they blame, We're working neither sin nor shame; 'Tis but a play to form the youth By fiction, in the cause of truth.

FABLE I. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB.

By thirst incited; to the brook The Wolf and Lamb themselves betook. The Wolf high up the current drank, The Lamb far lower down the bank. Then, bent his rav'nous maw to cram, The Wolf took umbrage at the Lamb. "How dare you trouble all the flood, And mingle my good drink with mud?" "Sir," says the Lambkin, sore afraid, "How should I act, as you upbraid? The thing you mention cannot be, The stream descends from you to me." Abash'd by facts, says he, "I know 'Tis now exact six months ago You strove my honest fame to blot"— "Six months ago, sir, I was not." "Then 'twas th' old ram thy sire," he cried, And so he tore him, till he died. To those this fable I address Who are determined to oppress, And trump up any false pretence, But they will injure innocence.

II. THE FROGS DESIRING A KING.

With equal laws when Athens throve, The petulance of freedom drove Their state to license, which o'erthrew Those just restraints of old they knew. Hence, as a factious discontent Through every rank and order went, Pisistratus the tyrant form'd A party, and the fort he storm'd: Which yoke, while all bemoan'd in grief, (Not that he was a cruel chief, But they unused to be controll'd) Then Esop thus his fable told: The Frogs, a freeborn people made, From out their marsh with clamor pray'd That Jove a monarch would assign With power their manners to refine. The sovereign smiled, and on their bog Sent his petitioners a log, Which, as it dash'd upon the place, At first alarm'd the tim'rous race. But ere it long had lain to cool, One slily peep'd out of the pool, And finding it a king in jest, He boldly summon'd all the rest. Now, void of fear, the tribe advanced, And on the timber leap'd and danced, And having let their fury loose, In gross affronts and rank abuse, Of Jove they sought another king, For useless was this wooden thing. Then he a water-snake empower'd, Who one by one their race devour'd. They try to make escape in vain, Nor, dumb through fear, can they complain. By stealth they Mercury depute, That Jove would once more hear their suit, And send their sinking state to save; But he in wrath this answer gave: "You scorn'd the good king that you had, And therefore you shall bear the bad." Ye likewise, O Athenian friends, Convinced to what impatience tends, Though slavery be no common curse, Be still, for fear of worse and worse.

III. THE VAIN JACKDAW.

Lest any one himself should plume, And on his neighbour's worth presume; But still let Nature's garb prevail— Esop has left this little tale: A Daw, ambitious and absurd, Pick'd up the quills of Juno's bird; And, with the gorgeous spoil adorn'd, All his own sable brethren scorn'd, And join'd the peacocks—who in scoff Stripp'd the bold thief, and drove him off. The Daw, thus roughly handled, went To his own kind in discontent: But they in turn contemn the spark, And brand with many a shameful mark. Then one he formerly disdain'd, "Had you," said he, "at home remain'd— Content with Nature's ways and will, You had not felt the peacock's bill; Nor 'mongst the birds of your own dress Had been deserted in distress."

IV. THE DOG IN THE RIVER.

The churl that wants another's fare Deserves at least to lose his share. As through the stream a Dog convey'd A piece of meat, he spied his shade In the clear mirror of the flood, And thinking it was flesh and blood, Snapp'd to deprive him of the treat:— But mark the glutton's self-defeat, Miss'd both another's and his own, Both shade and substance, beef and bone.

V. THE HEIFER, GOAT, SHEEP, AND LION.

A partnership with men in power We cannot build upon an hour. This Fable proves the fact too true: An Heifer, Goat, and harmless Ewe, Were with the Lion as allies, To raise in desert woods supplies. There, when they jointly had the luck To take a most enormous buck, The Lion first the parts disposed, And then his royal will disclosed. "The first, as Lion hight, I crave; The next you yield to me, as brave; The third is my peculiar due, As being stronger far than you; The fourth you likewise will renounce, For him that touches, I shall trounce." Thus rank unrighteousness and force Seized all the prey without remorse.

VI. THE FROGS AND SUN.

When Esop saw, with inward grief, The nuptials of a neighb'ring thief, He thus his narrative begun: Of old 'twas rumor'd that the Sun Would take a wife: with hideous cries The quer'lous Frogs alarm'd the skies. Moved at their murmurs, Jove inquired What was the thing that they desired? When thus a tenant of the lake, In terror, for his brethren spake: "Ev'n now one Sun too much is found, And dries up all the pools around, Till we thy creatures perish here; But oh, how dreadfully severe, Should he at length be made a sire, And propagate a race of fire!"

VII. THE FOX AND THE TRAGIC MASK.

A Fox beheld a Mask— "O rare The headpiece, if but brains were there!" This holds—whene'er the Fates dispense Pomp, pow'r, and everything but sense.

VIII. THE WOLF AND CRANE.

Who for his merit seeks a price From men of violence and vice, Is twice a fool—first so declared, As for the worthless he has cared; Then after all, his honest aim Must end in punishment and shame. A bone the Wolf devour'd in haste, Stuck in his greedy throat so fast, That, tortured with the pain, he roar'd, And ev'ry beast around implored, That who a remedy could find Should have a premium to his mind. A Crane was wrought upon to trust His oath at length—and down she thrust Her neck into his throat impure, And so perform'd a desp'rate cure. At which, when she desired her fee, "You base, ungrateful minx," says he, "Whom I so kind forbore to kill, And now, forsooth, you'd bring your bill!"

IX. THE HARE AND THE SPARROW.

Still to give cautions, as a friend, And not one's own affairs attend, Is but impertinent and vain, As these few verses will explain. A Sparrow taunted at a Hare Caught by an eagle high in air, And screaming loud— "Where now," says she, "Is your renown'd velocity? Why loiter'd your much boasted speed?" Just as she spake, an hungry glede Did on th' injurious railer fall, Nor could her cries avail at all. The Hare, with its expiring breath, Thus said: "See comfort ev'n in death! She that derided my distress Must now deplore her own no less."

X. THE WOLF AND FOX, WITH THE APE FOR JUDGE.

Whoe'er by practice indiscreet Has pass'd for a notorious cheat, Will shortly find his credit fail, Though he speak truth, says Esop's tale. The Wolf the Fox for theft arraign'd; The Fox her innocence maintain'd: The Ape, as umpire, takes his seat; Each pleads his cause with skill and heat. Then thus the Ape, with aspect grave, The sentence from the hustings gave: "For you, Sir Wolf, I do descry That all your losses are a lie— And you, with negatives so stout, O Fox! have stolen the goods no doubt."

XI. THE ASS AND THE LION HUNTING.

A coward, full of pompous speech, The ignorant may overreach; But is the laughing-stock of those Who know how far his valor goes. Once on a time it came to pass, The Lion hunted with the Ass, Whom hiding in the thickest shade He there proposed should lend him aid, By trumpeting so strange a bray, That all the beasts he should dismay, And drive them o'er the desert heath Into the lurking Lion's teeth. Proud of the task, the long-ear'd loon Struck up such an outrageous tune, That 'twas a miracle to hear— The beasts forsake their haunts with fear, And in the Lion's fangs expired: Who, being now with slaughter tired, Call'd out the Ass, whose noise he stops. The Ass, parading from the copse, Cried out with most conceited scoff, "How did my music-piece go off?" "So well—were not thy courage known, Their terror had been all my own!"

XII. THE STAG AT THE FOUNTAIN.

Full often what you now despise Proves better than the things you prize; Let Esop's narrative decide: A Stag beheld, with conscious pride, (As at the fountain-head he stood) His image in the silver flood, And there extols his branching horns, While his poor spindle-shanks he scorns— But, lo! he hears the hunter's cries, And, frighten'd, o'er the champaign flies— His swiftness baffles the pursuit: At length a wood receives the brute, And by his horns entangled there, The pack began his flesh to tear: Then dying thus he wail'd his fate: "Unhappy me! and wise too late! How useful what I did disdain! How grievous that which made me vain."

XIII. THE FOX AND THE CROW.

His folly in repentance ends, Who, to a flatt'ring knave attends. A Crow, her hunger to appease, Had from a window stolen some cheese, And sitting on a lofty pine In state, was just about to dine. This, when a Fox observed below, He thus harangued the foolish Crow: "Lady, how beauteous to the view Those glossy plumes of sable hue! Thy features how divinely fair! With what a shape, and what an air! Could you but frame your voice to sing, You'd have no rival on the wing." But she, now willing to display Her talents in the vocal way, Let go the cheese of luscious taste, Which Renard seized with greedy haste. The grudging dupe now sees at last That for her folly she must fast.

XIV. THE COBBLER TURNED DOCTOR.

A bankrupt Cobbler, poor and lean, (No bungler e'er was half so mean) Went to a foreign place, and there Began his med'cines to prepare: But one of more especial note He call'd his sovereign antidote; And by his technical bombast Contrived to raise a name at last. It happen'd that the king was sick, Who, willing to detect the trick, Call'd for some water in an ewer, Poison in which he feign'd to pour The antidote was likewise mix'd; He then upon th' empiric fix'd To take the medicated cup, And, for a premium, drink it up The quack, through dread of death, confess'd That he was of no skill possess'd; But all this great and glorious job Was made of nonsense and the mob. Then did the king his peers convoke, And thus unto th' assembly spoke: "My lords and gentlemen, I rate Your folly as inordinate, Who trust your heads into his hand, Where no one had his heels japann'd."— This story their attention craves Whose weakness is the prey of knaves.

XV. THE SAPIENT ASS.

In all the changes of a state, The poor are the most fortunate, Who, save the name of him they call Their king, can find no odds at all. The truth of this you now may read— A fearful old man in a mead, While leading of his Ass about, Was startled at the sudden shout Of enemies approaching nigh. He then advised the Ass to fly, "Lest we be taken in the place:" But loth at all to mend his pace, "Pray, will the conqueror," quoth Jack, "With double panniers load my back?" "No," says the man. "If that's the thing," Cries he, "I care not who is king."

XVI. THE SHEEP, THE STAG, AND THE WOLF.

When one rogue would another get For surety in a case of debt, 'Tis not the thing t' accept the terms, But dread th' event—the tale affirms. A Stag approach'd the Sheep, to treat For one good bushel of her wheat. "The honest Wolf will give his bond." At which, beginning to despond, "The Wolf (cries she) 's a vagrant bite. And you are quickly out of sight; Where shall I find or him or you Upon the day the debt is due?"

XVII. THE SHEEP, THE DOG, AND THE WOLF.

Liars are liable to rue The mischief they're so prone to do. The Sheep a Dog unjustly dunn'd One loaf directly to refund, Which he the Dog to the said Sheep Had given in confidence to keep. The Wolf was summoned, and he swore It was not one, but ten or more. The Sheep was therefore cast at law To pay for things she never saw. But, lo! ere many days ensued, Dead in a ditch the Wolf she view'd: "This, this," she cried, "is Heaven's decree Of justice on a wretch like thee."

XIX. THE BITCH AND HER PUPPIES.

Bad men have speeches smooth and fair, Of which, that we should be aware, And such designing villains thwart, The underwritten lines exhort. A Bitch besought one of her kin For room to put her Puppies in: She, loth to say her neighbour nay, Directly lent both hole and hay. But asking to be repossess'd, For longer time the former press'd, Until her Puppies gather'd strength, Which second lease expired at length; And when, abused at such a rate, The lender grew importunate, "The place," quoth she, "I will resign When you're a match for me and mine."

XX. THE HUNGRY DOGS.

A stupid plan that fools project, Not only will not take effect, But proves destructive in the end To those that bungle and pretend. Some hungry Dogs beheld an hide Deep sunk beneath the crystal tide, Which, that they might extract for food, They strove to drink up all the flood; But bursten in the desp'rate deed, They perish'd, ere they could succeed.

XXI. THE OLD LION.

Whoever, to his honor's cost, His pristine dignity has lost, Is the fool's jest and coward's scorn, When once deserted and forlorn. With years enfeebled and decay'd, A Lion gasping hard was laid: Then came, with furious tusk, a boar, To vindicate his wrongs of yore: The bull was next in hostile spite, With goring horn his foe to smite: At length the ass himself, secure That now impunity was sure, His blow too insolently deals, And kicks his forehead with his heels. Then thus the Lion, as he died: "'Twas hard to bear the brave," he cried; "But to be trampled on by thee Is Nature's last indignity; And thou, O despicable thing, Giv'st death at least a double sting."

XXII. THE MAN AND THE WEASEL.

A Weasel, by a person caught, And willing to get off, besought The man to spare. "Be not severe On him that keeps your pantry clear Of those intolerable mice." "This were," says he, "a work of price, If done entirely for my sake, And good had been the plea you make: But since, with all these pains and care, You seize yourself the dainty fare On which those vermin used to fall, And then devour the mice and all, Urge not a benefit in vain." This said, the miscreant was slain. The satire here those chaps will own, Who, useful to themselves alone, And bustling for a private end, Would boast the merit of a friend.

XXIII. THE FAITHFUL HOUSE-DOG.

A Man that's gen'rous all at once May dupe a novice or a dunce; But to no purpose are the snares He for the knowing ones prepares. When late at night a felon tried To bribe a Dog with food, he cried, "What ho! do you attempt to stop The mouth of him that guards the shop? You 're mightily mistaken, sir, For this strange kindness is a spur, To make me double all my din, Lest such a scoundrel should come in."

XXIV. THE PROUD FROG.

When poor men to expenses run, And ape their betters, they're undone. An Ox the Frog a-grazing view'd, And envying his magnitude, She puffs her wrinkled skin, and tries To vie with his enormous size: Then asks her young to own at least That she was bigger than the beast. They answer, No. With might and main She swells and strains, and swells again. "Now for it, who has got the day?" The Ox is larger still, they say. At length, with more and more ado, She raged and puffed, and burst in two.

XXV. THE DOG AND THE CROCODILE.

Who give bad precepts to the wise, And cautious men with guile advise, Not only lose their toil and time, But slip into sarcastic rhyme. The dogs that are about the Nile, Through terror of the Crocodile, Are therefore said to drink and run. It happen'd on a day, that one, As scamp'ring by the river side, Was by the Crocodile espied: "Sir, at your leisure drink, nor fear The least design or treach'ry here." "That," says the Dog, "ma'm, would I do With all my heart, and thank you too, But as you can on dog's flesh dine, You shall not taste a bit of mine."

XXVI. THE FOX AND THE STORK.

One should do injury to none; But he that has th' assault begun, Ought, says the fabulist, to find The dread of being served in kind, A Fox, to sup within his cave The Stork an invitation gave, Where, in a shallow dish, was pour'd Some broth, which he himself devour'd; While the poor hungry Stork was fain Inevitably to abstain. The Stork, in turn, the Fox invites, And brings her liver and her lights In a tall flagon, finely minced, And thrusting in her beak, convinced The Fox that he in grief must fast, While she enjoy'd the rich repast. Then, as in vain he lick'd the neck, The Stork was heard her guest to check, "That every one the fruits should bear Of their example, is but fair."

XXVII. THE DOG, TREASURE, AND VULTURE.

A Dog, while scratching up the ground, 'Mongst human bones a treasure found; But as his sacrilege was great, To covet riches was his fate, And punishment of his offence; He therefore never stirr'd from thence, But both in hunger and the cold, With anxious care he watch'd the gold, Till wholly negligent of food, A ling'ring death at length ensued. Upon his corse a Vulture stood, And thus descanted:— "It is good, O Dog, that there thou liest bereaved Who in the highway wast conceived, And on a scurvy dunghill bred, Hadst royal riches in thy head."

XXVIII. THE FOX AND EAGLE.

Howe'er exalted in your sphere, There's something from the mean to fear; For, if their property you wrong, The poor's revenge is quick and strong. When on a time an Eagle stole The cubs from out a Fox's hole, And bore them to her young away, That they might feast upon the prey, The dam pursues the winged thief, And deprecates so great a grief; But safe upon the lofty tree, The Eagle scorn'd the Fox's plea. With that the Fox perceived at hand An altar, whence she snatch'd a brand, And compassing with flames the wood, Put her in terror for her brood. She therefore, lest her house should burn, Submissive did the cubs return.

XXIX. THE FROGS AND BULLS.

Men of low life are in distress When great ones enmity profess. There was a Bull-fight in the fen, A Frog cried out in trouble then, "Oh, what perdition on our race!" "How," says another, "can the case Be quite so desp'rate as you've said? For they're contending who is head, And lead a life from us disjoin'd, Of sep'rate station, diverse kind."— "But he, who worsted shall retire, Will come into this lowland mire, And with his hoof dash out our brains, Wherefore their rage to us pertains."

XXX. THE KITE AND THE DOVES.

He that would have the wicked reign, Instead of help will find his bane. The Doves had oft escaped the Kite, By their celerity of flight; The ruffian then to coz'nage stoop'd, And thus the tim'rous race he duped: "Why do you lead a life of fear, Rather than my proposals hear? Elect me for your king, and I Will all your race indemnify." They foolishly the Kite believed, Who having now the pow'r received, Began upon the Doves to prey, And exercise tyrannic sway. "Justly," says one who yet remain'd, "We die the death ourselves ordain'd."



BOOK II.

PROLOGUE.

The way of writing Esop chose, Sound doctrine by example shows; For nothing by these tales is meant, So much as that the bad repent; And by the pattern that is set, Due diligence itself should whet. Wherefore, whatever arch conceit You in our narratives shall meet (If with the critic's ear it take, And for some special purpose make), Aspires by real use to fame, Rather than from an author's name. In fact, with all the care I can, I shall abide by Esop's plan: But if at times I intersperse My own materials in the verse, That sweet variety may please The fancy, and attention ease; Receive it in a friendly way; Which grace I purpose to repay By this consciousness of my song; Whose praises, lest they be too long, Attend, why you should stint the sneak, But give the modest, ere they seek.

FABLE I. THE JUDICIOUS LION.

A Lion on the carcass stood Of a young heifer in the wood; A robber that was passing there, Came up, and ask'd him for a share. "A share," says he, "you should receive, But that you seldom ask our leave For things so handily removed." At which the ruffian was reproved. It happen'd that the selfsame day A modest pilgrim came that way, And when he saw the Lion, fled: Says he, "There is no cause of dread, In gentle tone—take you the chine, Which to your merit I assign."— Then having parted what he slew, To favour his approach withdrew. A great example, worthy praise, But not much copied now-a-days! For churls have coffers that o'erflow, And sheepish worth is poor and low.

II. THE BALD-PATE DUPE.

Fondling or fondled—any how— (Examples of all times allow) That men by women must be fleeced. A dame, whose years were well increased, But skill'd t' affect a youthful mien, Was a staid husband's empress queen; Who yet sequester'd half his heart For a young damsel, brisk and smart. They, while each wanted to attach Themselves to him, and seem his match, Began to tamper with his hair. He, pleased with their officious care, Was on a sudden made a coot; For the young strumpet, branch and root, Stripp'd of the hoary hairs his crown, E'en as th' old cat grubb'd up the brown.

III. THE MAN AND THE DOG.

Torn by a Cur, a man was led To throw the snappish thief some bread Dipt in the blood, which, he was told, Had been a remedy of old. Then Esop thus:— "Forbear to show A pack of dogs the thing you do, Lest they should soon devour us quite, When thus rewarded as they bite." One wicked miscreant's success Makes many more the trade profess.

IV. THE EAGLE, THE CAT, AND THE SOW.

An Eagle built upon an oak A Cat and kittens had bespoke A hole about the middle bough; And underneath a woodland Sow Had placed her pigs upon the ground. Then treach'rous Puss a method found To overthrow, for her own good, The peace of this chance neighbourhood First to the Eagle she ascends— "Perdition on your head impends, And, far too probable, on mine; For you observe that grubbing Swine Still works the tree to overset, Us and our young with ease to get." Thus having filled the Eagle's pate With consternation very great, Down creeps she to the Sow below; "The Eagle is your deadly foe, And is determined not to spare Your pigs, when you shall take the air." Here too a terror being spread, By what this tattling gossip said, She slily to her kittens stole, And rested snug within her hole. Sneaking from thence with silent tread By night her family she fed, But look'd out sharply all the day, Affecting terror and dismay. The Eagle lest the tree should fall, Keeps to the boughs, nor stirs at all; And anxious for her grunting race, The Sow is loth to quit her place. In short, they and their young ones starve, And leave a prey for Puss to carve. Hence warn'd ye credulous and young, Be cautious of a double tongue.

V. CAESAR AND HIS SLAVE.

There is in town a certain set Of mortals, ever in a sweat, Who idly bustling here and there, Have never any time to spare, While upon nothing they discuss With heat, and most outrageous fuss, Plague to themselves, and to the rest A most intolerable pest. I will correct this stupid clan Of busy-bodies, if I can, By a true story; lend an ear, 'Tis worth a trifler's time to hear. Tiberius Caesar, in his way To Naples, on a certain day Came to his own Misenian seat, (Of old Lucullus's retreat,) Which from the mountain top surveys Two seas, by looking different ways. Here a shrewd slave began to cringe With dapper coat and sash of fringe, And, as his master walk'd between The trees upon the tufted green, Finding the weather very hot, Officiates with his wat'ring-pot; And still attending through the glade, Is ostentatious of his aid. Caesar turns to another row, Where neither sun nor rain could go; He, for the nearest cut he knows, Is still before with pot and rose. Caesar observes him twist and shift, And understands the fellow's drift; "Here, you sir," says th' imperial lord. The bustler, hoping a reward, Runs skipping up. The chief in jest Thus the poor jackanapes address'd "As here is no great matter done, Small is the premium you have won: The cuffs that make a servant free, Are for a better man than thee."

VI. THE EAGLE, CARRION CROW, AND TORTOISE.

No soul can warrant life or right, Secure from men of lawless might; But if a knave's advice assist, 'Gainst fraud and force what can exist? An Eagle on a Tortoise fell, And mounting bore him by the shell: She with her house her body screens, Nor can be hurt by any means. A Carrion Crow came by that way, "You've got," says she, "a luscious prey; But soon its weight will make you rue, Unless I show you what to do." The captor promising a share, She bids her from the upper air To dash the shell against a rock, Which would be sever'd by the shock. The Eagle follows her behest, Then feasts on turtle with his guest. Thus she, whom Nature made so strong, And safe against external wrong, No match for force, and its allies, To cruel death a victim dies.

VII. THE MULES AND ROBBERS.

Two laden Mules were on the road— A charge of money was bestowed Upon the one, the other bore Some sacks of barley. He before. Proud of his freight, begun to swell, Stretch'd out his neck, and shook his bell. The poor one, with an easy pace, Came on behind a little space, When on a sudden, from the wood A gang of thieves before them stood; And, while the muleteers engage, Wound the poor creature in their rage Eager they seize the golden prize, But the vile barley-bags despise. The plunder'd mule was all forlorn, The other thank'd them for their scorn: "'Tis now my turn the head to toss, Sustaining neither wound nor loss." The low estate's from peril clear, But wealthy men have much to fear.

VIII. THE STAG AND THE OXEN.

A Stag unharbour'd by the hounds, Forth from his woodland covert bounds, And blind with terror, at th' alarm Of death, makes to a neighb'ring farm; There snug conceals him in some straw, Which in an ox's stall he saw. "Wretch that thou art!" a bullock cried, "That com'st within this place to hide; By trusting man you are undone, And into sure destruction run." But he with suppliant voice replies: "Do you but wink with both your eyes, I soon shall my occasions shape, To make from hence a fair escape." The day is spent, the night succeeds, The herdsman comes, the cattle feeds, But nothing sees—then to and fro Time after time the servants go; Yet not a soul perceives the case. The steward passes by the place, Himself no wiser than the rest. The joyful Stag his thanks address'd To all the Oxen, that he there Had found a refuge in despair. "We wish you well," an Ox return'd, "But for your life are still concern'd, For if old Argus come, no doubt, His hundred eyes will find you out." Scarce had the speaker made an end, When from the supper of a friend The master enters at the door, And, seeing that the steers were poor Of late, advances to the rack. "Why were the fellow's hands so slack? Here's hardly any straw at all, Brush down those cobwebs from the wall. Pray how much labour would it ask?" While thus he undertakes the task, To dust, and rummage by degrees, The Stag's exalted horns he sees: Then calling all his folks around, He lays him breathless on the ground. The master, as the tale declares, Looks sharpest to his own affairs.

EPILOGUE.

A statue of great cost and fame Th' Athenians raised to Esop's name, Him setting on th' eternal base, Whom servile rank could not disgrace; That they might teach to all mankind The way to honor's unconfined, That glory's due to rising worth, And not alone to pomp and birth. Since then another seized the post Lest I priority should boast, This pow'r and praise was yet my own, That he should not excel alone: Nor is this Envy's jealous ire, But Emulation's genuine fire. And if Rome should approve my piece, She'll soon have more to rival Greece. But should th' invidious town declare Against my plodding over-care, They cannot take away, nor hurt Th' internal conscience of desert. If these my studies reach their aim, And, reader, your attention claim, If your perception fully weighs The drift of these my labour'd lays; Then such success precludes complaint. But if the Picture which I paint Should happen to attract their sight, Whom luckless Nature brought to light, Who scorn the labours of a man, And when they carp do all they can; Yet must this fatal cause to mourn With all its bitterness be borne, Till fortune be ashamed of days, When genius fails, and int'rest sways.



BOOK III.

PROLOGUE, TO EUTYCHUS.

The tales of Phaedrus would you read, O Eutychus, you must be freed From business, that the mind unbent May take the author's full intent. You urge that this poetic turn Of mine is not of such concern, As with your time to interfere A moment's space: 'tis therefore clear For those essays you have no call, Which suit not your affairs at all. A time may come, perhaps you'll say, That I shall make a holiday, And have my vacant thoughts at large, The student's office to discharge— And can you such vile stuff peruse, Rather than serve domestic views, Return the visits of a friend, Or with your wife your leisure spend, Relax your mind, your limbs relieve, And for new toil new strength receive? From worldly cares you must estrange Your thoughts, and feel a perfect change, If to Parnassus you repair, And seek for your admission there, Me—(whom a Grecian mother bore On Hill Pierian, where of yore Mnemosyne in love divine Brought forth to Jove the tuneful Nine. Though sprung where genius reign'd with art, I grubb'd up av'rice from my heart, And rather for applause than pay, Embrace the literary way) Yet as a writer and a wit, With some abatements they admit. What is his case then, do you think, Who toils for wealth nor sleeps a wink, Preferring to the pleasing pain Of composition sordid gain? But hap what will (as Sinon said, When to king Priam he was led), I book the third shall now fulfil, With Aesop for my master still; Which book I dedicate to you, As both to worth and honour due. Pleased, if you read—if not, content As conscious of a sure event, That these my fables shall remain, And after-ages entertain. In a few words I now propose To point from whence the Fable rose. A servitude was all along Exposed to most oppressive wrong, The suff'rer therefore did not dare His heart's true dictates to declare; But couch'd his meaning in the veil Of many an allegoric tale, And jesting with a moral aim, Eluded all offence and blame. This is the path that I pursue, Inventing more than Aesop knew; And certain topics by-the-by, To my own hindrence did I try. But was there any of mankind, Besides Sejanus, so inclined, Who was alone to work my fall, Informer, witness, judge and all; I would confess the slander true, And own such hardships were my due; Nor would I fly, my grief to ease, To such poor lenitives as these. If any through suspicion errs, And to himself alone refers, What was design'd for thousands more He'll show too plainly, where he's sore. Yet ev'n from such I crave excuse, For (far from personal abuse) My verse in gen'ral would put down True life and manners of the town. But here, perhaps, some one will ask Why I, forsooth, embraced this task? If Esop, though a Phrygian, rose, And ev'n derived from Scythian snows; If Anacharsis could devise By wit to gain th' immortal prize; Shall I, who to learn'd Greece belong, Neglect her honour and her song, And by dull sloth myself disgrace? Since we can reckon up in Thrace, The authors that have sweetest sung, Where Linus from Apollo sprung; And he whose mother was a muse, Whose voice could tenderness infuse To solid rocks, strange monsters quell'd, And Hebrus in his course withheld. Envy, stand clear, or thou shalt rue Th' attack, for glory is my due. Thus having wrought upon your ear, I beg that you would be sincere, And in the poet's cause avow That candor, all the world allow.

FABLE I. THE OLD WOMAN AND EMPTY CASK.

An ancient dame a firkin sees, In which the rich Falernian lees Send from the nobly tinctured shell A rare and most delicious smell! There when a season she had clung With greedy nostrils to the bung, "O spirit exquisitely sweet!" She cried, "how perfectly complete Were you of old, and at the best, When ev'n your dregs have such a zest!" They'll see the drift of this my rhyme, Who knew the author in his prime.

II. THE PANTHER AND SHEPHERDS.

Their scorn comes home to them again Who treat the wretched with disdain. A careless Panther long ago Fell in a pit, which overthrow The Shepherds all around alarm'd; When some themselves with cudgels arm'd; Others threw stones upon its head; But some in pity sent her bread, As death was not the creature's due. The night came on—the hostile crew Went home, not doubting in the way To find the Panther dead next day. But she, recovering of her strength, Sprang from the pit and fled at length. But rushing in a little space From forth her den upon the place, She tears the flock, the Shepherd slays, And all the region round dismays. Then they began to be afraid Who spared the beast and lent their aid; They reck not of the loss, but make Their pray'r for life, when thus she spake: "I well remember them that threw The stones, and well remember you Who gave me bread—desist to fear, For 'twas the oppressor brought me here."

III. THE APE'S HEAD.

A certain person, as he stood Within the shambles buying food, Amongst the other kitchen fare Beheld an Ape suspended there; And asking how 'twould taste, when dress'd, The butcher shook his head in jest; "If for such prog your fancy is, Judge of the flavour by the phiz." This speech was not so true as keen, For I in life have often seen Good features with a wicked heart, And plainness acting virtue's part.

IV. ESOP AND THE INSOLENT FELLOW.

Fools from success perdition meet. An idle wretch about the street At Esop threw a stone in rage. "So much the better," quoth the sage, And gives three farthings for the job; "I've no more money in my fob; But if you'll follow my advice, More shall be levied in a trice." It happen'd that the selfsame hour Came by a man of wealth and pow'r. "There, throw your pellet at my lord, And you shall have a sure reward!" The fellow did as he was told; But mark the downfall of the bold; His hopes are baulk'd, and, lo! he gains A rope and gibbet for his pains.

V. THE FLY AND THE MULE.

A Fly that sat upon the beam Rated the Mule: "Why, sure you dream? Pray get on faster with the cart Or I shall sting you till you smart!" She answers: "All this talk I hear With small attention, but must fear Him who upon the box sustains The pliant whip, and holds the reins. Cease then your pertness—for I know When to give back, and when to go." This tale derides the talking crew, Whose empty threats are all they do.

VI. THE DOG AND THE WOLF.

I will, as briefly as I may, The sweets of liberty display. A Wolf half famish'd, chanced to see A Dog, as fat as dog could be: For one day meeting on the road, They mutual compliments bestowed: "Prithee," says Isgrim, faint and weak, "How came you so well fed and sleek? I starve, though stronger of the two." "It will be just as well with you," The Dog quite cool and frank replied, "If with my master you'll abide." "For what?" "Why merely to attend, And from night thieves the door defend." "I gladly will accept the post, What! shall I bear with snow and frost And all this rough inclement plight, Rather than have a home at night, And feed on plenty at my ease?" "Come, then, with me" —the Wolf agrees. But as they went the mark he found, Where the Dog's collar had been bound: "What's this, my friend?" "Why, nothing." "Nay, Be more explicit, sir, I pray." "I'm somewhat fierce and apt to bite, Therefore they hold me pretty tight, That in the day-time I may sleep, And night by night my vigils keep. At evening tide they let me out, And then I freely walk about: Bread comes without a care of mine. I from my master's table dine; The servants throw me many a scrap, With choice of pot-liquor to lap; So, I've my bellyful, you find." "But can you go where you've a mind?" "Not always, to be flat and plain." "Then, Dog, enjoy your post again, For to remain this servile thing, Old Isgrim would not be a king."

VII. THE BROTHER AND SISTER.

Warn'd by our council, oft beware, And look into yourself with care. There was a certain father had A homely girl and comely lad. These being at their childish play Within their mother's room one day, A looking-glass was in the chair, And they beheld their faces there. The boy grows prouder as he looks; The girl is in a rage, nor brooks Her boasting brother's jests and sneers, Affronted at each word she hears: Then to her father down she flies, And urges all she can devise Against the boy, who could presume To meddle in a lady's room. At which, embracing each in turn, With most affectionate concern, "My dears," he says, "ye may not pass A day without this useful glass; You, lest you spoil a pretty face, By doing things to your disgrace; You, by good conduct to correct Your form, and beautify defect."

VIII. A SAYING OF SOCRATES.

Though common be the name of friend, Few can to faithfulness pretend, That Socrates (whose cruel case, I'd freely for his fame embrace, And living any envy bear To leave my character so fair) Was building of a little cot, When some one, standing on the spot, Ask'd, as the folks are apt to do, "How comes so great a man as you Content with such a little hole?"— "I wish," says he, "with all my soul That this same little house I build Was with true friends completely fill'd."

IX. OF DOUBT AND CREDULITY.

'Tis frequently of bad event To give or to withhold assent. Two cases will th' affair explain— The good Hippolytus was slain; In that his stepdame credit found, And Troy was levell'd with the ground; Because Cassandra's prescious care Sought, but obtain'd no credence there. The facts should then be very strong, Lest the weak judge determine wrong: But that I may not make too free With fabulous antiquity, I now a curious tale shall tell, Which I myself remember well. An honest man, that loved his wife, Was introducing into life A son upon the man's estate. One day a servant (whom, of late, He with his freedom had endu'd) Took him aside, and being shrewd, Supposed that he might be his heir When he'd divulged the whole affair. Much did he lie against the youth, But more against the matron's truth: And hinted that, which worst of all Was sure a lover's heart to gall, The visits of a lusty rake, And honour of his house at stake. He at this scandal taking heat, Pretends a journey to his seat; But stopp'd at hand, while it was light, Where, on a sudden, and by night, He to his wife's apartment sped, Where she had put the lad to bed, As watchful of his youthful bloom. While now they're running to the room, And seek a light in haste, the sire, No longer stifling of his ire, Flies to the couch, where grouping round, A head, but newly shaved, he found; Then, as alone, he vengeance breath'd, The sword within his bosom sheath'd— The candle ent'ring, when he spied The bleeding youth, and by his side The spotless dame, who being fast Asleep, knew nothing that had pass'd, Instant in utmost grief involved, He vengeance for himself resolved; And on that very weapon flew, Which his too cred'lous fury drew. Th' accusers take the woman straight, And drag to the centumvirate; Th' ill-natured world directly built A strong suspicion of her guilts, As she th' estate was to enjoy— The lawyers all their skill employ; And a great spirit those exert Who most her innocence assert. The judges then to Caesar pray'd That he would lend his special aid; Who, as they acted upon oath, Declared themselves extremely loth To close this intricate affair— He, taking then himself the chair, The clouds of calumny displaced. And Truth up to her fountain traced. "Let the freedman to vengeance go, The cause of all this scene of woe: For the poor widow, thus undone, Deprived of husband and of son, To pity has a greater plea Than condemnation, I decree— But if the man, with caution due, Had rather blamed than listen'd to The vile accuser, and his lie Had strictly search'd with Reason's eye, This desp'rate guilt he had not known, Nor branch and root his house o'erthrown." Nor wholly scorn, nor yet attend Too much at what the tatlers vend, Because there's many a sad neglect. Where you have little to suspect; And treach'rous persons will attaint Men, against whom there's no complaint. Hence simple folks too may be taught How to form judgments as they ought, And not see with another's glass; For things are come to such a pass, That love and hate work diff'rent ways, As int'rest or ambition sways. Them you may know, in them confide, Whom by experience you have tried. Thus have I made a long amends For that brief style which some offends.

XI. THE COCK AND THE PEARL.

A Cock, while scratching all around, A Pearl upon the dunghill found: "O splendid thing in foul disgrace, Had there been any in the place That saw and knew thy worth when sold, Ere this thou hadst been set in gold. But I, who rather would have got A corn of barley, heed thee not; No service can there render'd be From me to you, and you to me." I write this tale to them alone To whom in vain my pearls are thrown.

XII. THE BEES AND THE DRONES.

Up in a lofty oak the Bees Had made their honey-combs: but these The Drones asserted they had wrought. Then to the bar the cause was brought Before the wasp, a learned chief, Who well might argue either brief, As of a middle nature made. He therefore to both parties said: "You're not dissimilar in size, And each with each your color vies, That there's a doubt concerning both: But, lest I err, upon my oath, Hives for yourselves directly choose, And in the wax the work infuse, That, from the flavor and the form, We may point out the genuine swarm." The Drones refuse, the Bees agree— Then thus did Justice Wasp decree: "Who can, and who cannot, is plain, So take, ye Bees, your combs again." This narrative had been suppress'd Had not the Drones refused the test.

XIII. ESOP PLAYING.

As Esop was with boys at play, And had his nuts as well as they, A grave Athenian, passing by, Cast on the sage a scornful eye, As on a dotard quite bereaved: Which, when the moralist perceived, (Rather himself a wit profess'd Than the poor subject of a jest) Into the public way he flung A bow that he had just unstrung: "There solve, thou conjurer," he cries, "The problem, that before thee lies." The people throng; he racks his brain, Nor can the thing enjoin'd explain. At last he gives it up—the seer Thus then in triumph made it clear: "As the tough bow exerts its spring, A constant tension breaks the string; But if 'tis let at seasons loose, You may depend upon its use." Thus recreative sports and play Are good upon a holiday, And with more spirit they'll pursue The studies which they shall renew.

XIV. THE DOG AND THE LAMB.

A Dog bespoke a sucking Lamb, That used a she-goat as her dam, "You little fool, why, how you baa! This goat is not your own mamma:" Then pointed to a distant mead, Where several sheep were put to feed. "I ask not," says the Lamb, "for her Who had me first at Nature's spur, And bore me for a time about, Then, like a fardel, threw me out; But her that is content to bilk Her own dear kids, to give me milk." "Yet she that yean'd you sure," says Tray, "Should be preferr'd" —"I tell thee nay— Whence could she know that what she hid Was black or white?—but grant she did— I being thus a male begot 'Twas no great favor, since my lot Was hour by hour, throughout my life, To dread the butcher and his knife. Why should I therefore give my voice For her who had no pow'r or choice In my production, and not cleave To her so ready to relieve, When she beheld me left alone, And has such sweet indulgence shown?" Kind deeds parental love proclaim, Not mere necessity and name.

XV. THE OWL AND THE GRASSHOPPER.

Those who will not the forms obey To be obliging in their way, Must often punishment abide For their ill-nature, and their pride. A Grasshopper, in rank ill-will, Was very loud and very shrill Against a sapient Owl's repose, Who was compelled by day to doze Within a hollow oak's retreat, As wont by night to quest for meat— She is desired to hold her peace. But at the word her cries increase; Again requested to abate Her noise, she's more importunate. The Owl perceiving no redress, And that her words were less and less Accounted of, no longer pray'd, But thus an artifice essay'd: "Since 'tis impossible to nod, While harping like the Delphian god, You charm our ears, stead of a nap, A batch of nectar will I tap, Which lately from Minerva came; Now if you do not scorn the same, Together let us bumpers ply." The Grasshopper, extremely dry, And, finding she had hit the key That gain'd applause, approach'd with glee; At which the Owl upon her flew, And quick the trembling vixen slew. Thus by her death she was adjudged To give what in her life she grudged.

XVI. THE TREES PROTECTED.

The gods took certain trees (th' affair Was some time since) into their care. The oak was best approved by Jove, The myrtle by the queen of love; The god of music and the day Vouchsafed to patronise the bay; The pine Cybele chanced to please, And the tall poplar Hercules. Minerva upon this inquired Why they all barren trees admired? "The cause," says Jupiter, "is plain, Lest we give honour up for gain." "Let every one their fancy suit, I choose the olive for its fruit." The sire of gods and men replies, "Daughter, thou shalt be reckon'd wise By all the world, and justly too; For whatsover things we do, If not a life of useful days, How vain is all pretence to praise!" Whate'er experiments you try, Have some advantage in your eye.

XVII. JUNO AND THE PEACOCK.

Her fav'rite bird to Juno came, And was in dudgeon at the dame, That she had not attuned her throat With Philomela's matchless note; "She is the wonder of all ears; But when I speak the audience sneers." The goddess to the bird replied, (Willing to have him pacified,) "You are above the rest endued With beauty and with magnitude; Your neck the em'rald's gloss outvies, And what a blaze of gemmeous dies Shines from the plumage of your tail!" "All this dumb show will not avail," Cries he, "if I'm surpass'd in voice." "The fates entirely have the choice Of all the lots—fair form is yours; The eagle's strength his prey secures; The nightingale can sing an ode; The crow and raven may forebode: All these in sheer contentment crave No other voice than Nature gave." By affectation be not sway'd, Where Nature has not lent her aid; Nor to that flatt'ring hope attend, Which must in disappointment end.

XVIII. ESOP AND THE IMPORTUNATE FELLOW.

Esop (no other slave at hand) Received himself his lord's command An early supper to provide. From house to house he therefore tried To beg the favor of a light; At length he hit upon the right. But as when first he sallied out He made his tour quite round about, On his return he took a race Directly, cross the market-place: When thus a talkative buffoon, "Esop, what means this light at noon?" He answer'd briefly, as he ran, "Fellow, I'm looking for a man." Now if this jackanapes had weigh'd The true intent of what was said, He'd found that Esop had no sense Of manhood in impertinence.

XIX. THE ASS AND PRIESTS OF CYBELE.

The luckless wretch that's born to woe Must all his life affliction know— And harder still, his cruel fate Will on his very ashes wait. Cybele's priests, in quest of bread, An Ass about the village led, With things for sale from door to door; Till work'd and beaten more and more, At length, when the poor creature died, They made them drums out of his hide. Then question'd "how it came to pass They thus could serve their darling Ass?" The answer was, "He thought of peace In death, and that his toils would cease; But see his mis'ry knows no bounds, Still with our blows his back resounds."



BOOK IV.

PROLOGUE.

To you, who've graver things bespoke, This seems no better than a joke, And light for mere amusement made; Yet still we drive the scribbling trade, And from the pen our pleasure find, When we've no greater things to mind. Yet if you look with care intense, These tales your toil shall recompense; Appearance is not always true, And thousands err by such a view. 'Tis a choice spirit that has pried Where clean contrivance chose to hide; That this is not at random said, I shall produce upon this head A fable of an arch device, About the Weasel and the Mice.

FABLE I. THE WEAZEL AND MICE.

A Weasel, worn with years, and lame, That could not overtake its game, Now with the nimble Mice to deal, Disguised herself with barley meal; Then negligent her limbs she spread In a sly nook, and lay for dead. A Mouse that thought she there might feed, Leapt up, and perish'd in the deed; A second in like manner died; A third, and sundry more beside: Then comes the brindled Mouse, a chap That oft escaped both snare and trap, And seeing how the trick was played, Thus to his crafty foe he said:— "So may'st thou prosper day and night, As thou art not an errant bite."

II. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.

An hungry Fox with fierce attack Sprang on a Vine, but tumbled back, Nor could attain the point in view, So near the sky the bunches grew. As he went off, "They're scurvy stuff," Says he, "and not half ripe enough— And I've more rev'rence for my tripes Than to torment them with the gripes." For those this tale is very pat Who lessen what they can't come at.

III. THE HORSE AND BOAR.

A Wild-Boar wallow'd in the flood, And troubled all the stream with mud, Just where a horse to drink repair'd— He therefore having war declared, Sought man's alliance for the fight, And bore upon his back the knight; Who being skill'd his darts to throw, Despatched the Wild-Boar at a blow. Then to the steed the victor said, "I'm glad you came to me for aid, For taught how useful you can be, I've got at once a spoil and thee." On which the fields he made him quit, To feel the spur and champ the bit. Then he his sorrow thus express'd: "I needs must have my wrongs redress'd, And making tyrant man the judge, Must all my life become a drudge." This tale the passionate may warn, To bear with any kind of scorn; And rather all complaint withdraw Than either go to war or law.

IV. ESOP AND THE WILL.

That one man sometimes is more shrewd Than a stupendous multitude, To after-times I shall rehearse In my concise familiar verse. A certain man on his decease, Left his three girls so much a-piece: The first was beautiful and frail, With eyes still hunting for the male; The second giv'n to spin and card, A country housewife working hard; The third but very ill to pass, A homely slut, that loved her glass. The dying man had left his wife Executrix, and for her life Sole tenant, if she should fulfil These strange provisos of his will: "That she should give th' estate in fee In equal portions to the three; But in such sort, that this bequest Should not be holden or possess'd; Then soon as they should be bereav'n Of all the substance that was giv'n, They must for their good mother's ease Make up an hundred sesterces." This spread through Athens in a trice; The prudent widow takes advice. But not a lawyer could unfold How they should neither have nor hold The very things that they were left. Besides, when once they were bereft, How they from nothing should confer The money that was due to her. When a long time was spent in vain, And no one could the will explain, She left the counsellors unfeed, And thus of her own self decreed: The minstrels, trinkets, plate, and dress, She gave the Lady to possess. Then Mrs. Notable she stocks With all the fields, the kine and flocks: The workmen, farm, with a supply Of all the tools of husbandry. Last, to the Guzzler she consigns The cellar stored with good old wines, A handsome house to see a friend, With pleasant gardens at the end. Thus as she strove th' affair to close, By giving each the things they chose, And those that knew them every one Highly applauded what was done Esop arose, and thus address'd The crowd that to his presence press'd: "O that the dead could yet perceive! How would the prudent father grieve, That all th' Athenians had not skill Enough to understand his will!" Then at their joint request he solved That error, which had all involved. "The gardens, house, and wine vaults too, Give to the spinster as her due; The clothes, the jewels, and such ware, Be all the tippling lady's share; The fields, the barns, and flocks of sheep, Give the gay courtesan to keep. Not one will bear the very touch Of things that thwart their tastes so much; The slut to fill her cellar straight Her wardrobe will evacuate; The lady soon will sell her farms, For garments to set off her charms; But she that loves the flocks and kine Will alienate her stores of wine, Her rustic genius to employ. Thus none their portions shall enjoy, And from the money each has made Their mother shall be duly paid." Thus one man by his wit disclosed The point that had so many posed.

V. THE BATTLE OF THE MICE AND WEASELS.

The routed Mice upon a day Fled from the Weasels in array; But in the hurry of the flight, What with their weakness and their fright Each scarce could get into his cave: Howe'er, at last their lives they save. But their commanders (who had tied Horns to their heads in martial pride, Which as a signal they design'd For non-commission'd mice to mind) Stick in the entrance as they go, And there are taken by the foe, Who, greedy of the victim, gluts With mouse-flesh his ungodly guts. Each great and national distress Must chiefly mighty men oppress; While folks subordinate and poor Are by their littleness secure.

VI. PHAEDRUS TO THE CAVILLERS.

Thou that against my tales inveigh'st, As much too pleasant for thy taste; Egregious critic, cease to scoff, While for a time I play you off, And strive to soothe your puny rage. As Esop comes upon the stage, And dress'd entirely new in Rome, Thus enters with the tragic plume.— "O that the fair Thessalian pine Had never felt the wrath divine, And fearless of the axe's wound, Had still the Pelian mountain crown'd! That Argus by Palladian aid Had ne'er the advent'rous vessel made; In which at first, without dismay, Death's bold professors won their way, In which th' inhospitable main Was first laid open for the bane Of Grecians and barbarians too. Which made the proud Aeetas rue, And whence Medea's crimes to nought The house and reign of Pelias brought. She—while in various forms she tries Her furious spirit to disguise, At one place in her flight bestow'd Her brother's limbs upon the road; And at another could betray The daughters their own sire to slay." How think you now?—What arrant trash! And our assertions much too rash!— Since prior to th' Aegean fleet Did Minos piracy defeat, And made adventures on the sea. How then shall you and I agree? Since, stern as Cato's self, you hate All tales alike, both small and great. Plague not too much the man of parts; For he that does it surely smarts.— This threat is to the fools, that squeam At every thing of good esteem; And that they may to taste pretend, Ev'n heaven itself will discommend.

VII. THE VIPER AND THE FILE.

He that a greater biter bites, His folly on himself requites, As we shall manifest forthwith.— There was a hovel of a smith, Where a poor Viper chanced to steal, And being greedy of a meal, When she had seized upon a file, Was answer'd in this rugged style: "Why do you think, O stupid snake! On me your usual meal to make, Who've sharper teeth than thine by far, And can corrode an iron bar?"

VIII. THE FOX AND THE GOAT.

A crafty knave will make escape, When once he gets into a scrape, Still meditating self-defence, At any other man's expense. A Fox by some disaster fell Into a deep and fenced well: A thirsty Goat came down in haste, And ask'd about the water's taste, If it was plentiful and sweet? At which the Fox, in rank deceit, "So great the solace of the run, I thought I never should have done. Be quick, my friend, your sorrows drown." This said, the silly Goat comes down. The subtle Fox herself avails, And by his horns the mound she scales, And leaves the Goat in all the mire, To gratify his heart's desire.

IX. THE TWO BAGS.

Great Jove, in his paternal care, Has giv'n a man two Bags to bear; That which his own default contains Behind his back unseen remains; But that which others' vice attests Swags full in view before our breasts. Hence we're inevitably blind, Relating to the Bag behind; But when our neighbours misdemean, Our censures are exceeding keen.

X. THE SACRILEGIOUS THIEF.

A villain to Jove's altar came To light his candle in the flame, And robb'd the god in dead of night, By his own consecrated light: Then thus an awful voice was sent, As with the sacrilege he went: "Though all this gold and silver plate As gifts of evil men I hate; And their removal from the fane Can cause the Deity no pain; Yet, caitiff, at th' appointed time, Thy life shall answer for thy crime. But, for the future, lest this blaze, At which the pious pray and praise, Should guide the wicked, I decree That no such intercourse there be." Hence to this day all men decline To light their candle at the shrine; Nor from a candle e'er presume The holy light to re-illume. How many things are here contain'd, By him alone can be explain'd Who could this useful tale invent. In the first place, herein is meant, That they are often most your foes Who from your fost'ring hand arose. Next, that the harden'd villain's fate Is not from wrath precipitate, But rather at a destined hour. Lastly, we're charg'd with all our pow'r, To keep ourselves, by care intense, From all connexions with offence.

XI. HERCULES AND PLUTUS.

Wealth by the brave is justly scorn'd, Since men are from the truth suborn'd, And a full chest perverts their ways From giving or deserving praise. When Hercules, for matchless worth, Was taken up to heav'n from earth, As in their turns to all the crowd Of gratulating gods he bow'd, When Plutus, Fortune's son, he spies, He from his face averts his eyes. Jove ask'd the cause of this disgust: "I hate him, as he is unjust, To wicked men the most inclined, And grand corrupter of mankind."

XII. THE HE-GOATS AND SHE-GOATS.

When the She-Goats from Jove obtain'd A beard, th' indignant Males complain'd, That females by this near approach Would on their gravity encroach. "Suffer, my sapient friends," says he, "Their eminence in this degree, And bear their beard's most graceful length, As they can never have your strength." Warn'd by this little tale, agree With men in gen'ral form'd like thee, While you by virtue still exceed, And in the spirit take the lead.

XIII. THE PILOT AND SAILORS.

On hearing a poor man lament His worldly thoughts in discontent, Esop this tale began to write, For consolation and delight. The ship by furious tempests toss'd, The Mariners gave all for lost; But midst their tears and dread, the scene Is changed at once, and all serene. The wind is fair, the vessel speeds, The Sailors' boist'rous joy exceeds: The Pilot then, by peril wise, Was prompted to philosophise. "'Tis right to put a due restraint On joy, and to retard complaint, Because alternate hope and fright Make up our lives of black and white."

XIV. THE MAN AND THE ADDER.

He, that malicious men relieves, His folly in a season grieves. A Man, against himself humane, Took up an Adder, that had lain And stiffen'd in the frosty air, And in his bosom placed with care, Where she with speed recov'ring breath, Her benefactor stung to death. Another Adder near the place, On asking why she was so base, Was told, "'Tis others to dissuade From giving wickedness their aid."

XV. THE FOX AND THE DRAGON.

A Fox was throwing up the soil, And while with his assiduous toil He burrow'd deep into the ground, A Dragon in his den he found, A-watching hidden treasure there, Whom seeing, Renard speaks him fair: "First, for your pardon I apply For breaking on your privacy; Then, as you very plainly see That gold is of no use to me, Your gentle leave let me obtain To ask you, what can be the gain Of all this care, and what the fruit, That you should not with sleep recruit Your spirits, but your life consume Thus in an everlasting gloom?" "'Tis not my profit here to stay," He cries; "but I must Jove obey." "What! will you therefore nothing take Yourself, nor others welcome make?" "Ev'n so the fates decree:" —"Then, sir, Have patience, whilst I do aver That he who like affections knows Is born with all the gods his foes. Since to that place you needs must speed, Where all your ancestors precede, Why in the blindness of your heart Do you torment your noble part?" All this to thee do I indite, Thou grudging churl, thy heir's delight, Who robb'st the gods of incense due, Thyself of food and raiment too; Who hear'st the harp with sullen mien, To whom the piper gives the spleen; Who'rt full of heavy groans and sighs When in their price provisions rise; Who with thy frauds heaven's patience tire To make thy heap a little higher, And, lest death thank thee, in thy will Hast tax'd the undertaker's bill.

XVI. PHAEDRUS, ON HIS FABLES.

What certain envious hearts intend I very clearly comprehend, Let them dissemble e'er so much.— When they perceive the master's touch, And find 'tis likely to endure, They'll say 'tis Esop to be sure— But what appears of mean design, At any rate they'll vouch for mine. These in a word I would refute: Whether of great or no repute, What sprung from Esop's fertile thought This hand has to perfection brought; But waiving things to our distaste, Let's to the destined period haste.

XVII. THE SHIPWRECK OF SIMONIDES.

A man, whose learned worth is known, Has always riches of his own. Simonides, who was the head Of lyric bards, yet wrote for bread, His circuit took through every town In Asia of the first renown, The praise of heroes to rehearse, Who gave him money for his verse. When by this trade much wealth was earn'd, Homewards by shipping he return'd (A Cean born, as some suppose): On board he went, a tempest rose, Which shook th' old ship to that degree, She founder'd soon as out at sea. Some purses, some their jewels tie About them for a sure supply; But one more curious, ask'd the seer, "Poet, have you got nothing here?" "My all," says he, "is what I am."— On this some few for safety swam (For most o'erburden'd by their goods, Were smother'd in the whelming floods). The spoilers came, the wealth demand, And leave them naked on the strand. It happen'd for the shipwreck'd crew An ancient city was in view, By name Clazomena, in which There lived a scholar learn'd and rich, Who often read, his cares to ease, The verses of Simonides, And was a vast admirer grown Of this great poet, though unknown. Him by his converse when he traced, He with much heartiness embraced, And soon equipp'd the bard anew, With servants, clothes, and money too, The rest benevolence implored, With case depicted on a board: Which when Simonides espied, "I plainly told you all," he cried, "That all my wealth was in myself; As for your chattels and your pelf, On which ye did so much depend, They're come to nothing in the end."

XVIII. THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOR.

The Mountain labor'd, groaning loud, On which a num'rous gaping crowd Of noodles came to see the sight, When, lo! a mouse was brought to light! This tale's for men of swagg'ring cast, Whose threats, voluminous and vast, With all their verse and all their prose, Can make but little on't, God knows.

XIX. THE ANT AND THE FLY.

An Ant and Fly had sharp dispute Which creature was of most repute; When thus began the flaunting Fly: "Are you so laudible as I? I, ere the sacrifice is carved, Precede the gods; first come, first served— Before the altar take my place, And in all temples show my face, Whene'er I please I set me down Upon the head that wears a crown. I with impunity can taste The kiss of matrons fair and chaste. And pleasure without labor claim— Say, trollop, canst thou do the same?" "The feasts of gods are glorious fare. No doubt, to those who're welcome there; But not for such detested things.— You talk of matron's lips and kings; I, who with wakeful care and pains Against the winter hoard my grains, Thee feeding upon ordure view.— The altars you frequent, 'tis true; But still are driv'n away from thence, And elsewhere, as of much offence. A life of toil you will not lead, And so have nothing when you need. Besides all this, you talk with pride Of things that modesty should hide. You plague me here, while days increase, But when the winter comes you cease. Me, when the cold thy life bereaves, A plenteous magazine receives. I think I need no more advance To cure you of your arrogance." The tenor of this tale infers Two very diff'rent characters; Of men self-praised and falsely vain, And men of real worth in grain.

XX. THE ESCAPE OF SIMONIDES.

Th' attention letters can engage, Ev'n from a base degen'rate age, I've shown before; and now shall show Their lustre in another view, And tell a memorable tale, How much they can with heav'n prevail. Simonides, the very same We lately had a call to name, Agreed for such a sum to blaze A certain famous champion's praise. He therefore a retirement sought, But found the theme on which he wrote So scanty, he was forced to use Th' accustom'd license of the muse, And introduced and praise bestow'd On Leda's sons to raise his ode; With these the rather making free, As heroes in the same degree. He warranted his work, and yet Could but one third of payment get. Upon demanding all the due, "Let them," says he, "pay t'other two, Who take two places in the song; But lest you think I do you wrong And part in dudgeon—I invite Your company to sup this night, For then my friends and kin I see, 'Mongst which I choose to reckon thee." Choused and chagrined, yet shunning blame, He promised, set the hour, and came; As fearful lest a favour spurn'd Should to an open breach be turn'd. The splendid banquet shone with plate, And preparations full of state Made the glad house with clamors roar— When on a sudden at the door Two youths, with sweat and dust besmear'd, Above the human form appear'd, And charged forthwith a little scout To bid Simonides come out, That 'twas his int'rest not to stay.— The slave, in trouble and dismay, Roused from his seat the feasting bard, Who scarce had stirr'd a single yard Before the room at once fell in, And crush'd the champion and his kin. No youths before the door are found.— The thing soon spread the country round; And when each circumstance was weigh'd, They knew the gods that visit made, And saved the poet's life in lieu Of those two-thirds which yet were due.

EPILOGUE TO EUTYCHUS.

I yet have stock in hand to spare, And could write on—but will forbear— First, lest I tire a friend, whose state And avocations are so great: And then, if other pens should try This moral scheme as well as I, They may have something to pursue:— Yet if the spacious field we view, More men are wanting for the plan, Rather than matter for the man. Now for that prize I make my plea You promised to my brevity. Keep your kind word; for life, my friend, Is daily nearer to its end; And I shall share your love the less The longer you your hand repress: The sooner you the boon insure, The more the tenure must endure; And if I quick possession take, The greater profit must I make, While yet declining age subsists, A room for friendly aid exists. Anon with tasteless years grown weak, In vain benevolence will seek To do me good—when Death at hand Shall come and urge his last demand. 'Tis folly, you'll be apt to say, A thousand times to beg and pray Of one with so much worth and sense, Whose gen'rous bounty is propense. If e'er a miscreant succeeds, By fair confession of his deeds, An innocent offender's case Is far more worthy of your grace. You for example sake begin, Then others to the lure you'll win, And in rotation more and more Will soon communicate their store. Consider in your mind how far At stake your word and honour are; And let your closing the debate By what I may congratulate. I have been guilty of excess Beyond my thought in this address But 'tis not easy to refrain A spirit work'd up to disdain By wretches insolent and vile, With a clear conscience all the while. You'll ask me, sir, at whom I hint— In time they may appear in print. But give me leave to cite a phrase I met with in my boyish days. "'Tis dangerous for the mean and low Too plain their grievances to show." This is advice I shall retain While life and sanity remain.



BOOK V.

PROLOGUE, TO PARTICULO

When I resolved my hand to stay For this, that others might have play, On reconsidering of my part I soon recanted in my heart: For if a rival should arise, How can he possibly devise The things that I have let alone, Since each man's fancy is his own, And likewise colouring of the piece?— It was not therefore mere caprice, But strong reflection made me write: Wherefore since you in tales delight, Which I, in justice, after all, Not Esop's, but Esopian call; Since he invented but a few; I more, and some entirely new, Keeping indeed the ancient style, With fresh materials all the while. As at your leisure you peruse The fourth collection of my muse, That you may not be at a stand, A fifth shall shortly come to hand; 'Gainst which, if as against the rest, Malignant cavillers protest, Let them carp on, and make it plain They carp at what they can't attain. My fame's secure, since I can show How men of eminence like you, My little book transcribe and quote, As like to live of classic note. It is th' ambition of my pen To win th' applause of learned men.

I. DEMETRIUS AND MENANDER.

If Esop's name at any time I bring into this measured rhyme, To whom I've paid whate'er I owe, Let all men by these presents know, I with th' old fabulist make free, To strengthen my authority. As certain sculptors of the age, The more attention to engage, And raise their price, the curious please, By forging of Praxiteles; And in like manner they purloin A Myro to their silver coin. 'Tis thus our fables we can smoke, As pictures for their age bespoke: For biting envy, in disgust To new improvements, favors rust; But now a tale comes in of course, Which these assertions will enforce. Demetrius, who was justly call'd The tyrant, got himself install'd, And held o'er Athens impious sway. The crowd, as ever is the way, Came, eager rushing far and wide, And, "Fortunate event!" they cried. The nobles came, the throne address'd: The hand by which they were oppress'd They meekly kiss'd, with inward stings Of anguish for the face of things. The idlers also, with the tribe Of those who to themselves prescribe Their ease and pleasure, in the end Came sneaking, lest they should offend. Amongst this troop Menander hies, So famous for his comedies. (Him, though he was not known by sight, The tyrant read with great delight, Struck with the genius of the bard.) In flowing robes bedaub'd with nard, And saunt'ring tread he came along, Whom, at the bottom of the throng, When Phalereus beheld, he said: "How dares that fribble show his head In this our presence?" he was told— "It is Menander you behold." Then, changed at once from fierce to bland, He call'd, and took him by the hand.

II. THE THIEF AND THE TRAVELLERS.

Two men equipp'd were on their way; One fearful; one without dismay, An able fencer. As they went, A robber came with black intent; Demanding, upon pain of death, Their gold and silver in a breath. At which the man of spirit drew, And instantly disarm'd and slew The Thief, his honor to maintain. Soon as the rogue was fairly slain, The tim'rous chap began to puff, And drew his sword, and stripp'd in buff— "Leave me alone with him! stand back! I'll teach him whom he should attack." Then he who fought, "I wish, my friend, But now you'd had such words to lend; I might have been confirm'd the more, Supposing truth to all you swore; Then put your weapon in the sheath, And keep your tongue within your teeth, Though you may play an actor's part On them who do not know your heart. I, who have seen this very day How lustily you ran away, Experience when one comes to blows How far your resolution goes." This narrative to those I tell Who stand their ground when all is well; But in the hour of pressing need Abash'd, most shamefully recede.

III. THE BALD MAN AND THE FLY.

As on his head she chanced to sit, A Man's bald pate a Gadfly bit; He, prompt to crush the little foe, Dealt on himself a grievous blow: At which the Fly, deriding said, "You that would strike an insect dead For one slight sting, in wrath so strict, What punishment will you inflict Upon yourself, who was so blunt To do yourself this gross affront?"— "O," says the party, "as for me, I with myself can soon agree. The spirit of th' intention's all; But thou, detested cannibal! Blood-sucker! to have thee secured More would I gladly have endured." What by this moral tale is meant Is—those who wrong not with intent Are venial; but to those that do Severity, I think, is due.

IV. THE MAN AND THE ASS.

A certain Man, when he had made A sacrifice, for special aid To Hercules, and kill'd a swine, Did for his Ass's share assign All the remainder of the corn; But he, rejecting it with scorn, Thus said: "I gladly would partake— But apprehend that life's at stake; For he you fatted up and fed With store of this, is stuck and dead." Struck with the import of this tale, I have succeeded to prevail Upon my passions, and abstain, From peril of immod'rate gain. But, you will say, those that have come Unjustly by a handsome sum, Upon the pillage still subsist— Why, if we reckon up the list, You'll find by far the major part Have been conducted in the cart: Temerity for some may do, But many more their rashness rue.

V. THE BUFFOON AND COUNTRY-FELLOW.

In ev'ry age, in each profession, Men err the most by prepossession; But when the thing is clearly shown, Is fairly urged, and fully known, We soon applaud what we deride, And penitence succeeds to pride. A certain noble, on a day, Having a mind to show away, Invited by reward the mimes And play'rs and tumblers of the times, And built a large commodious stage For the choice spirits of the age: But, above all, amongst the rest There came a genius who profess'd To have a curious trick in store That never was perform'd before. Through all the town this soon got air, And the whole house was like a fair; But soon his entry as he made, Without a prompter or parade, 'Twas all expectance and suspense, And silence gagg'd the audience. He, stooping down and looking big, So wondrous well took off a pig, All swore 'twas serious, and no joke, For that, or underneath his cloak He had concealed some grunting elf, Or was a real hog himself. A search was made—no pig was found— With thund'ring claps the seats resound, And pit, and box, and gall'ries roar With— "O rare! bravo!" and "encore." Old Roger Grouse, a country clown, Who yet knew something of the town, Beheld the mimic of his whim, And on the morrow challenged him Declaring to each beau and belle That he this grunter would excel. The morrow came—the crowd was greater— But prejudice and rank ill-nature Usurp'd the minds of men and wenches, Who came to hiss and break the benches. The mimic took his usual station, And squeak'd with general approbation; Again "Encore! encore!" they cry— "'Tis quite the thing, 'tis very high." Old Grouse conceal'd, amidst this racket, A real pig beneath his jacket— Then forth he came, and with his nail He pinch'd the urchin by the tail. The tortured pig, from out his throat, Produced the genuine nat'ral note. All bellow'd out 'twas very sad! Sure never stuff was half so bad. "That like a pig!" each cried in scoff; "Pshaw! nonsense! blockhead! off! off! off!" The mimic was extoll'd, and Grouse Was hiss'd, and catcall'd from the house. "Soft ye, a word before I go," Quoth honest Hodge; and stooping low, Produced the pig, and thus aloud Bespoke the stupid partial crowd: "Behold, and learn from this poor cratur, How much you critics know of natur!"

TO PARTICULO

As yet my muse is not to seek, But can from fresh materials speak; And our poetic fountain springs With rich variety of things. But you're for sallies short and sweet; Long tales their purposes defeat. Wherefore, thou worthiest, best of men Particulo, for whom my pen Immortal honour will insure, Long as a rev'rence shall endure For Roman learning—if this strain Cannot your approbation gain, Yet, yet my brevity admire, Which may the more to praise aspire, The more our poets now-a-days Are tedious in their lifeless lays.

VI. THE TWO BALD MEN.

As on his way a Bald-pate went, He found a comb by accident; Another, with a head as bare, Pursued, and hollow'd for a share. The first produced the prize, and cried, "Good Providence was on our side; But by the strange caprice of Fate, We're to no purpose fortunate; And, as the proverb says, have found A hobnail, for a hundred pound." They by this tale may be relieved Whose sanguine hopes have been deceived.