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BEWICK’S SELECT FABLES.


                            “Is not the earth
  With various living creatures, and the air
  Replenished, and all those at thy command
  To come and play before thee? Knowest thou not
  Their language and their ways? They also know,
  And reason not contemptibly: with these
  Find pastime.”—_Paradise Lost_, b. viii. l. 370.

[Illustration]

_The above appeared on the titles of both the 1776 and 1784 editions of_
“SELECT FABLES,” _T. Saint, Newcastle-upon-Tyne_.




[Illustration]




                         Bewick’s Select Fables
                          _OF ÆSOP AND OTHERS_.

                             In Three Parts.

                  _I. FABLES EXTRACTED FROM DODSLEY’S._
            _II. FABLES WITH REFLECTIONS IN PROSE AND VERSE._
                         _III. FABLES IN VERSE._

                          TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED

               _THE LIFE OF ÆSOP, AND AN ESSAY UPON FABLE
                          BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH._

     _Faithfully Reprinted from the Rare Newcastle Edition published
                          by T. SAINT in 1784._

           With the Original Wood Engravings by Thomas Bewick,
                                 AND AN
                  Illustrated Preface by Edwin Pearson.

                             [Illustration]

                                 LONDON:
                 BICKERS & SON, 1 LEICESTER SQUARE, W.C.

                    PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY
                          EDINBURGH AND LONDON




[Illustration: Thomas Bewick

_Engraver on Wood._

_Jaˢ. Ramsay Pinxᵗ._ _Henry Hoppner Meyer Sculpᵗ._]




[Illustration]




PREFACE TO 1871 EDITION.


In the various periods of the world’s history men have appeared who were
gifted with greater powers of mind and intelligence than the majority
of the people in whose age they lived, who, by becoming the preceptors
or teachers of the masses, evidently fulfilled the designs of the
Creator, by promoting civilisation and happiness, by unity of thought and
knowledge. Such men were Æsop, William Shakespeare, Fielding, Scott, and
many others, and later, in our own time, Thackeray and Charles Dickens.
One of the most ancient and interesting methods of conveying instruction
was by the art of Fable, Allegory, or Parable.

Fable is an ingenious method of conveying advice and instruction, without
seeming so to do, by a diverting little narrative, which, attracting
attention, irresistibly chains it till the moral is imperceptibly
rooted in the mind, there to influence, for the _better_ it may be,
all future actions of importance. _Æsop_ was, and _is_, the most
favourite of Fabulists, of whom a fair and goodly succession have since
appeared; but still _he_ maintains, and will continue to maintain the
foremost place in literature as a writer of instructive and entertaining
Fables. We here reprint an edition comparatively unknown in the present
generation, illustrated by the graver of Bewick, and arranged by the pen
of Goldsmith. Bewick and Goldsmith’s _early_ works are _comparatively_
unknown to the literary and reading world. We all know that Bewick
_designed_ and _engraved_ the inimitable “British Quadrupeds,” “Birds,”
“Fables,” &c., and that Goldsmith wrote the “Vicar of Wakefield,”
“Traveller,” “Deserted Village,” &c., but what do we know of their
_early_ works—the _progressive steps_ by which they attained their
wondrous and _well-earned_ celebrity? It has been the pleasing pursuit of
the writer (for some years) to search for, and rescue from destruction
and oblivion, all possible _early_ works of Bewick and Goldsmith. The
result has exceeded his most sanguine expectations. He has discovered at
least _twenty_ little works written by Goldsmith during his _weary_ hours
of adversity, all bearing _strong_ internal evidence of the author’s
mind and style. (A work on this subject is preparing for the press,
profusely illustrated with original woodcuts, &c.) The early editions of
the _present_ work were printed by T. Saint, of Newcastle-upon-Tyne.
We will here give a very brief _resumé_ of Bewick’s _earliest_ works
(published by Saint), with a few woodcuts from the _original_ blocks,
thus illustrating the _progressive_ _stages_ of pictorial fine art by
which Thomas Bewick succeeded in producing the wood-engravings which
embellish the _present volume_, of which (edit. 1784) Jackson, in his
work on wood-engraving (1861, p. 480), says:—

“He (Bewick) evidently improved as his talents were exercised; for the
cuts in the “Select Fables,” 1784, are generally much superior to those
in “Gay’s Fables,” 1779. The animals are better drawn and engraved;
the sketches of landscape in the backgrounds are more natural; and the
engraving of the foliage of the trees and bushes is not unfrequently
scarce inferior to that of his later productions.”

Jackson gives _three_ examples of these Fable cuts in his work, at pp.
480, 503 (“Wood-Engravings,” 1861). Thomas Bewick was apprenticed to
R. Beilby, October 1, 1767. It is probable that the cuts given in next
page are among the _very first_ engraved by Thomas Bewick during his
apprenticeship, and were used in “A New Invented Horn Book,” also in
“Battledores,” “Primers,” and “Reading Easies.” He then executed the
diagrams for Hutton on Mensuration, 4to, 1770. One of the cuts is given
in “Jackson” (p. 475), a representation of St Nicholas’ celebrated
steeple. This is the first _known_ pictorial attempt of Bewick’s.

[Illustration: “Horn Book” Cuts.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Facsimile of Bewick’s cut, St. Nicholas’ Steeple,
Newcastle, 1770.]

No doubt coarse cuts were done by Bewick about this time for _local_
Ballads, Broadsides, Garlands, and Histories.

The next recognised work _I discovered myself_, the “New Lottery-Book of
Birds and Beasts, for Children to learn their Letters by, as soon as they
can speak” (Saint, 1771, 32mo, bds. and gilt). Two of the cuts follow.

[Illustration]

The “Child’s Tutor” (Saint, 1772-73, square 24mo), cuts, with _verses_,
&c., by Oliver Goldsmith. The following is undoubtedly by the Poet’s
hand:—“The Lilliputian Magazine; or, the Young Gentleman and Lady’s
Golden Library, being an attempt to mend the World, to render the Society
of Man more amiable, and to establish the Plainness, Simplicity, Virtue,
and Wisdom of the Golden Age, so much celebrated by the Poets and
Historians—

  ‘Man in that age no rule but Reason knew,
  And with a native bent did Good pursue;
  Unforc’d by Punishment, unaw’d by Fear,
  His Words were Simple and his Soul Sincere.’”

(T. Saint, _circa_ 1772, _early_ Bewick woodcuts, 144 pp. 24mo.) The
verse and title bear the _undoubted impress_ of his genius and style.
Oliver Goldsmith wrote it for J. Newbery, of London, but, as I shall show
in my larger work on this subject, there was an arrangement between them
by which Saint reprinted many of his (Newbery’s) little books for the
North-Country trade. We then have “Moral Instructions of a Father to his
Son,” comprehending the whole system of Morality, &c., &c.; and “Select
Fables,” extracted from Dodsley, and others, _adorned with emblematical_
cuts, 12mo, T. Saint, Newcastle, 1772 and 1775. This, then, is one of the
_first_ works of Saint’s we have seen containing cuts of Fables.

Having a doubt respecting the cuts of this rare book, I took my
copy to Miss Bewick (Jan. 1867), and inquired of her if they _were_
engraved by her father. She kindly gave me the following _authentic
information_:—“The cuts _were_ engraved by Thomas Bewick in the first
year of his apprenticeship (1767-68), excepting the cut of a ship at sea,
p. 167. This was engraved by David Martin, Bewick’s fellow-apprentice,
Bewick at this time disliking to represent ‘water.’” This, then, sets all
doubt at rest respecting the cuts in an “Æsop’s Fables,” “Gay’s Fables,”
&c., &c., published by Saint about this date, in which the _same_ and
similar cuts were used. The following, used in “Gay,” is evidently
Bewick’s first attempt at the subject for which he afterwards gained a
premium.

[Illustration: “Moral Instructions,” 1772, and “Select Fables,” 1776.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: “Select Fables,” Æsop, &c. (Saint, 1776).]

The next is the _first_ edition of the _present volume_, “Select Fables”
(T. Saint, Newcastle, 1776). In three Parts. Part I. After the Manner of
Dodsley’s. Part II. Fables with Reflections. Part III. Fables in Verse.
To which are prefixed the Life of Æsop; and An Essay upon Fable—(_same
Verse and Vignette, as in the 2d Edition, of 1784_). Containing one
hundred and fourteen cuts, _including_ those mentioned in the “Moral
Instructions,” _described above_, and fourteen larger and much superior
cuts, _with borders_, afterwards used with others in “Gay’s Fables,”
printed by T. Saint, in 1779. The same vignette appears on the title as
in the Second Edition of this Book in 1784. It also has a copperplate
frontispiece, “R. Beilby delint. et sculpt.” 12mo, 211 pages, 2 pages
of Index, &c. (notice the _variations_ in the _title_, &c., to the 1784
edition). The only copy of this edition (1776) I ever had, or saw, is now
in the unique collection of E. B. Jupp, Esq., who has kindly lent the
block for the Frontispiece to the present Edition. It was engraved for
“The Beauties of Æsop” (Kendal, _circa_ 1800-22), by Thomas Bewick, and
is somewhat like Beilby’s copperplate frontispiece to 1776 Edition, but
infinitely _improved_. It contains about seventy delineations of animal
and bird life, &c. (see the tailpiece at page 122 of _present_ edition,
extremely like in arrangement, execution, &c.), while the portrait of
Æsop is certainly the most _reasonable_ I have yet seen in examining the
_numerous_ editions which have passed through my hands.

About this time, 1773 to 1776, many works issued from Saint’s
press—“Robinson Crusoe,” “Watt’s Songs,” Oliver Goldsmith’s “Tommy Trip”
(see my reprint, of 1867), “Goody Two Shoes,” “Golden Toy or Fairing,”
“Tom Telescope’s Newtonian Philosophy,” “Tommy Tagg’s Poems,” and
_numerous_ others. Examples of cuts follow.

[Illustration: Similar to “Tommy Trip” series of Cuts.]

[Illustration: “Tommy Two Shoes.”]

[Illustration: “Adventures of a Kitten.”]

[Illustration: “Holy Bible in Miniature.”]

[Illustration: “Memoirs of a Peg-Top.”]

[Illustration: “Poetical Fabulator.”]

[Illustration: A New Edition of “Tommy Tagg,” with sixty cuts, will
shortly be printed. (Specimen of the Woodcuts.)]

[Illustration: “The Concert of Birds,” from “Tommy Tagg.”]

[Illustration: “Story-Teller.”]

We now reach a period to which Bewick himself thus refers at pages 59,
60 of his “Memoirs” (Longman, 1862):—“We were occasionally applied to by
(local) printers to execute woodcuts for them.... Orders were received
for cuts for Children’s Books, chiefly for Thomas Saint, printer,
Newcastle, and successor of John White, who had rendered himself famous
for his numerous publications of histories and old ballads.... My time
now became greatly taken up with designing and cutting a set of wood
blocks for the ‘Story-Teller,’ ‘Gay’s Fables,’ and ‘Select Fables,’
together with cuts of a similar kind for printers.”

[Illustration]

The following are among those referred to by Bewick:—“Youth’s Instructive
and Entertaining Story-Teller, being a Choice Collection of Moral Tales,
Chiefly deduced from real Life, calculated to enforce the Practice of
Virtue, and expand every social Idea in the Human heart. Adorned with
emblematical cuts from the most interesting part of each Tale, and
methodised after the Plan recommended by the late ingenious Dr Goldsmith.
To which is added, by way of Preface, Thoughts on the Present Mode of
Education.” (Newcastle, T. Saint.) Three Editions, _circa_ 1774-7-8,
12mo, thirty-seven woodcuts. The cuts in this book are larger than any
in the preceding books. We give the cut at page 48 of a Shipwrecked
Sailor kneeling on a rock saying his prayers, the tide rising around
him, which is the _first and earliest_ engraving of this subject by T.
Bewick, afterwards one of his favourite Vignettes in the “British Birds.”
The others are all about the size of the cuts in “Gay’s Fables,” 1779, or
“Select Fables,” 1784, and have similar borders.

[Illustration: “Bob Easy.”]

[Illustration: “The Huntsman and Old Hound.”]

“Jackson” refers to this and the following two works:—“Gay’s Fables.”
Fables by the late Mr Gay, in One Volume complete, Newcastle, printed by
and for T. Saint, 1779, 12mo, _77 cuts of Fables, with borders and 33
Vignettes_; for the tasteful and clever engraving of five of the cuts
(one, the Huntsman and Old Hound[1]) the Royal Society of Arts presented
Bewick with their medal; _it is further embellished with a beautifully
engraved Frontispiece, by R. Beilby_ (T. Saint, Newcastle, 1779). We
give an impression of the _original_ wood-engraving, exceedingly
interesting, as now Bewick seems to have received the required impetus or
encouragement to produce the engravings for “Select Fables,” T. Saint,
1784. In three parts. Part I. Fables extracted from Dodsley’s; Part II.
Fables, with Reflections in Prose and Verse; Part III. Fables in Verse;
to which are prefixed the Life of Æsop, and an Essay upon Fable, A New
Edition Improved. For this edition a _new set of cuts_ was engraved by
Thomas Bewick. “These cuts were then deemed superior to any of Bewick’s
previous productions.” The same year another impression of this work
was printed with the same title page, but considerable variations in
the letterpress, and vignettes occur at pages 122, 125, and 152, which
are not in the former edition, printed in 1784, 12mo. This is the book
we now reprint (Saint’s collection of Bewick’s blocks having passed
into my hands.) An original copy of the 1784 edition in fine state is so
rare, that a copy has realised, at auction, £7, 10s. Bewick says (p. 60,
“Memoir,” 1862): “Some of the Fable (“Gay,” 1779) cuts were thought so
much of by my master (Beilby), that he, in my name, sent impressions of a
few of them to be laid before the Society for the Encouragement of Arts,
&c., and I obtained a premium.” (Seven guineas, which he took intense
pleasure in presenting to his mother.) We have thus, by easy stages,
travelled through the various phases of talent, to the most important
work produced before his _well-known_ “British Quadrupeds,” first
published 1790; “British Birds,” 1797, 1804; and his _large_ edition of
“Æsop’s Fables,” 1818 (each work embellished with his inimitable and
ever-pleasing vignettes). Examples from all these works follow.

[Illustration: “The Chillingham Wild Bull.”—Bewick’s _large_ engraving of
this subject, with border, has realised twenty guineas. _See_ “Jackson on
Wood-Engraving.”]

[Illustration: British Quadrupeds.]

[Illustration: Vignette to “Quadrupeds.”]

[Illustration: “Select Fables,” 1820, Charnley’s Edition, 8vo, and in
early Children’s Books (Saint, Newcastle).]

[Illustration: Intended for “Bewick’s British Birds”—“Chimney Swallow,”
injured and rejected.]

[Illustration: Facsimile of Bewick’s Skylark.]

[Illustration: Vignette to “Birds.”—Angler and Sportsman.]

[Illustration: Engraved for “Bewick’s Æsop,” 1818, unfinished and
rejected.]

[Illustration: Vignette to “Æsop.”]

These remarks are rapidly written, but they are the result of years
of research and study: so that the reader of this Preface has a brief
_resumé_ of Bewick’s talents from his _earliest efforts_ to his most
finished productions; a _result_ which no one living is able to give from
the _original woodcuts_ but myself; thus forming a most useful manual or
pictorial _aid_ to connoisseurs in selecting _early_ works illustrated by
“Bewick,” the more _valuable_, as scarcely any of the works mentioned as
published by Saint are in the British Museum.

Now, as to the “Goldsmith” interest as connected with this work, the
1776 Newcastle edition was evidently copied from “Dodsley’s” and other
editions of “Select Fables of Æsop” published in London prior to this
period. In the meantime, J. Newbery and others, for whom Goldsmith wrote
prefaces and arranged and edited books, had published new editions, so
that when Saint went to press with “A New Edition Improved” (with a new
set of cuts by the Bewicks), evidently the book was remodelled and
extended from one that Goldsmith had just edited. In Dodsley’s Preface
to his Fables, he says “he has been assisted in it by gentlemen of the
most distinguished abilities; and that several, both of the old and the
new Fables, are not written by himself, but by authors with whom it is
an honour to be connected.” Dodsley also refers to the Life of Æsop,
&c., as being written by “a learned and ingenious friend.” Doubtless Dr
Johnson and Goldsmith were the “authors,” and Goldsmith the “friend,”
here referred to. Be that as it may, the present work bears sufficient
internal evidence in the “Essay on Fable,” the “Poetical Applications,”
and the “Fables in Verse,” that Oliver Goldsmith was the author; for it
is identical in style with numerous prefaces and essays written about
this period by Oliver Goldsmith for Newbery, Dodsley, Griffiths, and
others. Much conclusive evidence on this interesting subject will be
given in my new book on “The early works of Bewick and Goldsmith” (a
Prospectus of which will shortly be issued). The applications to this
edition are infinitely superior to any edition which had appeared prior
to its publication. In Sir Roger L’Estrange and Croxall’s editions, the
applications were warped away from their original and intended effect
by political distortions and obsolete terms, which often strayed far
from, instead of assisting, the subject. It is somewhat refreshing,
then, in the edition here reprinted, to meet with some applications
which are everything that could be desired, in easy, naturally flowing,
and apt language, just to the point; and who was so much a master of
such language as Oliver Goldsmith?—of whom Dr Johnson said, “He left
no species of writing unadorned.” It may be interesting here to quote
from Bewick’s Memoir of himself (not published till 1862), his opinion
of this book, which at once justifies the parent, preceptor, or friend,
in selecting this as a most _suitable_ present for the young of both
sexes; he says (pages 172-3):—“I was extremely fond of that book (‘Æsop’s
Fables’); and as it had afforded me much pleasure, I thought, with better
executed designs, it would impart the same kind of delight to others that
I had experienced from attentively reading it. I was also of opinion,
that it had (while admiring the cuts) led hundreds of young men into the
paths of wisdom and rectitude, and in that way had materially assisted
the pulpit.”

The lessons intended to be conveyed through the medium of Fable are
certainly plainer and easier to be understood in this edition than in
the once popular “Croxall;” and the publishers believe, therefore, that
the book in its present form will be found a powerful auxiliary in the
important practical feeling for the education of the rising generation,
illustrated as it is by the early but forcible and natural rendering of
these Fables by the inimitable Bewick, through the medium of which is
imparted the profound good sense, wisdom, and experience of the ancient
philosophers. I have already exceeded the limits of an ordinary Preface.
On a future occasion I will endeavour to show how _coincidently_ Bewick
and Goldsmith worked together to produce results—the importance of which
can scarcely be fully estimated. I will now conclude with one of those
exquisite little pictures of nature that will never cease to exhibit the
true art of pleasing as long as “the language of England is spoken, or
her literature cultivated.”

                                                           EDWIN PEARSON.

[Illustration]

  “Say, should the philosophic mind disdain
  That good, which makes each humble bosom vain?
  Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,
  These _little things_ are great to _little man_.”




[Illustration]




THE LIFE OF ÆSOP.


Æsop, according to the best accounts, was a native of Phrygia, a province
of the _Lesser Asia_, and born in the city Cotiæum.[2] He was a person
of a remarkable genius, and extraordinary character; for though he was
born a slave, by the assistance of his _genius_ and _virtue only_, he
procured his own emancipation. By his sage counsels and judicious advice
he directed his countrymen to measures that secured their liberty, and
by a single Fable baffled the tyrannical projects of Crœsus, King of
Lydia. The most part of writers agree that his person was but unseemly,
though there are some of a contrary opinion.[3] It is probable that he
was of a low and diminutive stature, though agreeable in his complexion,
and polite in his manners. It is, however, certain that he had a great
soul, and was endowed with extraordinary mental qualifications; his
moral character approached to a degree of perfection to which very few
have attained. He appears to have had a true sense of morality, and a
just discernment of right and wrong; his perceptions and feelings of
truth were scrupulously nice, and the smallest deviation from rectitude
impressed his mind with the greatest antipathy. No considerations of
private interest could warp his inclinations so as to seduce him from
the paths of virtue; his principles were stedfast and determined, and
truly habitual. He never employed his great wisdom to serve the purposes
of cunning; but, with an uncommon exactness, made his understanding a
servant to truth. Historians have given many instances of his wit and
shrewdness, which were always employed in the service of _virtue_,
_philanthropy_, and _benevolence_.

It cannot well be ascertained who were his parents, though some have
affirmed that his father was a shepherd.[4] He himself was undoubtedly
a slave; his first master was an Athenian, whose name was Caresias.
At Athens he learned the Greek language in perfection, and acquired a
taste for writing moral instructions, in the way of Fables, which was
then the prevailing mode of teaching morals in Attica. His Fables are
allegorical stories, delivered with an air of fiction, under various
personifications, to convey truth to the mind in an agreeable manner. By
telling a story of a _Lion_, _Dog_, or a _Wolf_, the Fabulist describes
the manners and characters of men, and communicates instruction without
seeming to assume the authority of a master or a pedagogue. Æsop’s
situation as a slave might suggest this method to him; for what would
have been scornfully rejected if delivered in an authoritative style by
a slave, was received with avidity in the form of a fable.

Æsop had several masters; his second master was Xanthus, in whose service
he discovered great wisdom and sagacity in answering questions, and
reconciling differences. By the following stratagem he made his master’s
wife return back, after she had run away and left him, and effectually
reconciled them: our Fabulist, then a slave, went to the market, and
bought a great quantity of the best provisions, which he publicly
declared were intended for the marriage of his master with a new spouse.
This report had its desired effect, and the matter was amicably composed.
The story of his feast of _Neat Tongrege_, and his answer to a gardener,
are scarcely worthy of relating. At a feast made on purpose to celebrate
the return of his master’s wife, he is said to have served the guests
with several courses of tongues, by which he intended to give a moral
lesson to his master and mistress, who had by the too liberal use of
their tongues occasioned the difference which was now agreed.

The third master of Æsop was Idmon, who was surnamed the wise. Idmon was
an inhabitant of the island of Samos. During Æsop’s servitude with this
master, he had a fellow-servant called Rhodopis, who some affirm was his
wife.[5] This does not at all appear credible, for there is no mention
made of this among the Greek writers. This Rhodopis became afterwards
very famous for her riches, and was celebrated all over Greece. Idmon
is said to have been so well pleased with Æsop, that after he had been
some time in his service, he emancipated him, and made him free. With the
enjoyment of liberty, he acquired new reputation, and became celebrated
for his wisdom. He is by some compared to the Seven Sages of Greece,
and accounted their equal in wisdom. He had the honour to be acquainted
with Solon and Chilo, and was equally admitted with them in the Court
of Periander, the King of the Corinthians, who was himself one of the
Sages of Greece. He was much esteemed by Crœsus, King of Lydia, and
received into his Court at Sardis. During his residence at Sardis, he
gave proofs of his sagacity which astonished the courtiers of Crœsus.
This ambitious Prince having one day shewn his wise men his vast riches
and magnificence, and the glory and splendour of his court, asked them
the question, whom they thought the happiest man? After several different
answers given by all the wise men present, it came at last to Æsop to
make his reply, who said: _That Crœsus was as much happier than other
men as the fulness of the sea was superior to the rivers._ Whether this
was spoken ironically or in earnest does not appear so evident; but
according to the severe morality of Æsop, it would rather appear to be
a sarcasm, though it was otherwise understood by the King, and received
as the greatest compliment. It wrought so much upon his vanity, that he
exclaimed: _The Phrygian had hit the mark._ One thing which renders it
probable that Æsop flattered Crœsus on this occasion is his conversation
with Solon, who at this time departed from the court of the King of
Lydia. When they were upon the road, Æsop exclaims: _O Solon! either we
must not speak to Kings, or we must say what will please them._ Solon
replied: _We should either not speak to Kings at all, or we should give
them good advice, and speak truth._ This seems to be one instance in
which Æsop is charged with flattery and dissimulation. Some writers
praise him for his complaisance to so great a Prince; but it is rather
a proof of his policy than his ordinary strictness and integrity. There
is another instance recorded by some writers of the life of Æsop, of his
complaisance to Princes, even contrary to the liberties of the people.
He is said to have written a Fable in favour of the tyrant Pisistratus,
which Phædrus has translated, and proves that he was reconciled to
tyranny. But this is no way evident. There are many Fables which are
mingled with those of Æsop, which are not his, yet have been fathered
upon him; and it is not consistent with the other parts of his character
and writings to suppose that he would either flatter tyrants or defend
them. The authorities from whence these supposed facts are taken are not
to be depended upon.

In all other particulars he appears to have proceeded upon the principles
of wisdom, as far as any of the Sages of Greece. When he was asked by
Chilo, one of the wise men, _What God was doing?_ He replied, with great
adroitness, _That he was humbling the proud and exalting the humble._
He had just views of human nature, and assigned true reasons for
all its Phænomena. In an account of the paintings in the time of the
Antonines, Philostratus informs us, that there is one of Æsop which makes
a principal figure. The painter represents him before his own house,
with the geniuses approaching him with a sort of adulating pleasure as
the inventor of Fables: they are painted as adorning him with wreaths
and chaplets of flowers, and crowning him with olive branches. His
countenance appears in a smiling attitude, while his eyes seem fixed
towards the ground, as if composing a Fable, with the same gaiety and
good humour with which he usually wrote. There is a group of men and
beasts placed around him, and amongst the rest the Fox, which makes a
capital figure, as he does in the Fables. This picture does not represent
Æsop in a decrepit form, but sets him forth with a mixture of gravity
and good humour. The image of his mind is well drawn by Plutarch in his
_Feast of the Sages at the court of Periander_, who himself was one of
the Seven. It was at this feast that Æsop repeats his Fable of _The Wolf
and the Shepherds_, to shew that the company were guilty of the same
fault. From Plutarch’s account it is manifest that Æsop’s conversation
was pleasant and witty, but yet delicate. He was satirical without
disobliging, and the poignancy of his wit was smoothed with good nature
and good sense.

The writer of his life prefixed to Dodsley’s Fables compares him to Dean
Swift, but with very little propriety; for he has a delicacy in all his
wit which the Dean of St Patrick’s was a total stranger to; and, what is
more strange, he had nearly as much Christianity.

It has been doubted if he was the inventor of Fables; but it is certain
he was the first that brought that species of writing into reputation.
Archilochus is said to have written Fables one hundred years before
him;[6] but it would appear that those stories were not written for
posterity like those of Æsop. The Fables of Æsop were written in prose,
though the images that are in them afford good scope for a poet, of which
Phædrus has given an elegant specimen. Æsop writes with great simplicity,
elegance, and neatness; the schemes of his Fables are natural, the
sentiments just, and the conclusions moral. Quintilian recommends his
Fables as a first book for children;[7] and, when Plato had sent all the
poets into exile, he allows Æsop a residence in his commonwealth.[8] The
Athenians were good judges of literary merit, and erected a noble statue
for Æsop, to perpetuate his memory, which was sculped by the famous
Lysippus.

The great excellency of Æsop’s manner of writing is, that he blends the
pleasing and the instructive so well as to instruct and please at once.
Horace is much indebted to him for a plan of writing, and has formed a
rule from this famous Fabulist:

  Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci;
  Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo.—_De Arte Poet._ ver. 343.

I wish I could conceal the exit of this great Fabulist and Moral Writer.
He was accused by the Delphians of sacrilege, and convicted by an act of
the greatest villany that ever was invented. They concealed among his
baggage, at his departure, some golden vessels consecrated to Apollo,
and then dispatched messengers to search his baggage. Upon this he was
accused of theft and sacrilege, condemned, and precipitated over a rock.
Thus ended the famous Æsop, whose Fables have immortalised his memory,
and will hand down his name to the latest posterity.




AN ESSAY UPON FABLE.


Fable is the method of conveying truth under the form of an Allegory. The
sense of a Fable is entirely different from the literal meaning of the
words that are used to compose it; and yet the real intention thereof is
visible and manifest, otherwise the Fable is not well composed. The sense
of a Fable of the moral kind ought always to be obvious at first view,
that the instruction intended to be given may have as early an effect as
possible.

The chief thing to be considered in a Fable is the _action_, which
conveys the moral or truth designed for instruction. There ought only to
be one action in a Fable, which must appear through the whole; otherwise
it will be liable to admit of different interpretations, and be the same
as a riddle, and have no effect. _Clearness, Unity, and Probability_,
are incidents essentially necessary in a moral Fable. If a Fable be not
so plain as to point out the sense of the writer clearly, but admit of
different interpretations, it does not answer the true design thereof.
If the incidents tend to convey different ideas, then the reader will
be at a loss to understand the chief intention of the author. All the
various incidents ought manifestly to unite in one design, and point
out one clear and perspicuous truth. Many of the modern Fables labour
under this defect; the incidents do not manifestly tend to point out the
moral. Fontaine’s Fable of the two pigeons, and Croxall’s story of the
coach-wheel, are of this sort.

The incidents of a Fable ought also to have _a real foundation in
nature_. This rule may be infringed by ascribing to creatures appetites
and passions that are not consistent with their known characters. “A Fox
should not be said to long for Grapes.”[9] The rule of Horace will hold
universally—

  Sed non ut placidis cœant immitia: non ut
  Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni.
  Delphinum Sylvis appingit Fluctibus aprum.—HORACE, I. 13.

  To join the wild with creatures that are tame,
  Serpents with birds, or tygers with the lamb,
  Paint whales in woods, and wild boars in the sea,
  Ah, what a motley piece the whole would be!

Creatures different in their nature must not be associated in a just
Fable. The Lamb must not be made to travel with the Fox, nor the Wolf and
the Sheep to feed or associate together; for all this is unnatural, and
can never be rendered a _probable_ object of belief. The incidents in a
Fable ought also to be few, lest by crowding circumstances too close, the
whole appear confused, and perplex the mind.

The next thing to be considered in Fable is the _imagery_ or
_characters_; these may either be men, beasts, or inanimate beings.
All these have been introduced by the ancient Fabulists. In all
personifications the rules of analogy are to be observed; in those things
wherein man and other creatures have no similitude, no true image can be
formed in what respects human society. The persons and characters assumed
in Fables, ought therefore to have a likeness to the things to which they
are compared. All nature may serve to furnish a Fabulist with machinery.
Mountains, rivers, trees, animals, and even invisible powers may answer
his purpose; but, in the use of all sorts of machinery, a proper regard
must always be held to analogy. When language is attributed to animals,
they must not be made to speak in a style which bears no similitude to
some property in their nature; an owl must not be made to sing like a
nightingale; nor should a raven be made the symbol of an orator. When
beasts are made the representations of men, there ought always to be
something in their nature that bears a similitude to their character. The
same may be said of things inanimate; a strong man may be compared to a
mountain, but it would be preposterous to make the same comparison of a
dwarf. Vices and virtues ought in the same manner to be delineated in
Fable; a proud man may be compared to a high hill, a humble person to a
low valley. This is authorised by the writings of the Old Testament: _The
high mountains shall be brought low, and every valley shall be exalted._

When human actions are attributed to invisible powers, or especially to
the Deity, they ought to be such as are worthy of those ideas which are
generally received concerning him. In this, Homer is very faulty; for he
exalts his men almost to Gods, and brings down his Gods to the level of
beasts.

As for the style of Fable, simplicity is the greatest excellence; that
familiar manner of speech in which we converse is best suited for the
purposes of Fable. This manner of writing is more difficult to attain
than is generally imagined; it requires a particular taste, and is harder
to imitate than the sublime itself. The style of a Fable must always be
adapted to the characters which are introduced: for it would be absurd
to make the eagle speak in the same style with the bat; or the King of
the forest express himself in the language of the mouse. But in all these
particulars, nature will be the best guide; and where this is deficient,
no art can supply the want of it.




[Illustration]

FABLES, _&c._


[Illustration]

_FABLE I._

The Miller, his Son, and their Ass.

    _’Tis better to pursue the dictates of one’s own reason, than
    attempt to please all mankind._

A Miller and his Son were driving their Ass to market, in order to sell
him: and that he might get thither fresh and in good condition, they
drove him on gently before them. They had not proceeded far, when they
met a company of travellers. Sure, say they, you are mighty careful of
your Ass: methinks, one of you might as well get up and ride, as suffer
him to walk on at his ease, while you trudge after on foot. In compliance
with this advice, the Old Man set his Son upon the beast. And now, they
had scarce advanced a quarter of a mile farther, before they met another
company. You idle young rogue, said one of the party, why don’t you get
down and let your poor Father ride? Upon this, the Old Man made his Son
dismount, and got up himself. While they were marching in this manner,
a third company began to insult the Father. You hard-hearted unnatural
wretch, say they, how can you suffer that poor lad to wade through the
dirt, while you, like an alderman, ride at your ease? The good-natured
Miller stood corrected, and immediately took his Son up behind him. And
now the next man they met exclaimed, with more vehemence and indignation
than all the rest—Was there ever such a couple of lazy boobies! to
overload in so unconscionable a manner a poor dumb creature, who is far
less able to carry them than they are to carry him! The complying Old
Man would have been half inclined to make the trial, had not experience
by this time sufficiently convinced him, that there cannot be a more
fruitless attempt than to endeavour to please all mankind.


[Illustration]

_FABLE II._

The Fox and the Bramble.

    _We should bear with patience a small evil, when it is
    connected with a greater good._

A Fox closely pursued by a pack of dogs took shelter under the covert of
a Bramble. He rejoiced in this asylum, and for a while was very happy:
but soon found, that if he attempted to stir, he was wounded by thorns
and prickles on every side. However, making a virtue of necessity, he
forbore to complain; and comforted himself with reflecting, that no
bliss is perfect; that good and evil are mixed, and flow from the same
fountain. These briars indeed, said he, will tear my skin a little, yet
they keep off the dogs. For the sake of the good, then, let me bear the
evil with patience: each bitter has its sweet, and these brambles, though
they wound my flesh, preserve my life from danger.


[Illustration]

_FABLE III._

The Butterfly and the Rose.

    _We exclaim loudly against that inconstancy in another to which
    we give occasion by our own._

A fine powdered Butterfly fell in love with a beautiful Rose, who
expanded her charms in a neighbouring parterre. Matters were soon
adjusted between them, and they mutually vowed eternal fidelity. The
Butterfly, perfectly satisfied with the success of his amour, took a
tender leave of his mistress, and did not return again till noon. What!
said the Rose, when she saw him approaching, is the ardent passion you
vowed so soon extinguished? It is an age since you paid me a visit. But
no wonder: for I observed you courting by turns every flower in the
garden. You little coquet, replied the Butterfly, it well becomes _you_,
truly, to reproach me with my gallantries; when in fact I only copy
the example which you yourself have set me. For, not to mention the
satisfaction with which you admitted the kisses of the fragrant Zephyr,
did I not see you displaying your charms to the bee, the fly, the wasp,
and, in short, encouraging and receiving the addresses of every buzzing
insect that fluttered within your view? If you will be a coquet, you must
expect to find me inconstant.


[Illustration]

_FABLE IV._

The Clock and the Dial.

    _There is no absolute independency in the world; every one
    depends in his station upon some above him, and that if this
    order was taken away, there would be nothing except error and
    confusion in the universe._

A Clock, which served for many years to repeat the hours and point out
time, happened to fall into conversation with a Dial, which also served,
when the sun shone, to tell what was the time of day. It happened to
be in a cloudy forenoon, when the sun did not shine. Says the Clock to
the Dial, What a mean slavery do you undergo! you cannot tell the hour
without the sun pleases to inform you; and now the half of the day is
past, and you know not what o’clock it is. I can tell the hour at any
time, and would not be in such a dependent state as you are in for the
world. Night and day are both alike to me. It is just now twelve o’clock.
Upon this the sun shone forth from under the cloud, and showed the exact
time of the day. It was half an hour past twelve. The Dial then replied
to the Clock, You may now perceive that boasting is not good; for you see
you are wrong. It is better to be under direction and follow truth, than
to be eye to one’s self and go wrong; your freedom is only a liberty to
err; and what you call slavery in my case, is the only method of being
freely in the right. You see that we should all of us keep our stations,
and depend upon one another. I depend upon the sun, and you depend upon
me; for if I did not serve to regulate your motions, you see you would
for ever go wrong.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE V._

The Tortoise and the Two Crows.

    _Curiosity often excites those people to hazardous
    undertakings, whom vanity and indiscretion render totally unfit
    for them._

Vanity and idle curiosity are qualities which generally prove destructive
to those who suffer themselves to be governed by them.

A Tortoise, weary of passing her days in the same obscure corner,
conceived a wonderful inclination to visit foreign countries. Two Crows,
whom the simple Tortoise acquainted with her intention, undertook to
oblige her upon the occasion. Accordingly, they told her, that if she
would fasten her mouth to the middle of a pole, they would take the two
ends, and transport her whithersoever she chose to be conveyed. The
Tortoise approved of the expedient; and everything being prepared, the
Crows began their flight with her. They had not travelled long in the
air, when they were met by a Magpie, who inquiring what they were bearing
along, they replied the queen of the Tortoises. The Tortoise, vain of
the new and unmerited appellation, was going to confirm the title, when,
opening her mouth for that purpose, she let go her hold, and was dashed
to pieces by her fall.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VI._

The Country Maid and the Milk-Pail.

    _When we dwell much on distant and chimerical advantages,
    we neglect our present business, and are exposed to real
    misfortunes._

When men suffer their imagination to amuse them with the prospect of
distant and uncertain improvements of their condition, they frequently
sustain real losses by their inattention to those affairs in which they
are immediately concerned.

A Country Maid was walking very deliberately with a pail of milk upon her
head, when she fell into the following train of reflections:—The money
for which I shall sell this milk, will enable me to increase my stock of
eggs to three hundred. These eggs, allowing for what may prove addle,
and what may be destroyed by vermin, will produce at least two hundred
and fifty chickens. The chickens will be fit to carry to market about
Christmas, when poultry always bear a good price, so that by May-day I
cannot fail of having money enough to purchase a gown. Green!—let me
consider—yes, green becomes my complexion best, and green it shall be.
In this dress I will go to the fair, where all the young fellows will
strive to have me for a partner; but I shall perhaps refuse every one of
them, and with an air of disdain toss from them. Transported with this
triumphant thought, she could not forbear acting with her head what thus
passed in her imagination, when down came the pail of milk, and with it
all her imaginary happiness.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE VII._

The Spider and the Silkworm.

    _He that is employed in works of use generally advantages
    himself or others; while he who toils alone for fame must often
    expect to lose his labour._

How vainly we promise ourselves that our flimsy productions will be
rewarded with immortal honour! A Spider, busied in spreading his web from
one side of a room to the other, was asked by an industrious Silkworm,
to what end he spent so much time and labour, in making such a number of
lines and circles? The Spider angrily replied, Do not disturb me, thou
ignorant thing: I transmit my ingenuity to posterity, and fame is the
object of my wishes. Just as he had spoken, a chambermaid, coming into
the room to feed her Silkworms, saw the Spider at his work, and with one
stroke of her broom, swept him away, and destroyed at once his labours
and his hope of fame.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VIII._

The Bee and the Fly.

    _The greatest genius with a vindictive temper is far surpast in
    point of happiness by men of talents less considerable._

A Bee, observing a Fly frisking about her hive, asked him, in a very
passionate tone, what he did there? Is it for such scoundrels as you,
said she, to intrude into the company of the queens of the air? You
have great reason, truly, replied the Fly, to be out of humour. I am
sure they must be mad who would have any concern with so quarrelsome a
nation. And why so? thou saucy malapert, returned the enraged Bee; we
have the best laws, and are governed by the best policy in the world.
We feed upon the most fragrant flowers, and all our business is to make
honey: honey which equals nectar, thou tasteless wretch, who livest upon
nothing but putrefaction and excrement. We live as we can, rejoined the
Fly. Poverty, I hope, is no crime; but passion is one, I am sure. The
honey you make is sweet, I grant you; but your heart is all bitterness:
for to be revenged on an enemy, you will destroy your own life; and are
so inconsiderate in your rage, as to do more mischief to yourselves
than to your adversary. Take my word for it, one had better have less
considerable talents, and use them with more discretion.


[Illustration]

_FABLE IX._

The Huron and the Frenchman.

    _Custom has a mighty effect upon mankind, and more differences
    arise in character from custom than from natural causes.
    Perhaps all men are in the state they should be in; they should
    therefore live contented._

An airy Frenchman happened to meet a Huron upon the Mississippi, as he
went with his bow and shafts to seek provision for his family. Says
Monsieur to the savage, You have a very toilsome life of it, who, when
other people sit by the fireside, enjoying the benefit of good food
and good company, are obliged to traverse the woods in the midst of
snow and storms to preserve a wretched existence. How come you by your
food? replies the Huron. Does it rain from the clouds to you? No, says
the Frenchman; we work in summer, and make provision for winter, and,
during the cold months, sit by the fire and enjoy ourselves. For the
same reason, says the Huron, do we lay up provisions in winter, that we
may rest in summer when the days are hot. Your enjoyments are confined
within the walls of a house, and by the side of a fire, but ours are more
extensive; we assemble upon the mountains and in the woods in summer for
pleasure, and our delights are to observe the works of nature; the sun
serves us instead of fire to warm us, and we are never at a loss for
houses while the woods remain. This is the season when we lay up our
store, and it serves us in summer till winter return. We are accustomed
to endure the cold, and our exercise keeps us from feeling it to excess.
At night the skins of wild beasts keep us from the cold till the morning
dawn, and then we pursue the same employments. Were we not to live in
this manner, the wild beasts would so increase, that they would become
our masters; but our necessity of having food and clothing prevents them
from increasing to very great numbers. What you account pleasure, would
be none to us; and your manner of life appears as ridiculous to the
Hurons, as ours appears to you. You reckon us idolaters, because we pay
adoration to the rising sun; but you misunderstand us; we consider that
light to be a symbol of the great Author of Nature, and only worship him
through this luminary. We do not understand your manner of worship, which
to us appears abundantly absurd; for the Deity is no more like images
of gold and silver, than he is like the sun. The sun is a more glorious
effect of his power and goodness; for he serves many excellent purposes,
and we could not live without him; but your symbols appear to have no
use. The Frenchman could make no reply, and the Huron proceeded on his
hunting.


[Illustration]

_FABLE X._

Genius, Virtue, and Reputation.

    _There are few things so irreparably lost as Reputation._

Genius, Virtue, and Reputation, three intimate friends, agreed to travel
over the island of Great Britain, to see whatever might be worthy of
observation. But as some misfortune, said they, may happen to separate
us, let us consider before we set out by what means we may find each
other again. Should it be my ill fate, said Genius, to be severed from
you, my associates—which Heaven forbid!—you may find me kneeling in
devotion before the tomb of Shakespear, or rapt in some grove where
Milton talked with angels, or musing in the grotto where Pope caught
inspiration. Virtue, with a sigh, acknowledged that her friends were
not very numerous: but were I to lose you, she cried, with whom I am at
present so happily united, I should choose to take sanctuary in the
temples of religion, in the places of royalty, or in the stately domes of
ministers of state; but as it may be my ill-fortune to be there denied
admittance, inquire for some cottage where contentment has a bower,
and there you will certainly find me. Ah! my dear companions, said
Reputation, very earnestly, you, I perceive, when missing, may possibly
be recovered; but take care, I entreat you, always to keep sight of me,
for if I am once lost, I am never to be retrieved.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XI._

Industry and Sloth.

    _Our term of life does not allow time for long protracted
    deliberations._

How many live in the world as useless as if they had never been born!
They pass through life like a bird through the air, and leave no track
behind them; waste the prime of their days in deliberating what they
shall do, and bring them to a period without coming to any determination.

An indolent young man, being asked why he lay in bed so long, jocosely
and carelessly answered, Every morning of my life I am hearing causes.
I have two fine girls, their names are Industry and Sloth, close at my
bed-side as soon as ever I awake, pressing their different suits. One
intreats me to get up, the other persuades me to lie still; and then they
alternately give me various reasons why I should rise, and why I should
not. This detains me so long, as it is the duty of an impartial judge to
hear all that can be said on either side, that before the pleadings are
over, it is time to go to dinner.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XII._

The Hermit and the Bear.

    _The random zeal of inconsiderate friends is often as hurtful
    as the wrath of enemies._

An imprudent friend often does as much mischief by his too great zeal as
the worst enemy could effect by his malice.

A certain Hermit having done a good office to a Bear, the grateful
creature was so sensible of his obligation, that he begged to be admitted
as the guardian and companion of his solitude. The Hermit willingly
accepted his offer, and conducted him to his cell, where they passed
their time together in an amicable manner. One very hot day, the Hermit
having laid him down to sleep, the officious Bear employed himself in
driving away the flies from his patron’s face. But in spite of all his
care, one of the flies perpetually returned to the attack, and at last
settled upon the Hermit’s nose. Now I shall have you most certainly,
said the Bear; and with the best intentions imaginable, gave him a
violent blow on the face, which very effectually indeed demolished
the Fly, but at the same time most terribly bruised the face of his
benefactor.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIII._

The Passenger and the Pilot.

    _We are nowhere out of the reach of Providence, either to
    punish or to protect us._

It had blown a violent storm at sea, and the whole crew of a large vessel
were in imminent danger of shipwreck. After the rolling of the waves were
somewhat abated, a certain Passenger, who had never been at sea before,
observing the Pilot to have appeared wholly unconcerned, even in their
greatest danger, had the curiosity to ask him what death his father died.
What death? said the Pilot; why he perished at Sea, as my grandfather
did before him. And are you not afraid of trusting yourself to an element
that has thus proved fatal to your family? Afraid!—by no means. Why we
must all die: is not your father dead? Yes, but he died in his bed. And
why then are you not afraid of trusting yourself to your bed? Because I
am there perfectly secure. It may be so, replied the Pilot; but if the
hand of Providence is equally extended over all places, there is no more
reason for me to be afraid of going to sea than for you to be afraid of
going to bed.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIV._

The Partial Judge.

    _The injuries we do, and those we suffer, are seldom weighed in
    the same scales._

A Farmer came to a neighbouring Lawyer expressing great concern for an
accident which he said had just happened. One of your oxen, continued
he, has been gored by an unlucky bull of mine, and I shall be glad to
know how I am to make you a reparation. Thou art a very honest fellow,
replied the Lawyer, and wilt not think it unreasonable that I expect one
of thy oxen in return. It is no more than justice, quoth the Farmer, to
be sure; but what did I say?—I mistake: it is your bull that has killed
one of my oxen. Indeed! says the Lawyer; that alters the case: I must
inquire into the affair; and if—— And _if!_ said the Farmer; the business
I find would have been concluded without an _if_, had you been as ready
to do justice to others as to exact it from them.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XV._

The Lion and the Gnat.

    _Little minds are so much elevated by any advantage gained over
    their superiors, that they are often thrown off their guard
    against a sudden change of fortune._

Avaunt! thou paltry contemptible insect! said a proud Lion one day to a
Gnat that was frisking about in the air near his den. The Gnat, enraged
at this unprovoked insult, vowed revenge, and immediately darted into
the Lion’s ear. After having sufficiently teased him in that quarter,
she quitted her station and retired under his belly, and from thence
made her last and most formidable attack in his nostrils, where stinging
him almost to madness, the Lion at length fell down, utterly spent with
rage, vexation, and pain. The Gnat having thus abundantly gratified her
resentment, flew off in great exultation; but in the heedless transports
of her success, not sufficiently attending to her own security, she
found herself unexpectedly entangled in the web of a spider; who, rushing
out instantly upon her, put an end to her triumph and her life.

This fable instructs us, never to suffer success so far to transport us
as to throw us off our guard against a reverse of fortune.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVI._

The Dog and the Crocodile.

    _It is ever dangerous to be long conversant with persons of a
    bad character._

We can never be too carefully guarded against a connection with persons
of an ill character.

As a dog was coursing on the banks of the Nile, he grew thirsty; but
fearing to be seized by the monsters of that river, he would not stop to
satiate his draught, but lapped as he ran. A Crocodile, raising his head
above the surface of the water, asked him, why he was in such a hurry.
He had often, he said, wished for his acquaintance, and should be glad
to embrace the present opportunity. You do me great honour, returned the
Dog, but it is to avoid such companions as you that I am in so much haste.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVII._

The Wolf in Disguise.

    _There would be little chance of detecting hypocrisy, were it
    not always addicted to over-act its part._

Designing hypocrites frequently lay themselves open to discovery by
over-acting their parts.

A Wolf, who by frequent visits to a flock of sheep in his neighbourhood,
began to be extremely well known to them, thought it expedient, for the
more successfully carrying on his depredations, to appear in a new
character. To this end he disguised himself in a shepherd’s habit; and
resting his fore-feet upon a stick, which served him by way of crook,
he softly made his approaches towards the fold. It happened that the
shepherd and his dog were both of them extended on the grass fast asleep;
so that he would certainly have succeeded in his project, if he had not
imprudently attempted to imitate the shepherd’s voice. The horrid noise
awakened them both: when the Wolf, encumbered with his disguise, and
finding it impossible either to resist or to flee, yielded up his life an
easy prey to the shepherd’s dog.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVIII._

The Ass and his Master.

    _Avarice often misses its point, through the means it uses to
    secure it._

A diligent Ass, daily loaded beyond his strength by a severe Master, whom
he had long served, and who kept him at very short commons, happened
one day in his old age to be oppressed with a more than ordinary burthen
of earthenware. His strength being much impaired, and the road deep and
uneven, he unfortunately made a trip, and, unable to recover himself,
fell down and broke all the vessels to pieces. His Master, transported
with rage, began to beat him most unmercifully. Against whom the
poor Ass, lifting up his head as he lay on the ground, thus strongly
remonstrated: Unfeeling wretch! to thy own avaricious cruelty, in first
pinching me of food, and then loading me beyond my strength, thou owest
the misfortune which thou so unjustly imputest to me.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIX._

The Eagle and the Crow.

    _A false estimate of our own abilities ever exposes us to
    ridicule, and sometimes to danger._

To mistake our own talents, or over-rate our abilities, is always
ridiculous, and sometimes dangerous.

An Eagle, from the top of a high mountain, making a stoop at a lamb,
pounced upon it, and bore it away to her young. A Crow, who had built
her nest in a cedar near the foot of the rock, observing what passed,
was ambitious of performing the same exploit; and darting from her nest,
fixed her talons in the fleece of another lamb. But neither able to move
her prey, nor to disentangle her feet, she was taken by the shepherd,
and carried away for his children to play with; who eagerly enquiring
what bird it was:—An hour ago, said he, she fancied herself an eagle,
however, I suppose she is by this time convinced that she is but a crow.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XX._

The Lion, the Tyger, and the Fox.

    _The intemperate rage of clients gives the lawyer an
    opportunity of seizing the property in dispute._

A Lion and a Tyger jointly seized on a young fawn, which they immediately
killed. This they had no sooner performed than they fell a fighting, in
order to decide whose property it should be. The battle was so bloody and
so obstinate that they were both compelled, through weariness and loss of
blood, to desist; and lay down by mutual consent, totally disabled. At
this instant, a Fox unluckily came by; who, perceiving their situation,
made bold to seize the contested prey, and bore it off unmolested. As
soon as the Lion could recover his breath,—How foolish, said he, has been
our conduct! Instead of being contented, as we ought, with our respective
shares, our senseless rage has rendered us unable to prevent this
rascally Fox from defrauding us of the whole.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXI._

The Lion and the Ass.

    _A total neglect is the best return the generous can make to
    the scurrility of the base._

A conceited Ass had once the impertinence to bray forth some contemptuous
speeches against the Lion. The suddenness of the insult at first
raised some emotions of wrath in his breast; but turning his head, and
perceiving from whence it came, they immediately subsided, and he very
sedately walked on, without deigning to honour the contemptible creature
even so much as with an angry word.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXII._

The Trumpeter.

    _The fomenter of mischief is at least as culpable as he who
    puts it in execution._

A Trumpeter in a certain army happened to be taken prisoner. He was
ordered immediately to execution; but pleaded, in excuse for himself,
that it was unjust a person should suffer death, who, far from an
intention of mischief, did not even wear an offensive weapon. So much
the rather, replied one of the enemy, shalt thou die; since without any
design of fighting thyself, thou excitest others to the bloody business:
for he that is the abetter of a bad action, is at least equally guilty
with him that commits it.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIII._

The Bear and the Bees.

    _It were more prudent to acquiesce under an injury from a
    single person, than by an act of vengeance to bring upon us the
    resentment of a whole community._

A Bear happened to be stung by a Bee, and the pain was so acute, that in
the madness of revenge he ran into the garden and overturned the hive.
This outrage provoked their anger to a high degree, and brought the
fury of the whole swarm upon him. They attacked him with such violence,
that his life was in danger, and it was with the utmost difficulty
that he made his escape, wounded from head to tail. In this desperate
condition, lamenting his misfortunes, and licking his sores, he could not
forbear reflecting how much more advisable it had been to have patiently
acquiesced under one injury, than thus by an unprofitable resentment to
have provoked a thousand.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIV._

The Oak and the Willow.

    _The courage of meeting death in an honourable cause is more
    commendable, than any address or artifice we can make use of to
    evade it._

A conceited Willow had once the vanity to challenge his mighty neighbour
the Oak to a trial of strength. It was to be determined by the next
storm; and Æolus was addressed by both parties to exert his most powerful
efforts. This was no sooner asked than granted; and a violent hurricane
arose, when the pliant Willow, bending from the blast, or shrinking under
her, evaded all its force, while the generous Oak, disdaining to give
way, opposed its fury, and was torn up by the roots. Immediately the
Willow began to exult, and to claim the victory, when thus the fallen
Oak interrupted his exultation: Callest thou this a trial of strength?
Poor wretch! not to thy strength, but weakness; not to thy boldly facing
danger, but meanly skulking from it, thou owest thy present safety. I
am an Oak, though fallen; thou still a Willow, though unhurt: but who,
except so mean a wretch as thyself, would prefer an ignominious life,
preserved by craft or cowardice, to the glory of meeting death in an
honourable cause?


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXV._

The Bear and the Two Friends.

    _Cowards are incapable of true Friendship._

Two Friends, setting out together upon a journey which led through a
dangerous forest, mutually promised to assist each other if they should
happen to be assaulted. They had not proceeded far before they perceived
a Bear making towards them with great rage. There were no hopes in
flight; but one of them, being very active, sprung up into a tree; upon
which the other, throwing himself flat on the ground, held his breath,
and pretended to be dead, remembering to have heard it asserted that this
creature will not prey upon a dead carcase. The Bear came up, and after
smelling to him for some time, left him, and went on. When he was fairly
out of sight and hearing, the hero from the tree calls out—Well, my
friend, what said the Bear? He seemed to whisper you very closely. He did
so, replied the other, and gave me this good piece of advice: Never to
associate with a wretch who in the hour of danger will desert his friend.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVI._

The Wasps and the Bees.

    _It is a folly to arrogate works to ourselves of which we are
    by no means capable._

Pretenders of every kind are best detected by appealing to their works.

Some honeycombs being claimed by a swarm of Wasps, the right owners
protested against their demand, and the cause was referred to a Hornet.
Witnesses being examined, they deposed that certain winged creatures,
who had a loud hum, were of a yellowish colour, and somewhat like bees,
were observed a considerable time hovering about the place where this
nest was found. But this did not sufficiently decide the question; for
these characteristics, the Hornet observed, agreed no less with the Bees
than with the Wasps. At length a sensible old Bee offered to put the
matter upon this decisive issue: Let a place be appointed by the court,
said he, for the plaintiffs and defendants to work in. It will then
soon appear which of us are capable of forming such regular cells, and
afterwards of filling them with so delicious a fluid. The Wasps refusing
to agree to this proposal, sufficiently convinced the judge on which side
the right lay, and he decreed the honeycombs accordingly.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVII._

Fortune and the School-boy.

    _We are always ready to censure Fortune for the ill effects of
    our own carelessness._

A School-boy, fatigued with play, threw himself down by the brink of
a deep pit, where he fell fast asleep. Fortune happening to pass by,
saw him in this dangerous situation, and kindly gave him a pat on the
shoulder: My dear child, said she, if you had fallen into this pit, I
should have borne the blame; though in fact the accident would have been
wholly owing to your own carelessness.

Misfortune, said a celebrated Cardinal, is but another word for
imprudence. The maxim is by no means absolutely true: certain, however,
it is, that mankind suffer more evils from their own imprudence, than
from events which it is not in their power to controul.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVIII._

The Belly and the Limbs.

    _It is a folly even to wish to withhold our part from the
    support of civil government._

Menenius Agrippa, a Roman Consul, being deputed by the senate to appease
a dangerous tumult and sedition of the people, who refused to pay the
taxes necessary for carrying on the business of the state, convinced them
of their folly by delivering to them the following fable:—

My friends and countrymen, said he, attend to my words. It once happened
that the Members of the human body, taking some exception at the conduct
of the Belly, resolved no longer to grant him the usual supplies. The
Tongue first, in a seditious speech, aggravated their grievances; and
after highly extolling the activity and diligence of the Hands and
Feet, set forth how hard and unreasonable it was that the fruits of
their labour should be squandered away upon the insatiable cravings of
a fat and indolent Paunch, which was entirely useless, and unable to do
anything towards helping himself. This speech was received with unanimous
applause by all the Members. Immediately the Hands declared they would
work no more; the Feet determined to carry no further the load of guts
with which they had hitherto been oppressed; nay, the very Teeth refused
to prepare a single morsel more for his use. In this distress, the Belly
bethought them to consider maturely, and not foment so senseless a
rebellion. There is none of you, says he, can be ignorant that whatsoever
you bestow upon me is immediately converted to your use, and dispersed
by me for the good of you all into every Limb. But he remonstrated in
vain; for during the clamours of passion, the voice of reason is always
disregarded. It being therefore impossible for him to quiet the tumult,
he starved for want of their assistance, and the body wasted away to a
skeleton. The Limbs, grown weak and languid, were sensible at last of
their error, and would fain have returned to their respective duties; but
it was now too late, death had taken possession of the whole, and they
all perished together.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIX._

The Wolf and the Lamb.

    _They who do not feel the sentiments of humanity will seldom
    listen to the pleas of reason._

When cruelty and injustice are armed with power, and determined on
oppression, the strongest pleas of innocence are preferred in vain.

A Wolf and a Lamb were accidentally quenching their thirst together at
the same rivulet. The Wolf stood towards the head of the stream, and the
Lamb at some distance below. The injurious beast, resolved on a quarrel,
fiercely demands—How dare you disturb the water which I am drinking? The
poor Lamb, all trembling, replies, How, I beseech you, can that possibly
be the case, since the current sets from you to me? Disconcerted by the
force of truth, he changes the accusation. Six months ago, says he, you
vilely slandered me. Impossible, returns the Lamb, for I was not then
born. No matter, it was your father, then, or some of your relations; and
immediately seizing the innocent Lamb, he tore him to pieces.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXX._

The Daw with Borrowed Feathers.

    _To aim at figure by the means either of borrowed wit, or
    borrowed money, generally subjects us at least to tenfold
    ridicule._

When a pert young Templar or city apprentice sets up for a fine
gentleman, with the assistance of an embroidered waistcoat and Dresden
ruffles, but without one qualification proper to the character, how
frequently does it happen that he is laughed at by his equals, and
despised by those whom he presumed to imitate!

A pragmatic Jackdaw was vain enough to imagine that he wanted nothing
but the coloured plumes to render him as elegant a bird as the Peacock.
Puffed up with this wise conceit, he dressed himself with a sufficient
quantity of their most beautiful feathers, and in this borrowed garb,
forsaking his old companions, endeavoured to pass for a Peacock; but
he no sooner attempted to associate with these genteel creatures, than
an affected strut betrayed the vain pretender. The offended Peacocks,
plucking from him their degraded feathers, soon stripped him of his
finery, reduced him to a mere Jackdaw, and drove him back to his
brethren, by whom he was now equally despised, and justly punished with
derision and contempt.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXI._

The Wolf and the Shepherds.

    _We severely censure that in others, which we ourselves
    practise without scruple._

How apt are men to condemn in others what they practise themselves
without scruple!

A Wolf, says Plutarch, peeping into a hut where a company of Shepherds
were regaling themselves with a joint of mutton; Lord, said he, what a
clamour would these men have raised if they had catched _me_ at such a
banquet!


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXII._

The Eagle and the Owl.

    _The partiality of parents often makes themselves ridiculous,
    and their children unhappy._

An Eagle and an Owl having entered into a league of mutual amity, one of
the articles of their treaty was, that the former should not prey upon
the younglings of the latter. But tell me, said the Owl, should you know
my little ones if you were to see them? Indeed I should not, replied
the Eagle; but if you describe them to me, it will be sufficient. You
are to observe, then, returned the Owl, in the first place, that the
charming creatures are perfectly well shaped; in the next, that there
is a remarkable sweetness and vivacity in their countenances; and then
there is something in their voices so peculiarly melodious. It is enough,
interrupted the Eagle; by these marks I cannot fail of distinguishing
them; and you may depend upon their never receiving any injury from
me. It happened, not long afterwards, as the Eagle was upon the wing in
quest of his prey, that he discovered amidst the ruins of an old castle
a nest of grim-faced ugly birds, with gloomy countenances, and a voice
like that of the Furies. These, undoubtedly, said he, cannot be the
offspring of my friend, and so I shall venture to make free with them. He
had scarce finished his repast and departed, when the Owl returned; who,
finding nothing of her brood remaining but some fragments of the mangled
carcases, broke out into the most bitter exclamations against the cruel
and perfidious author of her calamity. A neighbouring Bat, who overheard
her lamentations, and had been witness to what had passed between her and
the Eagle, very gravely told her that she had nobody to blame for this
misfortune but herself, whose blind prejudices in favour of her children
had prompted her to give such a description of them as did not resemble
them in any one single feature or quality.

Parents should very carefully guard against that weak partiality
towards their children which renders them blind to their failings and
imperfections, as no disposition is more likely to prove prejudicial to
their future welfare.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXIII._

The Sick Lion, the Fox, and the Wolf.

    _Men who meditate mischief, suggest the same to others; and
    generally pay dear for their froward gratifications._

A Lion, having surfeited himself with feasting too luxuriously on the
carcase of a wild boar, was seized with a violent and dangerous disorder.
The beasts of the forest flocked in great numbers to pay their respects
to him upon the occasion, and scarce one was absent except the Fox. The
Wolf, an ill-natured and malicious beast, seized this opportunity to
accuse the Fox of pride, ingratitude, and disaffection to his majesty.
In the midst of his invective, the Fox entered; who having heard part of
the Wolf’s accusation, and observing the Lion’s countenance to be kindled
into wrath, thus adroitly excused himself, and retorted upon his accuser:
I see many here who with mere lip service have pretended to shew you
their loyalty; but for my part, from the moment I heard of your majesty’s
illness, neglecting useless compliments, I employed myself day and night
to enquire among the most learned physicians an infallible remedy for
your disease, and have at length happily been informed of one. It is a
plaister made of part of a Wolf’s skin, taken warm from his back, and
laid to your majesty’s stomach. This remedy was no sooner proposed than
it was determined that the experiment should be tried; and whilst the
operation was performing, the Fox, with a sarcastic smile, whispered this
useful maxim in the Wolf’s ear—If you would be safe from harm yourself,
learn for the future not to meditate mischief against others.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXIV._

The Blind Man and the Lame.

    _The wants and weaknesses of individuals form the connections
    of society._

A Blind man, being stopped in a bad piece of road, meets with a Lame man,
and intreats him to guide him through the difficulty he was got into.
How can I do that, replied the Lame man, since I am scarce able to drag
myself along? But as you appear to be very strong, if you will carry
me, we will seek our fortunes together. It will then be my interest to
warn you of anything that may obstruct your way; your feet shall be my
feet, and my eyes yours. With all my heart, returned the Blind Man; let
us render each other our mutual services. So taking his lame companion
on his back, they by means of their union travelled on with safety and
pleasure.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXV._

The Lion, the Bear, the Monkey, and the Fox.

    _It is often more prudent to suppress our sentiments than
    either to flatter or to rail._

The Tyrant of the forest issued a proclamation, commanding all his
subjects to repair immediately to his royal den. Among the rest the Bear
made his appearance; but pretending to be offended with the steams which
issued from the monarch’s apartments, he was imprudent enough to hold his
nose in his majesty’s presence. This insolence was so highly resented,
that the Lion in a rage laid him dead at his feet. The Monkey, observing
what had passed, trembled for his carcase; and attempted to conciliate
favour by the most abject flattery. He began with protesting, that for
his part he thought the apartments were perfumed with Arabian spices; and
exclaiming against the rudeness of the Bear, admired the beauty of his
majesty’s paws, so happily formed, he said, to correct the insolence of
clowns. This fulsome adulation, instead of being received as he expected,
proved no less offensive than the rudeness of the Bear; and the courtly
Monkey was in like manner extended by the side of Sir Bruin. And now his
majesty cast his eye upon the Fox. Well, Reynard, said he, and what scent
do you discover here? Great prince, replied the cautious Fox, my nose was
never esteemed my most distinguishing sense; and at present I would by no
means venture to give my opinion, as I have unfortunately got a terrible
cold.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXVI._

The Two Horses.

    _The object of our pride is often the cause of our misfortunes._

Two Horses were travelling the road together; one loaded with a sack of
flour, the other with a sum of money. The latter, proud of his splendid
burthen, tossed up his head with an air of conscious superiority, and
every now and then cast a look of contempt upon his humble companion.
In passing through a wood, they were met by a gang of highwaymen, who
immediately seized upon the horse that was carrying the treasure; but the
spirited steed not being altogether disposed to stand so quietly as was
necessary for their purpose, they beat him most unmercifully, and after
plundering him of his boasted load, left him to lament at his leisure the
cruel bruises he had received. Friend, said his despised companion to
him (who had now reason to triumph in his turn), distinguished posts are
often dangerous to those who possess them: if you had served a miller, as
I do, you might have travelled the road unmolested.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXVII._

The Mock-bird.

    _Ridicule appears with a very ill grace in persons who possess
    no one talent beside._

There is a certain bird in the West Indies, which has the faculty of
mimicking the notes of every other songster, without being able himself
to add any original strains to the concert. As one of these Mock-birds
was displaying his talent of ridicule among the branches of a venerable
wood: ’Tis very well, said a little warbler, speaking in the name of all
the rest; we grant you that our music is not without its faults: but why
will you not favour us with a strain of your own?


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXVIII._

The Ant and the Caterpillar.

    _Boys of no very promising appearance often become the greatest
    men._

As a Caterpillar was advancing very slowly along one of the alleys
of a beautiful garden, he was met by a pert lively Ant, who tossing
up her head with a scornful air, cried, Prithee get out of the way,
thou poor creeping animal, and do not presume to obstruct the paths of
thy superiors, by wriggling along the road, and besmearing the walks
appropriated to their footsteps. Poor creature! thou lookest like a thing
half-made, which Nature not liking threw by unfinished. I could almost
pity thee, methinks; but it is beneath one of my quality to talk to such
mean creatures as thou art: and so, poor crawling wretch, adieu.

The humble Caterpillar, struck dumb with this disdainful language,
retired, went to work, wound himself up in a silken cell, and at the
appointed time came out a beautiful Butterfly. Just as he was sallying
forth, he observed the scornful Ant passing by. Proud insect, said he,
stop a moment, and learn from the circumstances in which you now see
me, never to despise any one for that condition in which Providence has
thought fit to place him; as there is none so mean but may one day,
either in this state or in a better, be exalted above those who looked
down upon him with unmerited contempt.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXIX._

The Two Lizards.

    _The superior safety of an obscure and humble station, is a
    balance for the honours of high and envied life._

As two Lizards were basking under a south wall, How contemptible, said
one of them, is our condition! We exist, ’tis true, but that is all: for
we hold no sort of rank in the creation, and are utterly unnoticed by
the world. Cursed obscurity! Why was I not rather born a stag, to range
at large, the pride and glory of some royal forest? It happened, that in
the midst of these unjust murmurs, a pack of hounds was heard in full cry
after the very creature he was envying, who, being quite spent with the
chase, was torn in pieces by the dogs in sight of our two Lizards. And is
this the lordly stag, whose place in the creation you wish to hold? said
the wiser Lizard to his complaining friend: Let his sad fate teach you to
bless Providence for placing you in that humble situation, which secures
you from the dangers of a more elevated rank.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XL._

Jupiter’s Lottery.

    _Folly, passing with men for wisdom, makes each contented with
    his own share of understanding._

Jupiter, in order to please mankind, directed Mercury to give notice
that he had established a Lottery, in which there were no blanks; and
that amongst a variety of other valuable chances, Wisdom was the highest
prize. It was Jupiter’s command, that in this Lottery some of the gods
should also become adventurers. The tickets being disposed of, and
the wheels placed, Mercury was employed to preside at the drawing. It
happened that the best prize fell to Minerva: upon which a general murmur
ran through the assembly, and hints were thrown out that Jupiter had
used some unfair practices to secure this desirable lot to his daughter.
Jupiter, that he might at once both punish and silence these impious
clamours of the human race, presented them with Folly in the place of
Wisdom; with which they went away perfectly well contented. And from that
time the greatest Fools have always looked upon themselves as the wisest
men.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLI._

The Snipe Shooter.

    _We often miss our point by dividing our attention._

As a sportsman ranged the fields with his gun, attended by an experienced
old Spaniel, he happened to spring a Snipe; and almost at the same
instant, a covey of Partridges. Surprised at the accident, and divided in
his aim, he let fly too indeterminately, and by this means missed them
_both_. Ah, my good master, said the Spaniel, you should never have two
aims at once. Had you not been dazzled and seduced by the luxurious hope
of Partridge, you would most probably have secured your Snipe.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLII._

The Two Dogs.

    _Our own moderation will not secure us from disturbance, if
    we connect ourselves with men of turbulent and litigious
    dispositions._

Hasty and inconsiderate connections are generally attended with great
disadvantages: and much of every man’s good or ill fortune depends upon
the choice he makes of his friends.

A good-natured Spaniel overtook a surly Mastiff, as he was travelling
upon the high road. Tray, although an entire stranger to Tyger, very
civilly accosted him: And if it would be no interruption, he said, he
should be glad to bear him company on his way. Tyger, who happened not to
be altogether in so growling a mood as usual, accepted the proposal; and
they very amicably pursued their journey together. In the midst of their
conversation they arrived at the next village, where Tyger began to
display his malignant disposition, by an unprovoked attack upon every dog
he met. The villagers immediately sallied forth with great indignation
to rescue their respective favourites; and falling upon our two friends
without distinction or mercy, poor Tray was most cruelly treated, for no
other reason but his being found in bad company.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLIII._

The Trouts and the Gudgeon.

    _A person can hardly be deemed too cautious, where the first
    mistake is irretrievable, or fatal._

A fisherman in the month of May stood angling on the banks of the
Thames with an artificial fly. He threw his bait with so much art, that
a young Trout was rushing towards it, when she was prevented by her
mother. Never, said she, my child, be too precipitate, where there is
a possibility of danger. Take due time to consider, before you risk
an action that _may_ be fatal. How know you whether yon appearance be
_indeed_ a fly, or the snare of an enemy? Let some one else make the
experiment _before_ you. If it be a fly, he very probably will elude
the first attack: and the second may be made, if not with success,
at least with safety.—She had no sooner uttered this caution, than a
Gudgeon seized upon the pretended fly, and became an example to the giddy
daughter of the great importance of her mother’s counsel.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLIV._

The Sun and the Wind.

    _Gentle means, on many occasions, are more effectual than
    violent ones._

Phœbus and Æolus had once a dispute which of them could soonest prevail
with a certain traveller to part with his cloak. Æolus began the attack,
and assaulted him with great violence. But the man, wrapping his cloak
still closer about him, doubled his efforts to keep it, and went on his
way. And now, Phœbus darted his warm insinuating rays, which melting the
traveller by degrees, at length obliged him to throw aside that cloak
which all the rage of Æolus could not compel him to resign. Learn hence,
said Phœbus to the blustering god, that soft and gentle means will often
accomplish what force and fury can never effect.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLV._

The Boy and the Nettle.

    _There are certain persons who require to be treated rather
    with spirit and resolution, than either tenderness or delicacy._

A little Boy playing in the fields, chanced to be stung by a Nettle, and
came crying to his father: he told him, he had been hurt by that nasty
weed several times before; that he was always afraid of it; and that now
he did but just touch it, as lightly as possible, when he was so severely
stung. Child, says he, your touching it so gently and timorously is the
very _reason_ of its hurting you. A Nettle may be handled safely, if you
do it with courage and resolution; if you seize it boldly and gripe it
fast, be assured it will never sting you: and you will meet with many
sorts of persons, as well as things in the world, which ought to be
treated in the very same manner.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLVI._

The Beggar and his Dog.

    _’Tis misery to depend upon patrons, whose circumstances make
    their charity necessary at home._

A Beggar and his Dog sat at the gate of a noble Courtier, and was
preparing to make a meal on a bowl of fragments from the Kitchen-maid.
A poor Dependant of his Lordship’s, who had been sharing the singular
favour of a dinner at the Steward’s table, was struck with the
appearance, and stopped a little to observe them. The Beggar, hungry and
voracious as any Courtier in Christendom, seized with greediness the
choicest morsels, and swallowed them himself; the residue was divided
into portions for his children. A scrag was thrust into one pocket for
honest Jack, a crust into another for bashful Tom, and a luncheon of
cheese was wrapt up with care for the little favourite of his hopeful
family. In short, if anything was thrown to the Dog, it was a bone so
closely picked, that it scarce afforded a pittance to keep life and soul
together. How exactly alike, said the Dependant, is this poor Dog’s case
and mine! He is watching for a dinner from a master who cannot spare it;
I for a place from a needy Lord, whose wants perhaps are greater than my
own, and whose relations more clamorous than any of this Beggar’s brats.
Shrewdly was it said by an ingenious writer, a _Courtier’s Dependant_ is
a _Beggar’s Dog_.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLVII._

The Fox and the Stork.

    _We should always reflect, before we rally another, whether we
    can bear to have the jest retorted._

The Fox, though in general more inclined to roguery than wit, had once
a strong inclination to play the wag with his neighbour the Stork. He
accordingly invited her to dinner in great form; but when it came upon
the table the Stork found it consisted entirely of different soups,
served up in broad shallow dishes, so that she could only dip in the end
of her bill, but could not possibly satisfy her hunger. The Fox lapped it
up very readily, and every now and then, addressing himself to his guest,
desired to know how she liked her entertainment; hoped that everything
was seasoned to her mind, and protested he was very sorry to see her eat
so sparingly. The Stork, perceiving she was played upon, took no notice
of it, but pretended to like every dish extremely; and at parting pressed
the Fox so earnestly to return her visit, that he could not in civility
refuse. The day arrived, and he repaired to his appointment; but to
his great mortification, when dinner appeared, he found it composed of
minced meat, served up in long narrow-necked glasses; so that he was only
tantalized with the sight of what it was impossible for him to taste. The
Stork thrust in her long bill, and helped herself very plentifully; then
turning to Reynard, who was eagerly licking the outside of a jar where
some sauce had been spilled: I am very glad, said she, smiling, that you
seem to have so good an appetite; I hope you will make as hearty a dinner
at my table as I did the other day at yours. Reynard hung down his head,
and looked very much displeased—— Nay, nay, said the Stork, don’t pretend
to be out of humour about the matter; they that cannot take a jest should
never make one.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLVIII._

The Trees and the Bramble.

    _The most worthless persons are generally the most presuming._

The Israelites, ever murmuring and discontented under the reign of
Jehovah, were desirous of having a king, like the rest of the nations.
They offered the kingdom to Gideon, their deliverer; to him, and to his
posterity after him. He generously refused their offer, and reminded
them that Jehovah was their king. When Gideon was dead, Abimelech, his
son by a concubine, slew all his other sons to the number of seventy,
Jotham alone escaping; and by the assistance of the Shechemites made
himself king. Jotham, to represent to them their folly, and to shew them
that the most deserving are generally the least ambitious, whereas the
worthless grasp at power with eagerness, and exercise it with insolence
and tyranny, spake to them in the following manner:

Hearken unto me, ye men of Shechem, so may God hearken unto you. The
Trees, grown weary of the state of freedom and equality in which God
had placed them, consulted together to choose and to anoint a king over
them; and they said to the Olive-tree, Reign thou over us. But the
Olive-tree said unto them, Shall I quit my fatness wherewith God and man
is honoured, to disquiet myself with the cares of government, and to rule
over the Trees? And they said unto the Fig-tree, Come thou and reign over
us. But the Fig-tree said unto them, Shall I bid adieu to my sweetness
and my pleasant fruit, to take upon me the painful charge of royalty, and
to be set over the Trees? Then said the Trees unto the Vine, Come thou
and reign over us. But the Vine said also unto them, Shall I leave my
wine which honoureth God and cheereth man, to bring upon myself nothing
but trouble and anxiety, and to become king of the Trees? we are happy
in our present lot: seek some other to reign over you. Then said all the
Trees unto the Bramble. Come thou and reign over us. And the Bramble said
unto them, I will be your king; come ye all under my shadow and be safe;
obey me, and I will grant you my protection. But if you obey me not,
out of the Bramble shall come forth a fire, which shall devour even the
cedars of Lebanon.




[Illustration]




PART II.

FABLES, _with Reflections_.


[Illustration]

_FABLE I._

The Cock and the Jewel.

A brisk young Cock, in company with two or three pullets, his mistresses,
raking upon a Dunghill for something to entertain them with, happened
to scratch up a jewel. He knew what it was well enough, for it sparkled
with an exceeding bright lustre; but, not knowing what to do with it,
endeavoured to cover his ignorance under a gay contempt. So, shrugging
up his wings, shaking his head, and putting on a grimace, he expressed
himself to this purpose: Indeed you are a very fine thing; but I know
not any business you have here. I make no scruple of declaring that my
taste lies quite another way; and I had rather have one grain of dear,
delicious barley, than all the jewels under the sun.


MORALS.

    _Several very pretty fellows, who are as great strangers to the
    true uses of virtue and knowledge as the Cock upon the Dunghill
    is to the real value of the Jewel, endeavour to palliate their
    ignorance by pretending that their taste lies another way._

  _To fools, the treasures dug from wisdom’s mine_
  _Are Jewels thrown to Cocks, and Pearls to Swine._


REFLECTION.

There are several people in the world that pass, with some, for
well-accomplished gentlemen, and very pretty fellows, though they are
as great strangers to the true uses of virtue and knowledge as the Cock
upon the Dunghill is to the real value of the Jewel. He palliates his
ignorance by pretending that his taste lies another way: But whatever
gallant airs people may give themselves upon these occasions, without
dispute, the solid advantages of virtue, and the durable pleasures of
learning, are as much to be preferred before other objects of the senses
as the finest brilliant diamond is above a barley-corn. The greatest
blockheads would appear to understand what at the same time they affect
to despise; and nobody yet was ever so vicious as to have the impudence
to declare in public that virtue was not a fine thing.

But still, among the idle, sauntering, young fellows of the age, who have
leisure as well to cultivate and improve the faculties of the mind as to
dress and embellish the body, how many are there who spend their days
in raking after new scenes of debauchery, in comparison of those few who
know how to relish more reasonable entertainments! Honest, undesigning
good sense is so unfashionable, that he must be a bold man who at this
time of day attempts to bring it into esteem.

How disappointed is the youth who, in the midst of his amorous pursuits,
endeavouring to plunder an outside of bloom and beauty, finds a treasure
of impenetrable virtue concealed within! And why may it not be said, how
delighted are the fair sex, when, from among a crowd of empty, frolic,
conceited admirers, they find out and distinguish, with their good
opinion, a man of sense, with a plain, unaffected person, which at first
sight they did not like!


[Illustration]

_FABLE II._

The City Mouse and Country Mouse.

A Country Mouse invited a City Sister of hers to a collation, where
she spared for nothing that the place afforded—as mouldy crusts,
cheese-parings, musty oatmeal, rusty bacon, and the like. The City
Dame was too well bred to find fault with her entertainment; but yet
represented that such a life was unworthy of a merit like hers; and
letting her know how splendidly she lived, invited her to accompany her
to town. The Country Mouse consented, and away they trudged together,
and about midnight got to their journey’s end. The City Mouse shewed her
friend the larder, the pantry, the kitchen, and other offices where she
laid her stores; and after this, carried her into the parlour, where they
found, yet upon the table, the relics of a mighty entertainment of that
very night. The City Mouse carved her companion of what she liked best,
and so to it they fell upon a velvet couch. The Country Mouse, who had
never seen or heard of such doings before, blessed herself at the change
of her condition—when, as ill luck would have it, all on a sudden the
doors flew open, and in comes a crew of noisy servants of both sexes,
to feast upon the dainties that were left. This put the poor mice to
their wits’ end how to save their skins—the stranger especially, who had
never been in such danger before. But she made a shift, however, for
the present to slink into a corner, where she lay trembling and panting
till the company went away. As soon as ever the house was quiet again:
Well, my Court Sister, says she, if this be the sauce to your rich meats,
I’ll e’en back to my cottage and my mouldy cheese again; for I had much
rather lie nibbling of crusts, without fear or hazard, in my own hole,
than be mistress of all the delicacies in the world, and subject to such
terrifying alarms and dangers.


MORALS.

    _This fable shews the difference between a Court and a Country
    Life: The delights, innocence, and security of the one,
    compared with the anxiety, voluptuousness, and hazards of the
    other._

  _Heav’n in one mould the kindred fate has cast_
  _Of men of dignity and mice of taste;_
  _Traps, dangers, terrors are alike their lot:_
  _Scar’d if they ’scape, and worry’d if they’re caught._


REFLECTION.

How infinitely superior are the delights of a private life to the noise
and bustle of a public one! Innocence, security, meditation, good air,
health, and unbroken rest, are the blessings of the one; while the rages
of lust and wine, noise, hurry, circumvention, falsehood, treachery,
confusion, and ill health, are the constant attendants of the other.

The splendour and luxury of a court are but a poor recompense for
the slavish attendances, the invidious competitions, and the mortal
disappointments that accompany it. The uncertain favour of Princes, and
the envy of those who judge by hearsay or appearance, without either
reason or truth, make even the best sort of court lives miserable, to
say nothing of the innumerable temptations, vices, and excesses of a
life of pomp and pleasure. Let a man but set the pleasing of his palate
against the surfeits of gluttony and excess; the starving of his mind
against a pampered carcase; the restless importunities of tale-bearers
and back-friends against fair words and professions, only from the teeth
outwards; let him, I say, but set the one in balance against the other,
and he shall find himself miserable, even in the very height of his
delights. To say all in a word: Let him but set the comforts of a life
spent in noise, formality, and tumult, against the blessings of a retreat
with competency and freedom, and then cast up his account.

What man, then, that is not stark mad, will voluntarily expose himself
to the imperious brow-beatings and scorns of great men! To have a dagger
struck to his heart in an embrace! To be torn to pieces by calumny; nay,
to be a knave in his own defence! For the honester, the more dangerous in
a vicious age, and where it is a crime not to be like the company. Men of
that character are not to be read and understood by their words, but by
their interests; their promises and protestations are no longer binding
than while they are profitable to them.

After all, to keep the fable more closely in view, let a man, with the
Country Mouse, reflect on the peace and safety of rural retirement, and
prefer, if he can, the insecurity, noise, and hurry of a more exalted
fortune.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE III._

The Fox and the Crow.

A Crow having taken a piece of cheese out of a cottage window, flew up
into a high tree with it, in order to eat it. Which a Fox observing, came
and sat underneath, and began to compliment the Crow upon the subject
of her beauty. I protest, says he, I never observed it before, but your
feathers are of a more delicate white than any that ever I saw in my
life! Ah! what a fine shape and graceful turn of body is there! And I
make no question but you have a tolerable voice. If it is but as fine
as your complexion, I do not know a bird that can pretend to stand in
competition with you. The Crow, tickled with this very civil language,
nestled and wriggled about, and hardly knew where she was; but thinking
the Fox a little dubious as to the particular of her voice, and having
a mind to set him right in that matter, began to sing, and, in the same
instant, let the cheese drop out of her mouth;—which the Fox presently
chopt up, and then bade her remember that whatever he had said of her
beauty, he had spoken nothing yet of her brains.


MORALS.

    _There is hardly any man living that may not be wrought upon
    more or less by flattery; for we do all of us naturally
    overween in our own favour. But when it comes to be applied
    once to a vain fool, there is no end then can be proposed to be
    attained by it, but may be effected._

  _“It is a maxim in the schools,_
  _That ~Flattery’s the food of fools~:”_
  _And whoso likes such airy meat_
  _Will soon have nothing else to eat._


REFLECTION.

Flattery in itself is an unmanly, slavish vice; but it is much worse yet
for the alliance it has to hypocrisy; for while we make other people
think better of _themselves_ than _they_ deserve, we make them think
better of _us_ too than _we_ deserve: For self-love and vanity on the one
hand, assists the falseness and confidence on the other, while it serves
to confirm weak minds in the opinion they had of themselves before,
and makes them parties effectually in a conspiracy to their own ruin.
The only benefit or good of Flattery is this; that by hearing what we
_are not_, we may be instructed what we _ought to be_. Yet how few are
there among the whole race of mankind, who may be said to be full proof
against its attacks! The gross way by which it is managed by some silly
practitioners, is enough to alarm the dullest apprehension, and make it
to value itself upon the quickness of its insight into the little plots
of this nature. But, let the ambuscade be disposed with due judgment,
and it will scarce fail of seizing the most guarded heart. How many are
tickled to the last degree with the pleasure of Flattery, even while
they are applauded for their honest detestation of it! There is no way to
baffle the force of this engine, but by every one’s examining impartially
for himself the true estimate of his own qualities: If he deals sincerely
in the matter, nobody can tell so well as himself what degree of esteem
ought to attend any of his actions; and therefore he should be entirely
easy as to the opinion men are like to have of them in the world. If
they attribute more to him than is his due, they are either designing or
mistaken; if they allow him less, they are envious, or, possibly, still
mistaken; and, in either case, are to be despised, or disregarded. For
he that flatters without designing to make advantage of it, is a fool:
And whoever encourages that Flattery, which he has sense enough to see
through, is a vain coxcomb.


[Illustration]

_FABLE IV._

An Ass, an Ape, and a Mole.

An Ass and an Ape were conferring on grievances. The Ass complained
mightily for want of horns, and the Ape was as much troubled for want
of a tail. Hold your tongues, both of ye, says the Mole, and be thankful
for what you have; for the poor blind Moles are in a worse condition than
either of ye.


[Illustration]

_FABLE V._

The Hares and the Frogs.

Once upon a time the Hares found themselves mightily unsatisfied with the
miserable condition they lived in. Here we live, says one of them, at
the mercy of men, dogs, eagles, and I know not how many other creatures,
which prey upon us at pleasure; perpetually in frights, perpetually in
danger; and therefore I am absolutely of opinion, that we had better die
once for all, than live at this rate in a continual dread that’s worse
than death itself. The motion was seconded and debated, and a resolution
immediately taken, by one and all, to drown themselves. The vote was no
sooner passed, but away they scudded with that determination to the next
lake. Upon this hurry there leapt a whole shoal of Frogs from the bank
into the water, for fear of the Hares. Nay then, my masters, says one
of the gravest of the company, pray let’s have a little patience. Our
condition, I find, is not altogether so bad as we fancied it; for there
are those, you see, that are as much afraid of us as we are of others.


MORALS of the two Fables.

    _There is no contending with the Orders and Decrees of
    Providence. He that makes us, knows what is fittest for us;
    and every man’s own lot (well understood and managed) is
    undoubtedly the best._

  _The miseries of half mankind unknown,_
  _Fools vainly think no sorrows like their own:_
  _But view the world, and you will learn to bear_
  _Misfortunes well, since all men have their share._


REFLECTION.

Since nature provides for the necessities of all creatures, and for the
well-being of every one in its kind; and since it is not in the power of
any creature to make itself other than what by Providence it was designed
to be; what a madness is it to wish ourselves other than what we are, and
what we must continue to be! Every atom of the creation has its place
assigned: every creature has its proper figure, and there is no disputing
with Him that made it so. _Why have I not this?_ and, _Why have I not
that?_ are questions for a Philosopher of _Bedlam_ to ask; and we may
as well cavil at the motions of the heavens, the vicissitude of day and
night, and the succession of the seasons, as expostulate with Providence
upon any of the rest of God’s works. The _Ass_ would have _horns_, the
_Ape_ would have a _tail_, and the _Hares_ would be free from those
terrors which, timid as they are, they give to others: but the _Mole_ on
the one hand, and the _Frogs_ on the other, shew that there are others as
miserable as themselves.

It may seem to be a kind of a malicious satisfaction that one man derives
from the misfortune of another. But the philosophy of this reflection
stands upon another ground; for our comfort does not arise from other
people being miserable, but from this inference upon the balance, that we
suffer only the lot of human nature: and as we are happy or miserable,
compared with others; so other people are miserable or happy, compared
with us; by which justice of Providence we come to be convinced of the
sin, and the mistake, of our ingratitude. What would not a man give to be
eased of the gout, or the stone? or, supposing an incurable poverty on
the one hand, and an incurable malady on the other, why should not the
poor man think himself happier in his rags, than the other in his purple?
but the rich man envies the poor man’s _health_, without considering
his _want_; and the poor man envies the other’s _treasure_, without
considering his _diseases_. What is an ill name in the world to a good
conscience within one’s self; and how much less miserable, upon the
wheel, is one man that is innocent, than another under the same torture
that is guilty? The only way for Hares and Asses, is to be thankful what
they are, and what they have, and not to grumble at the lot that they
must bear in spite of their teeth.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VI._

An Ant and Fly.

Where’s the honour or the pleasure in the world, says the Fly, in a
dispute for preeminence with the Ant, that I have not my part in? Are
not all temples and places open to me? Am not I the taster to gods and
princes in all their sacrifices and entertainments? And all this without
either money or pains? I trample upon crowns, and kiss what ladies’
lips I please. And what have you now to pretend to all this while? Vain
boaster! says the Ant, dost thou not know the difference between the
access of a _guest_, and that of an _intruder_? for people are so far
from liking your company, that they kill you as soon as they catch you.
You are a plague to them wherever you come. Your very breath has maggots
in it; and for the kiss you brag of, what is it but the perfume of the
last dunghill you touched upon, once removed? For my part, I live upon
what’s my own, and work honestly in the summer to maintain myself in the
winter; whereas the whole course of your scandalous life is only cheating
or sharping one half of the year, and starving the other.


MORALS.

    _The happiness of life does not lie so much in enjoying small
    advantages, as in living free from great inconveniences. An
    honest mediocrity is the happiest state a man can wish for._

  _Pert coxcombs, pleas’d with buzzing round the fair,_
  _Laugh at the low mechanic’s thrifty care;_
  _While he with juster scorn may well deride_
  _Their folly, meanness, indolence, and pride._


REFLECTION.

This fable marks out to us the difference betwixt the empty vanity or
ostentation, and the substantial ornaments of virtue. A man can hardly
fancy to himself a truer image of a plain, honest, country simplicity,
than the Ant’s part of the dialogue in this fable. She takes pains for
what she eats; wrongs nobody; and so creates no enemies; she wants
nothing; and she boasts of nothing; lives contented with her own, and
enjoys all with a good conscience. This emblem recommends to us the
blessings of a virtuous privacy, according to the just measures of right
nature, and, in few words, comprises the sum of a happy state.

The Fly, on the contrary, leads a lazy, voluptuous, scandalous, sharking
life; is hated wherever she comes, and in perpetual fears and dangers.
She justly may be compared with the worthless part of mankind, who
pass through the world without being of any service in it; and without
acquiring the least reputation, seldom fail of adding pride to all
their other failings, and behave with haughtiness and arrogance towards
those who contribute to the comfort and happiness of society. They
treat industrious persons as wretched drudges, appointed to labour for
a poor subsistence; while Heaven has provided everything for their own
use, though they of all others least deserve it. But the worthy and
industrious may always comfort themselves with this reflection, that the
pride and extravagance of these idle creatures will at last bring them to
shame and want, while their own honest labours will secure to them a life
of plenty and affluence.

It is true she flutters from place to place, from feast to feast, brags
of her interest at court, and of ladies’ favours: and what is this
miserable insect at last, but the very picture of one of our ordinary
trencher Esquires, that spends his time in hopping from the table of one
great man to that of another, only to pick up scraps of intelligence, and
to spoil good company; at other times officiously skipping up and down
from levee to levee, and endeavouring to make himself necessary, wherever
he thinks fit to be troublesome.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VII._

A Horse and an Ass.

A proud pampered Horse, bedecked with gaudy trappings, met in his course
a poor creeping Ass, under a heavy burden, that had chopt into the same
track with him. Why, how now, sirrah, says he, do you not see by these
arms and trappings to what master I belong? and do you not understand,
that when I have that master of mine upon my back, the whole weight of
the state rests upon my shoulders? Out of the way, thou slavish insolent
animal, or I’ll tread thee to dirt. The wretched Ass immediately slunk
aside, with this envious reflection between his teeth, _What would I give
to change conditions with that happy creature there!_ This fancy would
not out of the head of him, till it was his hap, a little while after, to
see this very Horse doing drudgery in a common dung-cart. Why, how now,
friend, says the Ass, how comes this about? Only the chance of war, says
the other: I was a General’s horse, you must know; and my master carried
me into a battle, where I was hacked and maimed; and you have here before
your eyes the catastrophe of my fortune.


MORALS.

    _This Fable shews the folly and the fate of pride and
    arrogance; and the mistake of placing happiness in anything
    that may be taken away; as also the blessing of freedom in a
    mean estate._

  _Proud of the clothes with which you are equipt,_
  _You of your pride may easily be stript._


REFLECTION.

People would never envy the pomp and splendour of greatness, if they
did but consider either the cares and dangers that go along with it,
or the blessings of peace and security in a middle condition. No man
can be truly happy, who is not every hour of his life prepared for the
worst that can befall him. Now this is a state of tranquillity never to
be attained but by keeping perpetually in our thoughts the certainty of
death, and the lubricity of fortune; and by delivering ourselves from the
anxiety of hopes and fears.

It falls naturally within the prospect of this fiction to treat of the
wickedness of a presumptuous arrogance; the fate that attends it; the
rise of it; and the means of either preventing or suppressing it; the
folly of it; the wretched and ridiculous estate of a proud man, and the
weakness of that envy that is grounded upon the mistaken happiness of
human life.

The folly both of the Horse and Ass may be considered here; the one
in placing his happiness upon anything that could be taken away; and
the other, in envying that mistaken happiness, under the abuse of the
same splendid illusion and imposture. What signify gay furniture, and a
pampered carcase, or any other outward appearance, without an intrinsic
value of worth and virtue? what signify beauty, strength, youth, fortune,
embroidered furniture, gaudy bosses, or any of those temporary and
uncertain satisfactions that may be taken from us with the very next
breath we draw? what assurance can any man have of a possession that
every turn of state, every puff of air, every change of humour, and the
least of a million of common casualties, may deprive him of?

Moreover, the envy of the Ass was a double folly; for he mistakes both
the Horse’s condition and his own. ’Tis madness to envy any creature that
may in a moment become miserable, or for any advantage that may in a
moment be taken from him. The Ass envies the Horse to-day; and, in some
few days more, the Horse comes to envy him: wherefore let no man despair,
so long as it is in the power either of death, or of chance, to remove
the burden. Nothing but moderation and greatness of mind can make either
a prosperous or an adverse fortune easy to us. The only way to be happy
is to submit to our lot; for no man can be properly said to be miserable
that is not wanting to himself. It is certainly true, that many a poor
cobbler has a merrier heart in his stall, than a prince in his palace.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VIII._

An Husbandman and Stork.

A poor innocent Stork had the ill hap to be taken in a net that was laid
for geese and cranes. The Stork’s plea for herself was simplicity and
piety, the love she bore to mankind, her duty to her parents, and the
service she did in picking up venomous creatures. This may be all true,
says the Husbandman, for what I know; but as you have been taken with ill
company, you must expect to suffer with it.


MORALS.

    _Our fortune and reputation require us to keep good company;
    for as we may be easily perverted by the force of bad examples,
    wise men will judge of us by the company we keep. What says the
    proverb? ~Birds of a feather will flock together.~_

  _The youth to temperance in vain pretends,_
  _Who goes to taverns, and makes rakes his friends:_
  _As maidens, who would live without a stain,_
  _Should never choose to lodge in ~Drury-Lane~._


REFLECTION.

The world will always form an idea of the character of every man from his
associates. Nor is this rule founded on wrong principles; for, generally
speaking, those who are constant companions are either drawn together
from a similitude of manners, or from such a similitude to each other by
daily commerce and continual conversation.

If bad company had nothing else to make us shun and avoid it, this,
methinks, might be sufficient, _that it infects and taints a man’s
reputation to as great a degree as if he were thoroughly versed in the
wickedness of the whole gang_. What is it to me if the thief who robs me
of my money gives part of it to build a church? Is he ever the less a
thief? Shall a woman’s going to prayers twice a day, save her reputation,
if she is known to be a malicious lying gossip? No; such mixtures of
religion and sin make the offence but the more flagrant, as they convince
us that it was not committed out of ignorance. Indeed, there is no living
without being guilty of some faults, more or less; which the world ought
to be good-natured enough to overlook, in consideration of the general
frailty of mankind, when they are not too gross and too abundant. But,
when we are so abandoned to stupidity, and a neglect of our reputation,
as to keep bad company, however little we may be criminal in reality,
we must expect the same censure and punishment as is due to the most
notorious of our companions.


[Illustration]

_FABLE IX._

The Dog and the Shadow.

A Dog, crossing a little rivulet with a piece of flesh in his mouth, saw
his own shadow represented in the clear mirror of the limpid stream; and
believing it to be another Dog who was carrying another piece of flesh,
he could not forbear catching at it; but was so far from getting anything
by his greedy design, that he dropt the piece he had in his mouth, which
immediately sunk to the bottom, and was irrecoverably lost.


MORALS.

    _Excessive greediness mostly in the end misses what it aims
    at; disorderly appetites seldom obtain what they would have;
    passions mislead men, and often bring them into great straits
    and inconveniences, through heedlessness and negligence._

  _Base is the man who pines amidst his store,_
  _And fat with plenty, griping, covets more:_
  _But doubly vile, by av’rice when betray’d,_
  _He quits the substance for an empty shade._


REFLECTION.

It is wisely decreed that vice should carry its own punishment along
with it. Therefore he that catches at more than belongs to him, justly
deserves to lose what he has; yet nothing is more common, and, at the
same time, more pernicious, than this selfish principle. It prevails from
the king to the peasant; and all orders and degrees of men are, more
or less, infected with it. Great monarchs have been drawn in, by this
greedy humour, to grasp at the dominions of their neighbours; not that
they wanted anything more to feed their luxury, but to gratify their
insatiable appetite for vainglory. If the Kings of _Persia_ could have
been contented with their own vast territories, they had not lost all
_Asia_, for the sake of a little petty state of _Greece_. And _France_,
with all its glory, has, ere now, been reduced to the last extremity by
the same unjust incroachments.

He that thinks he sees another’s estate in a pack of cards, or a box and
dice, and ventures his own in the pursuit of it, should not repine if he
finds himself a beggar in the end.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE X._

A Peacock and a Crane.

As a Peacock and a Crane were in company together, the Peacock spread his
tail, and challenged the other to shew him such a fan of feathers. You
brag of your plumes, says the Crane, that are fair indeed to the eye, but
fit for nothing but to attract the eyes of children and fools. Do as I
do, if you can; and then, with a suitable contempt, he springs up into
the air, leaving the gaping Peacock staring after him till his eyes ached.


MORALS.

    _There cannot be a greater sign of a weak mind than a person’s
    valuing himself on a gaudy outside; whether it be on the
    beauties of person, or the still vainer pride of fine clothes._

  _Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow,_
  _The rest is all but leather or prunella._


REFLECTION.

It is very absurd to slight or insult another upon his wanting a property
which we possess; for he may, for anything we know, have as just reason
to triumph over us, by being master of some good quality of which we are
incapable. But, in regard to the fable before us, that which the Peacock
values himself upon, the glitter and finery of dress, is one of the
most trifling considerations in nature; and what a man of sense would
be ashamed to reckon even as the least part of merit. Indeed, children,
and those people who think much about the same pitch with them, are apt
to be taken with varnish and tinsel; but they who examine by the scale
of common sense, must find something of weight and substance before they
can be persuaded to set a value. The mind which is stored with virtuous
and rational sentiments, and the behaviour which speaks complacence
and humility, stamp an estimate upon the possessor which all judicious
spectators are ready to admire and acknowledge. But if there be any merit
in an embroidered coat, a brocade waistcoat, a shoe, a stocking, or a
sword-knot, the person who wears them has the least claim to it; let it
be ascribed where it justly belongs—to the several artisans who wrought
and disposed the materials of which they consist. This moral is not
intended to derogate anything from the magnificence of fine clothes and
rich equipages, which, as times and circumstances require, may be used
with decency and propriety enough. But one cannot help being concerned
lest any worth should be affixed to them more than their own intrinsic
value.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XI._

A Boy and False Alarms.

A Shepherd’s Boy kept his sheep upon a common, and in sport and
wantonness had gotten a roguish trick of crying, A wolf! a wolf! when
there was no such matter, and fooling the country people with false
alarms. He had been at this sport so many times in jest, that they would
not believe him at last when he was in earnest; and so the wolves broke
in upon the flock, and worried the sheep without resistance.


MORALS.

    _This fable shews us the dangerous consequences of an improper
    and unseasonable fooling. The old moral observes, that a common
    liar shall not be believed, even when he speaks true._

  _Rank lies repeated oft, and oft detected,_
  _Makes truth itself for a rank lie suspected._


REFLECTION.

It is not every man’s talent to know when and how to cast out a pleasant
word, with such a regard to modesty and respect as not to transgress the
true and fair allowances of wit, good-nature, and good breeding. The
skill and faculty of governing this freedom within the terms of sobriety
and discretion, goes a great way in the character of an agreeable
companion: for that which we call raillery, in this sense, is the very
sauce of civil entertainment; and without some such tincture of urbanity,
even in matters the most serious, the good-humour falters for want of
refreshment and relief; but there is a _medium_ yet betwixt _all-fool_
and _all-philosopher_; I mean a proper and discreet mixture, that in
some sort partakes of both, and renders wisdom itself so much the more
grateful and effectual. The gravity, in short, of the one is enlivened
with the spirit and quickness of the other; and the gaiety of a diverting
word serves as a vehicle to convey the force of the intent and meaning of
it.

The Shepherd’s Boy, in short, to come closer to the fable, went too far
upon a topic he did not understand. And he that is detected for being a
notorious liar, besides the ignominy and reproach of the thing, incurs
this mischief, that he will scarce be able to get any one to believe him
again as long as he lives. However true our complaint may be, or how much
soever it may be for our interest to have it believed, yet, if we have
been frequently caught tripping before, we shall hardly be able to gain
credit to what we relate afterwards. Though mankind are generally stupid
enough to be often imposed upon, yet few are so senseless as to believe a
notorious liar, or to trust a cheat upon record. These little shams, when
found out, are sufficiently prejudicial to the interest of every private
person who practises them. But, when we are alarmed with imaginary
dangers in respect of the public, till the cry grows quite stale and
threadbare, how can it be expected we should know when to guard ourselves
against real ones.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XII._

A Father and his Sons.

A very honest man happened to have a contentious brood of children. He
called for a rod, and bade them try one after another, with all their
force, if they could break it. They tried, and could not. Well, says he,
unbind it now, and take every twig of it apart, and see what you can do
that way. They did so, and with great ease, by one and one, they snapped
it all to pieces. This, says he, is the true emblem of your condition:
keep together, and you are safe; divide, and you are undone.


MORALS.

    _The breach of unity puts the world into a state of war, and
    turns every man’s hand against his brother; but so long as that
    band holds, it is the strength of all the several parts of it
    gathered into one, and is not easily subdued._

  _Distress and ruin on divisions wait,_
  _But union is the bond of ev’ry state;_
  _Disloyalty’s a plague, dissension’s worse,_
  _And parties, where they rage, a kingdom’s curse._


REFLECTION.

This fable imitates the force of union, and the danger of division.
Intestine commotions have destroyed many a powerful state; and it is as
ruinous in private affairs as it is in public. A divided family can no
more stand than a divided commonwealth; for every individual suffers in
the neglect of a common safety. It is a strange thing that men should not
do that under the government of rational spirit, and a natural prudence,
which wolves and bears do by the impulse of an animal instinct. For they,
we see, will make head, one and all, against a common enemy; whereas the
generality of mankind lie pecking at one another, till one by one they
are all torn to pieces, never considering (as this fable teaches) the
necessity and benefits of union.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIII._

The Sick Father and his Children.

A Countryman who had lived handsomely in the world upon his honest labour
and industry, was desirous his Sons should do so after him; and being now
upon his death-bed, My dear children, says he, I reckon myself bound to
tell you before I depart, that there is a considerable treasure hid in
my vineyard; wherefore pray be sure to dig, and search narrowly for it,
when I am gone. The Father dies, and the Sons fall immediately to work
upon the vineyard. They turned it up over and over, and not one penny of
money to be found there; but the profit of the next vintage expounded the
riddle.


MORALS.

    _Good counsel is the best legacy a Father can leave to a Child;
    and it is still the better, when it is so wrapt up, as to beget
    a curiosity as well as an inclination to follow it._

  _Assiduous pains the swelling coffers fill,_
  _And all may make their fortune, if they will._


REFLECTION.

There is no wealth like that which comes by the blessing of God upon
honest labour and warrantable industry. Here is an incitement to an
industrious course of life, by a consideration of the profit, the
innocence, and the virtue of such an application. There is one great
comfort in hand, besides the hope and assurance of more to come. It was
a touch of art in the Father to cover his meaning in such a manner as to
create a curiosity and an earnest desire in his Sons to find it out. And
it was a treble advantage to them besides; for there was health in the
exercise, profit in the discovery, and the comfort of a good conscience
in discharging the duty of a filial obedience.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIV._

The Stag looking into the Water.

A Stag that had been drinking at a clear spring, saw himself in the
water; and, pleased with the prospect, stood afterwards for some time
contemplating and surveying his shape and features, from head to
foot. Ah! says he, what a glorious pair of branching horns are there!
how gracefully do those antlers hang over my forehead, and give an
agreeable turn to my whole face! If some other parts of my body were but
proportionable to them, I would turn my back to nobody; but I have a set
of such legs as really makes me ashamed to see them. People may talk what
they please of their conveniences, and what great need we stand in of
them upon several occasions; but for my part, I find them so very slender
and unsightly, that I had as lief have none at all. While he was giving
himself these airs, he was alarmed with the noise of some Huntsmen and a
pack of hounds that had been just laid on upon the scent, and were making
towards him. Away he flies in some consternation, and, bounding nimbly
over the plain, threw dogs and men at a vast distance behind him. After
which, taking a very thick copse, he had the ill-fortune to be entangled
by his horns in a thicket; where he was held fast, till the hounds came
in and pulled him down. Finding now how it was like to go with him, in
the pangs of death, he is said to have uttered these words: Unhappy
creature that I am! I am too late convinced, that what I prided myself in
has been the cause of my undoing; and what I so much disliked, was the
only thing that could have saved me.


MORALS.

    _We should examine things deliberately, and candidly consider
    their real usefulness before we place our esteem on them;
    otherwise, like the foolish Stag, we may happen to admire those
    accomplishments which are of no real use, and often prove
    prejudicial to us, while we despise those things on which our
    safety may depend._

  _Virtue despised, the beauty views her face,_
  _And pleased beholds an angel in her glass;_
  _But lost at length, to shame and want resigned,_
  _Mourns she ne’er sought the beauty of the mind._


REFLECTION.

Perhaps we cannot apply this better, than by supposing the fable to be a
parable; which may be thus explained. The Deer, viewing itself in the
water, is a beautiful young lady at her looking-glass. She can’t help
being sensible of the charms which lie blooming in every feature of her
face. She moistens her lips, languishes with her eyes, adjusts every
lock of her hair with the nicest exactness, gives an agreeable attitude
to her whole body, and then, with a soft sigh, says to herself, Ah! how
happy might I be, in a daily crowd of admirers, if it were not for the
censoriousness of the age! When I view that face, where Nature, to give
her her due, has been liberal enough of charms, how easy should I be, if
it were not for that slender particular, my honour. The odious idea of
that comes across all my happy moments, and brings a mortification with
it that damps my most flattering tender hopes. Oh that there were no such
thing in the world! In the midst of these soliloquies, she is interrupted
by the voice of her lover, who enters her chamber singing a rigadoon air;
and, introducing his discourse in a familiar easy manner, takes occasion
to launch out in praise of her beauty, sees she is pleased with it,
snatches her hand, kisses it in a transport; and in short, pursues his
point so close, that she is not able to disengage herself from him. But,
when the consequence of all this approaches, in an agony of grief and
shame, she fetches a deep sigh, and says, “Ah! how mistaken have I been!
the virtue I slighted might have saved me; but the beauty I prized so
much has been my undoing.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XV._

The Countryman and the Snake.

A Villager, in a frosty, snowy winter, found a Snake under a hedge,
almost dead with cold. He could not help having compassion for the poor
creature, so brought it home, and laid it upon the hearth near the fire;
but it had not lain there long before (being revived with the heat) it
began to erect itself, and fly at his wife and children, filling the
whole cottage with dreadful hissings. The countryman hearing an outcry,
and perceiving what the matter was, catched up a mattock, and soon
dispatched him, upbraiding him at the same time in these words: “Is this,
vile wretch, the reward you make to him that saved your life? Die, as you
deserve; but a single death is too good for you.”


MORALS.

    _It is no strange thing to see a reprobate fool throw his
    poisonous language about against those who are so inadvertent
    as to concern themselves with him._

  _Evil for good, relentless to bestow,_
  _Is all the gratitude th’ unworthy know;_
  _Mercy to such should be with caution shown;_
  _Saving a villain’s life, you risk your own._


REFLECTION.

’Tis the nature of ingrates to return evil for good; and the moralists in
all ages have incessantly declaimed against the enormity of this crime,
concluding _that they who are capable of hurting their benefactors,
are not fit to live in a community; being such, as the natural ties of
parent, friend, or country, are too weak to restrain within the bounds
of society_. Indeed, the sin of ingratitude is so detestable, that, as
none but the most inhuman temper can be guilty of it, so, in writing to
men, there is no occasion to use many words, either in exposing the vice
itself, or dissuading people from the commission of it. Therefore it is
not likely that a person of _Æsop’s_ sagacity would have compiled this
fable, without having something else in view, besides this trite and
obvious subject. He certainly intended to put us in mind, _That, as none
but a poor silly clown would go to take up a Snake and cherish it, so we
shall be very negligent and ill-advised, if, in doing good offices, we do
not take care to bestow our benevolence upon proper objects_. It was not
at all unnatural in the Snake to hiss, and brandish his tongue, and fly
at the first that came near him; as soon at the person that saved his
life as any other; indeed more likely, because nobody else had so much
to do with him. Nor is it strange at any time to see a reprobate fool
throwing his poisonous language about, and committing his extravagances
against those, more especially, who are so inadvertent as to concern
themselves with him. The snake and the reprobate will not appear
extraordinary in their malevolence. But the sensible part of mankind
cannot help thinking those guilty of great indiscretion who receive
either of them into their protection.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVI._

A Gnat and a Bee.

A Gnat, half starved with cold and hunger, went one frosty morning to
a Bee-hive, to beg a charity; and offered to teach music in the Bee’s
family, for her diet and lodging. The Bee very civilly desired to be
excused: For, says she, I bring up all my children to my own trade, that
they may be able to get their living by their industry; and I am sure I
am right; for see what that music, which you would I teach my children,
has brought you yourself to.


MORALS.

    _Industry ought to be diligently inculcated in the minds of
    children of all ranks and degrees; for who stands so sure as to
    say he is exempt from the vicissitudes of this uncertain life?_

  _The wretch who works not for his daily bread,_
  _Sighs and complains, but ought not to be fed._
  _Think, when you see stout beggars on their stand,_
  _The lazy are the locusts of the land._


REFLECTION.

The many unhappy persons whom we daily see singing up and down in order
to divert other people, though with very heavy hearts of their own,
should warn all those who have the education of children, how necessary
it is to bring them up to industry and business, be their present
prospects ever so hopeful; that so, upon any unexpected disaster, they
might be able to turn their hands to a course which might procure them an
honest livelihood.

The Gnat in the fable, we may further observe, is very like many
inconsiderate persons in life. They gaily buz about in the _summer of
prosperity_, and think of nothing but their present enjoyments: but
when the _winter of adversity_ comes, they poorly creep about, and
supplicate the industrious inhabitants of every _Bee-hive_, charitably to
relieve those wants which they have brought upon themselves; and often
deservedly meet the repulse, and the sting, which the Bee gives to the
Gnat in the fable. We have seen many a doted-on child, who has been
brought up to singing, dancing, and all the gay delights of this world,
and yet has been forced to shut up the last scene of a miserable life in
want and beggary; which had been prevented, if they had been early taught
the value of industry and independency, and the means, by the former, of
attaining the latter.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVII._

Mercury and the Woodman.

A Man was felling a tree on the bank of a river; and by chance let his
hatchet slip out of his hand, which dropt into the water, and immediately
sunk to the bottom. Being therefore in great distress for the loss of
his tool, he sat down and bemoaned himself most lamentably. Upon this,
_Mercury_ appeared to him, and, being informed of the cause of his
complaint, dived to the bottom of the river, and coming up again, showed
the man a golden hatchet, demanding if that were his. He denied that it
was. Upon which _Mercury_ dived a second time, and brought up a silver
one. The man refused it, alleging likewise that this was not his. He
dived a third time, and fetched up the individual hatchet the man had
lost; upon sight of which the poor wretch was overjoyed, and took it with
all humility and thankfulness. _Mercury_ was so pleased with the fellow’s
honesty, that he gave him the other two into the bargain, as a reward
for his just dealing. The man goes to his companions, and giving them an
account of what had happened, one of them went presently to the river’s
side, and let his hatchet fall designedly into the stream. Then sitting
down upon the bank, he fell a weeping and lamenting, as if he had been
really and sorely afflicted. _Mercury_ appeared as before, and diving,
brought him up a golden hatchet, asking if that was the hatchet he lost.
Transported at the precious metal, he answered, Yes; and went to snatch
it greedily. But the god detesting his abominable impudence, not only
refused to give him that, but would not so much as let him have his own
hatchet again.


MORALS.

    _Honesty is the best policy; religion absolutely requires it of
    its votaries: and the honest man, provided his other talents
    are not deficient, always carries the preference in our esteem,
    before any other, in whatever business he employs himself._

  _Truth, sacred truth, shall flourish and prevail,_
  _While all the arts of fraud and falsehood fail;_
  _The flimsy cheat wise judges soon descry;_
  _Sure those will rob, who scruple not to lie._


REFLECTION.

Notwithstanding the proneness of mankind to do evil, and the account
which some find in playing the knave, yet there cannot be invented
a more true and reasonable maxim, than that by which we are assured
that _honesty is the best policy_. If we consider it in respect to the
other world, there never was a religion but strictly required it of its
votaries. If we examine it upon account of this, we shall find that the
honest man, provided his other talents are not deficient, always carries
the preference in our esteem, before any other, in whatever business he
thinks fit to employ himself.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVIII._

The Fir and a Bramble.

My head, says the boasting Fir-tree to the humble Bramble, is advanced
among the stars; I furnish beams for palaces, and masts for shipping;
the very sweat of my body is a sovereign remedy for the sick and wounded:
whereas thou, O rascally Bramble, runnest creeping in the dirt, and art
good for nothing in the world but mischief. I pretend not to vie with
thee, said the Bramble, in the points thou gloriest in. But, not to
insist upon it, that He who made thee a lofty Fir, could have made thee
an humble Bramble, I pray thee tell me, when the Carpenter comes next
with the axe into the wood, to fell timber, whether thou hadst not rather
be a Bramble than a Fir-tree?


MORALS.

    _Poverty secures a man from many dangers; whereas the rich and
    the mighty are the mark of malice and cross fortune; and still
    the higher they are, the nearer the thunder._

  _Minions of fortune, pillars of the state,_
    _Round your exalted heads what tempests low’r!_
  _While peace secure, and soft contentment wait_
    _On the calm mansions of the humble poor._


REFLECTION.

The answer of the humble Bramble to the proud Fir-tree is so pathetic,
that it may of itself serve for a very good moral to this fable. Nothing
of God’s works is so mean as to be despised, and nothing so lofty but it
may be humbled; nay, and the greater the height the greater the danger.
For a proud great man to despise an humble little one, when Providence
can so easily exalt the one, and abase the other, and has not for the
merit of the one, or the demerit of the other, conferred the respective
conditions, is a most inexcusable arrogance: and history has given
numberless instances, where the overgrown Fir, though a Prime Minister,
or great Prince, in the very height of its pride, has been forced to
submit to the executioner’s axe, while the humble Bramble, or contented
poor man, has continued safe and unhurt in his lowly obscurity. We may
further observe on this fable, that there is no state of life but has
its mixture of good and evil. The Fir may boast of the uses to which it
is put, and of its strength and stature; but then it has not to boast
of the creeping Bramble’s safety; for the value of the one tempts the
Carpenter’s axe, while the poverty of the other makes it little worth any
one’s while to molest it. Upon the whole matter, we may add, _That as
pride or arrogance is a vice that seldom escapes without a punishment; so
humility is a virtue that hardly ever goes without a blessing_.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIX._

The Fox and the Countryman.

A Fox being hard hunted, and having run a long chase, was quite tired. At
last he spied a country fellow in a wood, to whom he applied for refuge,
entreating that he would give him leave to hide himself in his cottage,
till the hounds were gone by. The man consented, and the Fox went and
covered himself up close in a corner of the hovel. Presently the hunters
came up, and inquired of the man, if he had seen the Fox. No, says he, I
have not seen him indeed: but all the while he pointed with his finger to
the place where the Fox was hid. However, the hunters did not understand
him, but called off their hounds, and went another way. Soon after, the
Fox, creeping out of his hole, was going to sneak off; when the man,
calling after him, asked him, if that was his manners, to go away without
thanking his benefactor, to whose fidelity he owed his life. _Reynard_,
who had peeped all the while, and seen what passed, answered, I know what
obligations I have to you well enough; and I assure you, if your actions
had but been agreeable to your words, I should have endeavoured, however
incapable of it, to have returned you suitable thanks.


MORALS.

    _To appear in another’s interest, while underhand we are giving
    intelligence to their enemies, is treacherous, knavish, and
    base._

  _Thus by the knave, in worldly guile adept,_
  _Vows are perform’d and promises are kept:_
  _True to the form, and fearful of offence,_
  _Good soul! he swerves from nothing but the sense._


REFLECTION.

Sincerity is a most beautiful virtue: but there are some, whose natures
are so poor-spirited and cowardly, that they are not capable of exerting
it. Indeed, unless a man be steady and constant in all his actions, he
will hardly deserve the name of sincere. An open enemy, though more
violent and terrible, is not, however, so odious and detestable as a
false friend. To pretend to keep another’s counsel, and appear in their
interest, while underhand we are giving intelligence to their enemies,
is treacherous, knavish, and base. There are some people in the world
very dexterous at this kind of defamation; and can, while they seem most
vehement in the commendation or defence of a friend, throw out a hint
which shall stab their reputation deeper than the most malicious weapon,
brandished at them in a public manner, could have been capable of doing.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XX._

A One-Eyed Stag.

A One-Eyed Stag that was afraid of the Huntsmen at land, kept a watch
that way, and fed with his blind side towards an arm of the sea, where he
thought there was no danger. In this hope of security, he was shot, by a
ball from a boat, and so ended his days with this lamentation: Here I am
destroyed, says he, where I reckoned myself to be safe on the one hand;
and no evil has befallen me, where I most dreaded it, on the other. But
it is my comfort that I intended the best.


MORALS.

    _We are liable to many accidents that no care or foresight
    can prevent: but we are to provide, however, the best we can
    against them, and leave the rest to Providence._

  _The man whom we fear and suspect for a cheat,_
  _Can hardly delude us with art and deceit;_
  _But he, in whose faith we securely confide,_
  _May come round with impunity on our ~blind side~._


REFLECTION.

We are many times preserved or destroyed by those accidents or counsels
that in all probability should have had quite contrary effects. But
yet it is our part to act according to reason, and commit ourselves to
Heaven for the rest. The wisest of men have their _follies_ or _blind
sides_, and have their enemies too, who watch to take advantage of their
weakness. It behoves us therefore to look to ourselves on the _blind
side_, as the part that lies most exposed to an attack. And yet, when we
have done our best to prevent mischief, the very precaution itself serves
many times to contribute to our ruin. In short, the ways and workings of
Providence are unsearchable, and it is not in the power of human prudence
to obviate all the accidents of life.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXI._

A Shepherd and a Young Wolf.

A Shepherd took a Wolf’s sucking Whelp, and trained it up with his Dogs.
The Whelp fed with them, grew up with them, and whensoever they went
out upon the chase of a Wolf, the Whelp would be sure to make one. It
fell out sometimes that the Wolf escaped; but this domestic Wolf would
be still hunting on, after the dogs had given over the chase, till he
came up to his true brethren, where he took part of the prey with them,
and then went back again to his master. And when he could come in for
no snacks with the Wolves, he would now and then make free, by the by,
with a straggling Sheep out of the flock. He carried on this trade for a
while; but at last he was caught in the fact, and hanged by his injured
master.


MORALS.

    _Men naturally false and treacherous are no more to be
    reclaimed than Wolves. Benefits but augment their power to
    do mischief, and they never fail to make use of it to the
    prejudice of their benefactors._

  _The knave profest may seem a gen’rous foe,_
  _Deserves a rope, yet claims our pity too;_
  _But dragg’d to light, and stript of his disguise,_
  _The sneaking hypocrite unpitied dies._


REFLECTION.

Ill dispositions may be dissembled for a while, but nature is very hardly
to be altered, either by counsel or education. It may do well enough
for curiosity and experiment, to try how far ill-natured men, and other
creatures, may be wrought upon by fair usage and good breeding; but the
inclination and cruelty of the dam will be hardly ever out of the Whelp.
_Thrust back nature with a pitch-fork_, says the poet, _and it will
return_. This Fable is a true portrait of an ungrateful and treacherous
mind, which, according to the proverb, _holds with the Hare, and runs
with the Hound_; which pretends greater zeal than others, like the Wolf’s
Whelp in the chase, in the detection and pursuit of a common enemy;
but at the same time divides spoils with him, and, rather than want an
opportunity of doing mischief, will prey privately upon the property he
pretends to defend. Many such instances we might give in public life;
and there have been too many such also in private life. The punishment
so richly merited in the Fable is heartily to be wished whenever they
happen, and it is a pity it should be wanted.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXII._

Seamen Praying to Saints.

In a terrible tempest at Sea, one Seaman took notice that the rest of
his fellows were praying severally to so many Saints. Have a care, my
masters, says he, what you do; for what if we should all be drowned now
before the messenger can deliver his errand? would it not be better,
without going so far about, to pray to Him that can save us without help.


MORALS.

    _A wise man will take the nearest and surest way to obtain his
    end, and to commit no business of importance to a proxy, where
    he may do it himself._

  _Inactive wishes are but waste of time,_
  _And, without efforts, pray’rs themselves a crime:_
  _Vain are their hopes, who miracles expect,_
  _And ask from heaven what themselves neglect._


REFLECTION.

Mankind, indolent and discontented, are very apt to murmur at the
dispensations of Providence, and to call for divine assistance to
extricate them from their difficulties, when it is in their own power to
accomplish what they desire. They, who will not stir a finger to promote
their own interest, have little title to expect any foreign assistance:
but when they have exerted their utmost skill and assiduity, their
prayers, if there is need for them, will be enforced by every argument
drawn from their own merit, and the compassion of those to whom they make
their application. Industry includes in itself this double blessing:
It commonly enables us to gain the point we aim at; and in that case
heightens the relish of our enjoyments, when we consider that we have
attained them by our own art and perseverance: but if we should happen
to fail in our endeavours, it excites the pity of those who are able to
serve us; and gives a grace to our petitions for assistance and relief.

What needs any man make his court to the servants, says Sir _Roger
L’Estrange_, when his access is open to the Master? and especially when
that Master is as ready to give as the petitioner to ask.

With regard to secular matters, we are told a pleasant story of one of
our princes, King _Charles_ II. He had often observed a country gentleman
attending to speak with one of his first ministers; and once passing
through the apartment where the gentleman happened to be alone, he asked
him his business. He told him, that he was attending upon his minister,
as he had often done, for such a post in his Majesty’s gift. The King
asked him, what he was to give for it to the minister? He said £1000. The
King humorously told him he should have it, and bid him give him £500,
and keep t’other £500 himself; and if he or his friends wanted any more
such bargains, he might apply to _himself_ directly, and be served at
half price.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIII._

A Fox that had lost his Tail.

A Fox taken in a trap was glad to compound for his neck, by leaving his
tail behind him. It was so uncouth a sight for a Fox to appear without
a tail, that the very thought of it made him weary of his life: but,
however, for the better countenance of the scandal, he got the _Master
and Wardens of the Foxes’ company_ to call a _Court of Assistants_, where
he himself appeared, and made a learned discourse upon the trouble, the
uselessness, and the indecency of Foxes wearing tails. He had no sooner
said out his say, but up rises a cunning Snap, then at the board, who
desired to be informed, whether the worthy member that moved against the
wearing of tails, gave his advice for the advantage of those that _had
tails_, or to palliate the deformity and disgrace of those that _had
none_.


MORALS.

    _It is the way of the world to give other people counsel for
    by-ends. But yet it is a hard matter to over-rule a multitude
    to their own pain and loss._

  _Gladly Sir ~Clumsy~ would the world persuade,_
  _Not he, but all mankind are vilely made;_
  _And might the purblind and the deaf advise,_
  _’Twere better for to want both ear and eyes._


REFLECTION.

We may improve a doctrine from this, that every man has his _weak side_,
either by mischance or by nature; and that he makes it his business to
cover it, too, the best he can. In case of the worst, it is some sort
of ease to have company in misfortune. It puts a man out of countenance
to be in fashion by himself, and therefore the Fox acted cunningly to
try if he could bring his fellow Foxes to put themselves into his mode.
When we have carried a point as far as it will go, and can make no more
of it, it is a stroke of art and philosophy to look as if we did not
so much as wish for a thing that is not to be had. Every man’s present
condition has somewhat to be said for it: if it be uneasy, the skill will
be, either how to _mend_ it, or how to _bear_ it; but then there must be
no clashing with the methods, the decrees, and the laws of nature. A man
that has forfeited his honour and his conscience, seems to be much in the
condition of the Fox here that had lost his tail; and oftentimes takes as
much pains, too, to persuade all his companions to follow his fashion,
and be as corrupt as himself, that he may bring the rest of the world
down to his own standard.

In respect to temporal affairs, they, who pretend to advise what measures
are most conducive to the public welfare, are often guided entirely by
their own private interest: but whenever they counsel any extraordinary
innovations, or endeavour to change any established proceedings long used
and approved, we may be almost certain that they have some other design,
rather than the promotion of the general good. When new regulations are
proposed, we should turn our eyes on those who propose them, and consider
with attention, whether they have not some personal motives for their
conduct, and we should be particularly cautious not to suffer ourselves
to be imposed on by _fine speeches_ and _pretended patriotism_: for _he_
who is _very solicitous_ to bring about a scheme, not attended with any
visible advantage to the community, must only mean his own benefit; or,
like the Fox, when he has been caught himself in one trap, endeavour to
catch us in another.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIV._

A Scoffer Punished.

A Presumptuous Scoffer at things sacred took a journey to _Delphi_,
on purpose to try if he could put a trick upon _Apollo_. He carried a
sparrow in his hand under his coat, and told the god, _I have something
in my hand_, says he: _Is it dead or living?_ If the oracle should say it
was dead, he could show it alive; if living, it was but squeezing it, and
then it was dead. He that saw the iniquity of his heart, gave him this
answer: It shall e’en be which of the two thou pleasest: for it is in thy
choice to have it either the one or the other, as to the bird, but it is
not in thy power as to thyself; and immediately struck the bold scoffer
dead, for a warning to others.


MORALS.

    _Presumption naturally leads people to infidelity, and that
    by insensible degrees to atheism: for when men have once cast
    off a reverence for religion, they are come within one step of
    laughing at it._

  _That there’s a God all nature loud proclaims,_
  _Tho’ the vile Atheist the great truth disclaims;_
  _Or warp’d by prejudice, or sunk in sin,_
  _His fright’ned conscience feels the lash within._


REFLECTION.

There is no playing fast and loose with God Almighty, who sees the very
thoughts of our hearts. This way of fooling in holy things, is the very
boldest sort of impiety that can be practised. He that pretends to doubt
of an All-knowing power, has as much right to doubt of an Almighty power
too; and the bringing of one attribute in question, opens the way to a
diffidence of all the rest. It would prevent a great deal of wickedness
in the world, if men would but live and act in religious matters,
so as to own and to recognise the force and awe of a Deity in their
_practices_, as well as in their _words_: but when they come to querying
and riddling upon it, with an _If it be so and so_, the scandal of the
supposition is not to be borne; for such a way of seeming to affirm a
thing, is but one remove from a flat denial of it. Such was the Scoffer’s
question here to the oracle, which implies both the doubt of a divine
Omniscience, and a curiosity to discover the truth of the matter, with a
banter at the end of it; and so makes a consummated wickedness.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXV._

A Swan and a Stork.

A Stork that was present at the song of a dying Swan, told her, it was
contrary to nature to sing so much out of season; and asked her the
reason of it. Why, says the Swan, I am now entering into a state where I
shall be no longer in danger of either snares, guns, or hunger; and who
would not joy at such a deliverance?


MORALS.

    _Death is a certain relief from all the difficulties, pains,
    and hazards of life._

  _This life’s a scene of bustle, care, and noise,_
  _Of certain trouble, and uncertain joys,_
  _Death ends the contest, we can only have_
  _A peaceful refuge in the silent grave._


REFLECTION.

It is a great folly to fear that which it is impossible to avoid; and it
is yet a greater folly to fear the remedy of all evils: for death cures
all diseases, and frees us from all cares. It is as great a folly again
not to prepare ourselves, and provide for an inevitable fate. We are as
sure to go out of the world, as we are that ever we came into it; and
nothing but the conscience of a good life can support us in that last
extremity. The fiction of a Swan’s singing at her death does, in the
moral, but advise and recommend it to us to make ready for the cheerful
entertainment of our last hour, and to consider with ourselves, that if
death be so welcome a relief even to animals, barely as a deliverance
from the cares, miseries, and dangers of a troublesome life, how much a
greater blessing ought all good men to account it then, that are not only
freed by it from the snares, difficulties, and distractions of a wicked
world, but put into possession (over and above) of an everlasting peace,
and the fruition of joys that shall never have an end!

To attain this desirable state of mind, it is necessary that we reflect
fully and frequently on the uncertainty of all worldly affairs, how
flitting and transitory, and how barren of real happiness, they are; and
to endeavour at a proper discharge of our duty to _society_, by acting
well the part assigned us in it, and managing the talents committed
to our care, to beneficial ends and purposes; to our _Creator_, by a
constant and humble acquiescence in the dispensations of His providence,
and sincere and grateful acknowledgments for His numberless mercies to
_ourselves_, by restraining inordinate and unlawful desires, and bridling
our dissolute and licentious affections, duly considering, that as we
bear the stamp and image of the Deity, every debasement and pollution
offered to our persons is an affront and indignity to Him, and contrary
to His express commands: By a constant attention to these things, we may
be enabled to meet death without fear. The consciousness of a well-spent
life strips the tyrant of all his terrors; then, like the Swan in the
Fable, we shall consider him as a welcome visitant that will ease us
of this load of mortality, and usher us into a state of inexpressible
felicity.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVI._

A Swallow and a Spider.

A Spider that observed a Swallow catching of flies, fell immediately
to work upon a net to catch Swallows; for she looked upon it as an
encroachment upon her right: but the birds, without any difficulty, brake
through the work, and flew away with the very net itself. Well, says
the Spider, bird-catching is none of my talent, I perceive; and so she
returned to her old trade of catching flies again.


MORALS.

    _A wise man will not undertake anything without means
    answerable to the end._

  _They who by imitations covet fame,_
  _Oft incur dangers, and solicit shame;_
  _For though the bright original we prize,_
  _His abject imitator all despise._


REFLECTION.

Every man should examine the strength of his own mind with attention
and impartiality, and not fondly flatter himself by measuring his own
talents by the false standard of the abilities of another. We can no
more adopt the genius of another man than assume his shape and person;
and an imitation of his manner would no more become us than his clothes.
Man is indeed an imitative animal; but whatever we take from general
observation, without servilely copying the practice of any individual,
becomes so mixed and incorporated with our notions that it may fairly
be called our own. Almost every man has something original in himself,
which, if duly cultivated, might perhaps procure him esteem and applause;
but if he neglects his natural talents, or perverts them by an absurd
imitation of others, he becomes an object of ridicule; especially, if
he attempts to perform things beyond the compass of his strength or
understanding.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVII._

A Dog, a Cock, and a Fox.

A Dog and a Cock took a journey together. The Dog kennelled in the body
of a hollow tree, and the Cock roosted at night upon the boughs. The
Cock crowed about midnight (at his usual hour), which brought a Fox that
was abroad upon the hunt immediately to the tree; and there he stood
licking of his lips at the Cock, and, wheedling him to get him down, he
protested he never heard so angelical a voice since he was born; and what
would not he do now, to hug the creature that had given him so admirable
a serenade? Pray, says the Cock, speak to the porter below to open the
door, and I’ll come down to you. The Fox, little dreaming of the Dog so
near, did as he was directed, and the Dog presently seized and worried
him.


MORALS.

    _When a man has to do with an adversary who is too crafty or
    too strong for him, it is right to turn him off to his match._

  _Happy the ready wit of men of parts,_
  _Who on himself can turn the villain’s arts!_


REFLECTION.

Experience makes many a wise man of a fool, and security makes many a
fool of a wise man. We have an instance of the former in the Cock’s
over-reaching the Fox; and of the other in the Fox’s supine confidence,
that made him so intent upon his prey, as to neglect his safety; and to
fall himself into the pit that he had digged for another. It is much
the same case in the world, when Providence is pleased to confound the
presumptuous, the false, the mighty, and the bloodthirsty by judgments of
lice and frogs—that is to say, by the most despicable of instruments; and
that frequently at a crisis of time, when they think themselves sure of
the success of their mischievous projects.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVIII._

The Ants and a Grasshopper.

As the Ants were airing their provisions one winter, a hungry Grasshopper
begged a charity of them. They told him, that he should have wrought
in summer, if he would not have wanted in winter. Well, says the
Grasshopper, but I was not idle neither; for I sung out the whole season.
Nay then, said they, you’ll e’en do well to make a merry year of it, and
dance in winter to the tune that you sung in summer.


MORALS.

    _Action and industry is the business of a wise and a good man,
    and nothing is so much to be despised as slothfulness._ Go to
    the Ant, thou sluggard, _says the Royal Preacher_, consider her
    ways, and be wise; _which in a few words sums up the moral of
    this fable_.

  _O now, while health and vigour still remain._
  _Toil, toil, my lads, to purchase honest gain!_
  _Shun idleness! shun pleasure’s tempting snare!_
  _A youth of revels breeds an age of care._


REFLECTION.

It is hard to say of laziness or luxury, whether it be the more
scandalous, or the more dangerous evil. The very soul of the slothful
does but lie drowsing in his body, and the whole man is totally given
up to his senses; whereas the profit and the comfort of industry are
substantial, firm, and lasting; the blessings of security and plenty go
along with it, and it is never out of season. What is the Grasshopper’s
entertainment now, but a summer’s song? A vain and empty pleasure? Let
it be understood, however, that we are not to pass avarice upon the
world under title of good-husbandry and thrift, and thereby utterly to
extinguish charity. We are indeed, in the first place, to consult our
own necessities; but we are then to consider, in the second, that the
necessities of our neighbours have a Christian right to a part of what we
have to spare.

The stress of this moral lies upon the preference of honest labour to
idleness; and the refusal of relief, on the one hand, is intended only
for a reproof to the inconsiderate loss of opportunity on the other.
This does not hinder yet, but that the Ants, out of their abundance,
ought to have relieved the Grasshopper in her distress, though it was
her own fault that brought her to it; for if one man’s _faults_ could
discharge another man of his _duty_, there would be no longer any
place left for the common offices of society. To conclude, we have our
failings, every one of us; and the improvidence of my neighbour must
not make me inhuman. The Ant did well to reprove the Grasshopper for her
slothfulness; but she did ill, after that, to refuse her charity in her
distress.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIX._

The Bald Cavalier.

When periwigs were first used, and then chiefly to cover the defect of
baldness, a certain Cavalier had one for that purpose, which passed
for his own hair. But as he was one day riding out with some others a
hunting, a sudden puff of wind blew off both his wig and his hat, and set
the company in a loud laugh at his bald pate. He, for his part, fell a
laughing with the rest, and said, Why, really, Gentlemen, this is merry
enough; for how could I expect to keep other people’s hair, who could not
preserve my own.


MORALS.

    _The edge of a jest is quite blunted and turned off when a man
    has presence of mind to join in it against himself, or begin
    it._

  _When the loud laugh prevails at your expense,_
  _All want of temper is but want of sense;_
  _Would you disarm the sneerer of his jest,_
  _Frown not, but laugh in concert with the rest._


REFLECTION.

A frank, easy way of openness and candour agrees best with all humours;
and he that is over solicitous to conceal a defect, often does as good
as make proclamation of it. And it is a turn of art in many cases, where
a man lies open to ridicule, to anticipate the jest, and make sport with
himself first.

The epigram of _Martial_ upon a lady, who, in a case in point, was for
hiding a defect like that of the bald Knight, and made use of false hair,
carries with it the severer sting, as she was willing and studious to
conceal it. The Poet, made _English_, says:—

  The golden hair that _Galla_ wears
    Is hers: who would have thought it?
  She swears ’tis hers—and true she swears,
    For I know _where_ she _bought_ it.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXX._

A Dog and a Cat.

Never were two creatures better together than a Dog and a Cat brought up
in the same house from a Whelp and a Kitten; so kind, so gamesome and
diverting, that it was half the entertainment of the family to see the
gambols and love-tricks that passed betwixt them. Only it was observed,
that still at meal-times, when scraps fell from the table, or a bone was
thrown to them, they would be snarling and spitting at one another under
the table like the worst of foes.


MORALS.

  _But as the sun, refulgent globe of light,_
  _By mists obscur’d, may shine more dimly bright;_
  _Or by some sable cloud its lustre veil’d,_
  _Lie hid in darkness from the world conceal’d;_
  _So every joy which mortals here can know_
  _Is damp’d by sorrow, or is mix’d with woe._
  _Pleasure entire, from all assaults secure,_
  _To no one’s granted, no one can ensure._
    _Ungovern’d passions to such heights will rise,_
  _That friendship’s self oft falls a sacrifice;_
  _A fire is kindled in the human breast,_
  _By words misconstru’d, or a simple jest,_
  _As some one relish often spoils a feast._
  _Thus sportful, frisking on the sunny green,_
  _Two lambkins loving are not seldom seen:_
  _Off from the flock they to a distance stray,_
  _And all a battle represent in play;_
  _Till some unlucky thrusts rouse up their rage,_
  _Pretence is gone, in earnest they engage._
    _Those whom she sung, the muse reluctant sees_
  _Differ for causes trivial as these;_
  _And full of anguish, sighing and alone,_
  _Pours out her deep-felt melancholy moan:—_
  _“Where dwelt their mutual fondness in that hour_
  _When love took leave, and kindness now no more?_
  _Alas! no more, in social converse join’d,_
  _Shall they partake the rapture of the mind?_
  _Placid content, shall fell disgust succeed,_
  _And vexing discord make enjoyment bleed?_
  _Forbid it, Heav’n! and to them gracious deign_
  _Their strict agreeing harmony again!_
  _All jarring thoughts at utmost distance keep,_
  _And bid the former in oblivion sleep!”_


REFLECTION.

Here is a perfect emblem of the practices and friendships of the world.
We contract little likings, enter into agreeable conversations, and
pass away the time so merrily and kindly together, that one would think
it impossible for anything under the sun to break the interest; and yet
upon the throwing in any cross interest among us, which is all one with
the bone under the table; nay, upon a jealous thought, or a mistaken
word or look, all former bonds are cancelled, the league broken, and the
farce concludes in biting and scratching one another’s eyes out. The same
figure will serve for princes and states, public persons and private,
married and single; people, in fine, of all professions and pretences.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXI._

An Impertinent and Philosopher.

A certain pragmatical, gay, fluttering Coxcomb would needs make a
visit to a Philosopher. He found him alone in his study, and fell a
wondering how he could endure to lead so solitary a life. Sir, says the
Philosopher, you are exceedingly mistaken, for I was in very good company
till you came in.


MORALS.

    _What the noisy and most numerous part of the world calls good
    company, is generally the most irksome and insipid thing in the
    world to a wise man; a mere round of folly and impertinence,
    and void of any kind of instruction or benefit to a reflecting
    mind. How preferable to such a man must it be to converse with
    the learned dead, rather than the unedifying and noisy living?_

  _“~Swift~ is obscure, and ~Addison~ wants taste,_
  _~Shakespeare~ is low, and ~Milton~ all bombast”—
  _Thus wit itself half-seeing fools condemn,_
  _And sense and genius are all dark to them._


REFLECTION.

It is one of the most vexatious mortifications, perhaps, of a sober and
studious man’s life, to have his thoughts disordered, and the chain of
his reason discomposed, by the importunity of a tedious and impertinent
visit; especially if it be from a fool of quality, where the station of
the man entitles him to all returns of good manners and respect. The
drift of this fable is to tell us, that good books and good thoughts
are the best company, and that they are mistaken, who think a wise
man can ever be alone. It prepares us also to expect interruptions
and disappointments, and to provide for them; but withal to take the
best care we can to prevent the plague of ill company, by avoiding the
occasions of it. The linking of a man of brains and honesty, with a
lewd, insipid companion, is effectually the emblem of that tyrant who
bound the living and the dead together; and yet this is it which the
impertinent takes for the relief of solitude, and that he calls company.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXII._

The Fox and the Ass.

An Ass, finding a Lion’s skin, disguised himself with it, and ranged
about the forest, putting all the beasts that saw him into a bodily fear.
After he had diverted himself thus for some time, he met a Fox; and being
desirous to fright him too, as well as the rest, he leapt at him with
some fierceness, and endeavoured to imitate the roaring of the Lion. Your
humble servant, says the Fox; if you had held your tongue, I might have
taken you for a Lion, as others did; but now you bray, I know who you
are.


MORALS.

    _The more distant any person is from the thing he affects to
    appear, the stronger will the ridicule be which he excites, and
    the greater the inconveniencies into which he runs himself._

  _The fop, with empty jests and silly smile,_
  _Women, or men like women, may beguile;_
  _Howe’er with fools his senseless prate may pass,_
  _The man of sense soon knows him for an Ass._


REFLECTION.

This is so trite and common a subject, that there is scarce any one who
is ignorant of it. A man is known by his words, as a tree is by the
fruit; and, if we would be apprised of the nature and qualities of any
one, let him but discourse, and he himself will speak them to us, better
than another can describe them. We may therefore perceive from this
fable, how proper it is for those to hold their tongues who would not
discover the shallowness of their understandings.

  _Asses and Owls, unseen, themselves betray,_
  _When these attempt to hoot, or those to bray._

The deepest rivers are most silent: the greatest noise is ever found
where there is the least depth of water. And it is a true observation,
that those who are the weakest in understanding, and most slow of
apprehension, are generally the strongest in opinion, and most
precipitate in uttering their crude conceptions. When, with a secret awe,
we regard the grave address and important mien of some senatorian person,
whom we have chanced to meet in a coffee-house, what a speaker do we
often think he must be, before we hear him speak! his air breathes the
seriousness of a privy councillor, and his erect aspect the dignity of an
eminent patriot: But he utters himself, and undeceives us; he brays, and
tells the whole company what he is.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXIII._

A Boar and a Fox.

As a Boar was whetting his teeth against a tree, up comes a Fox to him.
Pray, what do you mean by that? says he. I do it, says the Boar, to be in
readiness in case of an attack by an enemy. But, replies the Fox, I see
no occasion for it, for there is no enemy near you. Well, says the Boar,
but I see occasion for it; for when I come once to be set upon, it will
be too late for me to be whetting when I should be fighting.


MORALS.

    _A discreet man should have a reserve of everything that is
    necessary beforehand, that when the time comes for him to make
    use of them, he may not be in a hurry and confusion._

  _Wise are the people, who in peace prepare_
  _Their fleets and armies for the distant war;_
  _Who ne’er in treaties and conventions trust,_
  _Nor leave the sword, though it be sheath’d, to rust._


REFLECTION.

He that is not idle when he is at leisure, may play with his business.
A discreet man should have a reserve of everything that is necessary
beforehand; that when the time comes for him to make use of them, he may
not be in a hurry and a confusion. A wise General has not his men to
discipline, or his ammunition to provide, when the trumpet sounds _To
Arms_; but sets apart his times of exercise for one, and his magazines
for the other, in the calm season of peace. We hope to live to a good
old age: Should we not, then, lay up a store of conveniences against
that time, when we shall be most in want of them, and least able to
procure them? We must die; nay, never start; we must. Are there not some
necessary things for us to transact before we depart; at least, some
trifle or other for us to bequeath, which a sudden stroke may prevent us
from doing? Sure there is. And if so, how inexcusable shall we be, if
we defer the execution of it till the alarm comes upon us. _I did not
think of it_, is an expression unworthy a wise man’s mouth; and was only
intended for the use of fools.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXIV._

The Discontented Ass.

An Ass, in a hard winter, wished for a little warm weather, and a
mouthful of fresh grass to nap upon, in exchange for a heartless truss
of straw, and a cold lodging. In good time the warm weather and the
fresh grass came on; but so much toil and business along with it, that
the Ass grows quickly as sick of the spring as he was of the winter. He
next longs for summer; and when that comes, finds his toils and drudgery
greater than in the spring; and then he fancies he shall never be well
till autumn comes: but there again, what with carrying apples, grapes,
fuel, winter provisions, and such like, he finds himself in a greater
hurry than ever. In fine, when he has trod the circle of the year in a
course of restless labour, his last prayer is for winter again, and that
he may but take up his rest where he began his complaint.


MORALS.

    _The life of an unsteady man runs away in a course of vain
    wishes, and unprofitable discontent; an unsettled mind can
    never be at rest. There is no season without its business._

  _Who lacks the pleasures of a tranquil mind,_
  _Will something wrong in every station find;_
  _His mind unsteady, and on changes bent,_
  _Is always shifting, yet is ne’er content._


REFLECTION.

There is no measure to be taken of an unsteady mind: but still it is
either too much or too little, too soon or too late. The love of novelty
begets and increases the love of novelty; and the oftener we change, the
more dangerous and troublesome do we find this itch of variety to be. The
Ass was sick of the winter, sicker yet of the spring, more sick still of
the summer; and sickest of all of the autumn; till he is brought, in the
end, to compound for his first condition again, and so take up with that
for his satisfaction, which he reckoned upon before for his misfortune.

Thus it is, when fickle and foolish people will be prescribing to, and
refining upon, the wise and gracious appointments of the Maker of the
world. They know not what they _are_, and they know not what they _would
be_, any farther, than that they would not be what _they are_. Let their
present state in the world be what it will, there is still something or
other in it that makes their lives wearisome: and they are as peevish
company to themselves too, as they are to their friends and neighbours;
for there is not one circumstance in nature, but they shall find matter
to pick a quarrel at: the _present_ is only the course of so many moments
into time _to come_: were it not better then for people at first to sit
down contentedly in the post where Providence has placed them, and _to
do their duty in that state of life_, as they are early and excellently
taught, _to which it has pleased God to call them_, than be forced to do
it at last, by the dear bought experience of their follies?

This, however, we say, not to bar honest industry, or a sober application
to those studies or means that may probably contribute to the mending of
a man’s fortune; provided that he set up his resolution beforehand, not
to let himself down below the dignity of a wise man, be the issue of his
endeavours what it will. For he that is not content at _present_, carries
the same weakness along with him to the _next remove_; and whoever either
passionately covets any thing that he has not, or feels himself glutted
with a satiety of what he possesses, has already lost his hold: so that
if we would be happy, we must fix upon some foundation that can never
deceive us, and govern ourselves by the measures of sobriety and justice.

If we look round us in the world, and likewise examine our own hearts,
we shall find that one of the principal sources of our discontent, is
the making of a false estimate of our own and our neighbours’ abilities,
and thence drawing conclusions that lead us into difficulties. Does any
citizen hold a considerable office? Or is he eminent for his fortune?
That _envy_, inherent in our nature, prompts us to examine, by what
title he enjoys those benefits and distinctions, that lift him above
the level of the community; the same principle leads us to overlook,
in some measure, his good qualities, and greatly to exaggerate his bad
ones. We are tempted next to make a comparison between him and ourselves,
and by looking through the other end of the perspective, imagine that
the balance is greatly in our favour, and without further process or
examination conclude, that the world ought to abide by our decision;
hence the numberless disappointments we meet with; hence all the
uneasiness we feel in every stage and station of life. Were we to pay a
proper attention to that celebrated sentence of the Delphic oracle,

“KNOW THYSELF,”

we should experience fewer disappointments, become better members of
society, and enjoy a greater portion of that tranquillity of soul, that
internal serenity of mind, without which every station in life, however
garnished with honours, however loaded with riches, may be _pronounced
miserable_.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXV._

The Undutiful Young Lion.

Among other good counsels that an old experienced Lion gave to his whelp,
this was one, that he should never contend with a man: for, says he,
if ever you do, you’ll be worsted. The little Lion gave his father the
hearing, and kept the advice in his thought, but it never went near his
heart. When he came to be grown up, afterwards, and in the flower of his
strength and vigour, about he ranges to look for a man to grapple with.
In his ramble he met with a yoke of oxen, and then with a horse, saddled
and bridled, and severally asked them if they were men; but they saying
they were not, he goes after this to one that was cleaving of blocks:
D’ye hear? says the Lion, you seem to be a man: And a man I am, says the
fellow. That’s well, quoth the Lion, and dare you fight with me? Yes,
says the man, I dare: why, I can tear all these blocks to pieces, you
see. Put your feet now into this gap, where you see an iron thing there,
and try what you can do. The Lion presently put his paws into the gaping
of the wood, and with one lusty pluck made it give way, and out drops the
wedge; the wood immediately closing upon it, there was the Lion caught by
the toes. The Wood-man presently upon this raises the country, and the
Lion finding what a strait he was in, gave one hearty twitch and got his
feet out of the trap, but left his claws behind him. So away he goes back
to his father, all lame and bloody, with this confession in his mouth:
Alas! my dear father, says he, _this had never been, if I had followed
your advice_.


MORALS.

    _The vengeance of Heaven, sooner or later, treads upon the
    heels of wilful disobedience to parents._

  _When wayward children in the pride of youth,_
  _Scorn wisdom’s precepts, and the curb of truth;_
  _Laugh at experience, and her sagest rules,_
  _And hold restraints the doting fits of fools;_
  _They thoughtless rush, where folly leads the way,_
  _Where evils throng, and vice holds lordly sway._
  _Yet hoary age by long experience knows,_
  _Where vices flourish, and where evil grows;_
  _With cautious fondness for the budding mind,_
  _Warns from the path, where ill with ill’s combin’d;_
  _Whilst heedless youth, in all the pomp of pride,_
  _Spurn at his prudence, and his laws deride._
  _A few short years disperse the dazzling shade,_
  _Which fame excited, and which transports made;_
  _Wearied and pall’d with pleasure’s fleeting joys,_
  _Which madness raves for, and which health destroys;_
  _Too late they find, by sage experience taught,_
  _The rules of age are with true wisdom fraught._


REFLECTION.

Children are not to reason upon obedience to parents, provided there be
nothing in the command, or in the imposition, that is simply evil; for
headstrong and undutiful children seldom escape a remarkable punishment,
which gives them reason to say to their parents, _this had never been, if
I had followed your advice_.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXVI._

The Countryman and Ass.

An old fellow was feeding an Ass in a fine green meadow; and being
alarmed with the sudden approach of the enemy, was impatient with the Ass
to put himself forward, and fly with all the speed that he was able. The
Ass asked him, Whether or no he thought the enemy would clap two pair of
panniers upon his back? The man said, No, there was no fear of that. Why
then, says the Ass, I will not stir an inch; for what is it to me who my
master is, since I shall but carry my panniers as usual?


MORALS.

    _Men in a fright, or alarmed with the apprehensions of some
    imminent danger to themselves, often fly for succour to those
    from whom they have not deserved any. It is prudent so to
    behave in our prosperity, as that we may make every one our
    friend in times of adversity: for no one is exempted from the
    mutability of fortune._

  _The man that is poor may be void of all care,_
  _If there’s nothing to hope, he has nothing to fear:_
  _Whether stocks rise or fall, or whate’er be the news,_
  _He is sure not to win, and has nothing to lose._


REFLECTION.

This fable shows us how much in the wrong the poorer sort of people most
commonly are, when they are under any concern about the revolutions of a
government. All the alteration which they can feel is, perhaps, in the
name of their sovereign, or some such important trifle. But they cannot
well be poorer, or made to work harder than they did before. And yet how
are they sometimes imposed upon, and drawn in by the artifices of a few
mistaken or designing men, to foment factions, and raise rebellions, in
cases where they can get nothing by the success; but, if they miscarry,
are in danger of suffering an ignominious, untimely death.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXVII._

Joy and Sorrow.

Joy and Sorrow, two twin-sisters, once quarrelled vehemently who should
have the preference; and being unable to decide the matter, left it to
_Minos_ to determine. He tried all means to make them agree and go hand
in hand together, as loving sisters ought; but finding his counsel had
no effect upon them, he decreed that they should be linked together in
a chain; and each of them in turn should be perpetually treading upon
the heel of the other; and not a pin matter then, says he, which goes
foremost.


MORALS.

    _No man is to presume in prosperity, or despair in adversity;
    for good and ill fortune do as naturally succeed one another,
    as day and night._

  _The Gods one time, as poets feign,_
  _Would ~pleasure~ intermix with ~pain~;_
  _And perfectly incorporate so,_
  _As one from t’other none might know;_
  _That mortals might alike partake_
  _The Good and Evil which they make._

    _In mighty bowl they put these twain,_
  _And stirr’d and stirr’d, but all in vain:_
  _~Pleasure~ would sometimes float aloft,_
  _And ~pain~ keep ~pleasure~ down as oft:_
  _Yet still from one another fly,_
  _Detesting either’s company._

    _The Gods, who saw they sooner might_
  _Mix fire and water, day and night,_
  _Unanimously then decreed_
  _They should alternately succeed;_
  _Each other’s motions still pursue,_
  _And a perpetual round renew:_
  _Yet still divided should remain,_
  _Tho’ link’d together with a chain._

    _Thence comes it that we never see_
  _A perfect bliss or misery;_
  _Each happiness has some alloy;_
  _And ~grief~ succeeded is by ~joy~._
  _The ~happiest~ mortal needs must own_
  _He has a time of ~sorrow~ known:_
  _Nor can the ~poorest~ wretch deny_
  _But in his life he felt a joy._


REFLECTION.

It is the lot of mankind to be happy and miserable by turns. The
wisdom of Providence will have it so; and it is exceedingly for our
advantage that so it should be. There is nothing pure and unmixed under
the heavens; and if there were, such an abstracted simplicity would
be neither nourishing nor profitable to us. By the mediation of this
mixture, we have the comfort of Hope to support us in our distresses,
and the apprehensions of a change to keep a check upon us in the very
pride of our greatness: so that by this vicissitude of _good_ and _evil_
we are kept steady in our philosophy and in our religion. The one minds
us of God’s omnipotence and justice; the other, of His goodness and
mercy: the one tells us, there is no trusting to our own strength; the
other preaches faith and resignation in the prospect of an overruling
Providence that takes care of us. What is it but sickness that gives
us a taste of health? bondage, the relish of liberty? and what but the
experience of want that enhances the value of plenty? that which we call
ease is only an indolence or a freedom from pain; and there is no such
thing as felicity or misery but by comparison. It is very true, that
hopes and fears are the snares of life in some respects, but they are the
reliefs of it in others. Now for fear of the worst, however, on either
hand every man has it in his power, by the force of natural reason, to
avoid the danger of falling either into presumption or despair.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXVIII._

The Fox and the Ape.

Once upon a time, the beasts were so void of reason as to choose an Ape
for their King. He had danced, and diverted them with playing antic
tricks, and truly nothing would serve but they must anoint him their
sovereign. Accordingly crowned he was, and affected to look very wise and
politic. But the Fox, vexed at his heart to see his fellow-brutes act so
foolishly, was resolved the first opportunity to convince them of their
sorry choice, and punish their jackanapes of a king for his presumption.
Soon after, spying a trap in a ditch, which was baited with a piece of
flesh, he went and informed the Ape of it, as a treasure, which, being
found upon the waste, belonged to his Majesty only. The Ape, dreaming
nothing of the matter, went very briskly to take possession, but had no
sooner laid his paws upon the bait, than he was caught in the trap;
where, betwixt shame and anger, he began to reproach the Fox, calling him
rebel and traitor, and threatening to be revenged of him. At all which
_Reynard_ laughed heartily; and going off, added, with a sneer, You a
king, and not understand trap!


MORALS.

    _When Apes are in power, Foxes will never be wanting to play
    upon them._

  _When nations raise an idiot to the throne,_
  _He shows the people’s weakness and his own._


REFLECTION.

A weak man should not aspire to be a king; for if he were, in the
end it would prove as inconvenient to himself, as disadvantageous to
the public. To be qualified for such an office—an office of the last
importance to mankind—the person should be of a distinguished prudence
and most unblemished integrity; too honest to impose upon others, and
too penetrating to be imposed upon; thoroughly acquainted with the laws
and genius of the realm he is to govern; brave, but not passionate;
good-natured, but not soft; aspiring at just esteem; despising
vain-glory; without superstition; without hypocrisy. When thrones have
been filled by people of a different turn from this, histories show what
a wretched figure they always made; what tools they were to particular
persons, and what plagues to their subjects in general. They who studied
their passions and entered into their foibles, led them by the nose as
they pleased; and took them off from the guardianship of the public, by
some paltry amusement, that themselves might have the better opportunity
to rifle and plunder it.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXXIX._

The Satyr and the Traveller.

A Satyr, as he was ranging the Forest in an exceeding cold, snowy
season, met with a Traveller half-starved with the extremity of the
weather. He took compassion on him, and kindly invited him home, to a
warm comfortable cave he had in the hollow of a rock. As soon as they
had entered and sat down, notwithstanding there was a good fire in the
place, the chilly Traveller could not forbear blowing his finger ends.
Upon the Satyr’s asking him why he did so, he answered: That he did it
to warm his hands. The honest silvan having seen little of the world,
admired a man who was master of so valuable a quality as that of blowing
heat, and therefore was resolved to entertain him in the best manner he
could. He spread the table before him with dried fruits of several sorts;
and produced a remnant of old cordial wine, which, as the rigour of the
season made very proper, he mulled with some warm spices, infused over
the fire, and presented to his shivering guest. But this the Traveller
thought fit to blow likewise; and upon the Satyr’s demanding a reason
why he blowed again, he replied: To cool his dish. This second answer
provoked the Satyr’s indignation, as much as the first had kindled his
surprise. So, taking the man by the shoulder, he thrust him out of doors,
saying: He would have nothing to do with a wretch who had so vile a
quality as to blow hot and cold with the same mouth.


MORALS.

    _There is no conversing with any man that carries ~two faces
    under one hood~._

  _With such an inmate who would be perplext,_
  _One hour all coldness, and all heat the next!_
  _Who would his fev’rish shiv’ring fits endure?_
  _That ague of the heart, no drug can cure._


REFLECTION.

Though the poor Traveller in the Fable was not guilty of any real crime
in what he did, yet one cannot help approving the honest simplicity
of the Satyr, who could not be reconciled to such double dealing. In
the moral sense of the Fable, nothing can be more offensive to one of
a sincere heart, than he that blows with a different breath from the
same mouth; who flatters a man to his face, and reviles him behind his
back. Some again, just like this man, to serve a present view, will blow
nothing but what is warm, benevolent, and cherishing; and when they have
raised the expectations of a dependant to a degree which they think may
prove troublesome, can, with putting on a cold air, easily chill and
blast all his blooming hopes. But such a temper, whether it proceeds from
a designed or natural levity, is detestable, and has been the cause of
much trouble and mortification to many a brave deserving man. Unless the
tenor of a man’s life be always true and consistent with itself, the less
one has to do with him the better.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XL._

The Eagle, the Cat, and the Sow.

An Eagle had built her nest upon the top branches of an old oak. A wild
Cat inhabited a hole in the middle; and in the hollow part at the bottom
was a Sow, with a whole litter of pigs. A happy neighbourhood; and might
long have continued so, had it not been for the wicked insinuations of
the designing Cat. For, first of all, up she crept to the Eagle; and,
good neighbour, says she, we shall be all undone: That filthy Sow yonder
does nothing but lie routing at the foot of the tree, and, as I suspect,
intends to grub it up, that she may the more easily come at our young
ones. For my part I will take care of my own concerns; you may do as you
please, but I will watch her motions, though I stay at home this month
for it. When she had said this, which could not fail of putting the
Eagle into a great fright, down she went, and made a visit to the Sow at
the bottom; and, putting on a sorrowful face, I hope, says she, you do
not intend to go abroad to-day? Why not? says the Sow. Nay, replies the
other, you may do as you please; but I overheard the Eagle tell her young
ones, that she would treat them with a pig the first time she saw you go
out; and I am not sure but she may take up with a kitten in the meantime;
so, good-morrow to you; you will excuse me, I must go and take care of
the little folks at home. Away she went accordingly; and, by contriving
to steal out softly at nights for her prey, and to stand watching and
peeping all day at her hole, as under great concern, she made such an
impression upon the Eagle and the Sow, that neither of them dared to
venture abroad for fear of the other. The consequence of which was, that
themselves, and their young ones, in a little time were all starved, and
made prize of by the treacherous Cat and her kittens.


MORALS.

    _There can be no peace in any state or family where whisperers
    and tale-bearers are encouraged._

  _Ill fares that neighbourhood, where sland’rers meet_
  _With easy faith to back their base deceit:_
  _From house to house the plague of discord spreads,_
  _And brings down ruin on their hapless heads._


REFLECTION.

Busy-bodies and intermeddlers are a dangerous sort of people to have to
do withal; for there is no mischief that may not be wrought by the craft
and management of a double tongue, with a foolish credulity to work upon.
There is hardly a greater pest to government, to conversation, to the
peace of societies, relations, and families, than officious tale-bearers
and busy intermeddlers. These pick-thanks are enough to set mankind
together by the ears; they live upon calumny and slander, and cover
themselves, too, under the seal of secrecy and friendship; these are
the people who _set their neighbours’ houses on fire to roast their own
eggs_. The sin of traducing is diabolical, according to the very letter;
and if the office be artificially managed, it is enough to put the whole
world into a flame, and nobody the wiser which way it came. The mischief
may be promoted, by misrepresenting, misunderstanding, or misinterpreting
our neighbour’s thoughts, words, and deeds; and no wound so mortal, as
that where the poison works under a pretence of kindness: nay, there are
ways of commendation, and insinuations of affection and esteem, that
kill a man as sure as a bullet. This practice is the bane of trust and
confidence; and it is as frequent in the intrigues of courts and states,
as in the most ordinary accidents of life. It is enough to break the
neck of all honest purposes, to stifle all generous and public-spirited
motions, and to suppress all honourable inclinations in the very
conception. But, next to the practice of these lewd offices, deliver all
honest men, say I, from lying at the mercy of those that encourage and
entertain them.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLI._

The Cock and the Fox.

A Cock being perched among the branches of a lofty Tree, crowed aloud,
so that the shrillness of his voice echoed through the wood and invited
a Fox to the place, who was prowling in that neighbourhood, in quest of
his prey. But _Reynard_, finding the Cock was inaccessible, by reason
of the height of his situation, had recourse to stratagem, in order to
decoy him down; so, approaching the tree, Cousin, says he, I am heartily
glad to see you; but at the same time I cannot forbear expressing my
uneasiness at the inconvenience of the place, which will not let me pay
my respects to you in a handsomer manner; though I suppose you will come
down presently, and so that difficulty is easily removed. Indeed, Cousin,
says the Cock, to tell you the truth I don’t think it safe to venture
myself upon the ground, for though I am convinced how much you are my
friend, yet I may have the misfortune to fall into the clutches of some
other beast, and what will become of me then? O dear, says _Reynard_, is
it possible that you can be so ignorant, as not to know of the peace that
has been lately proclaimed between all kinds of birds and beasts; and
that we are, for the future, to forbear hostilities on all sides, and to
live in the utmost love and harmony, and that under penalty of suffering
the severest punishment that can be inflicted? All this while the Cock
seemed to give little attention to what was said, but stretched out his
neck, as if he saw something at a distance: Cousin, says the Fox, what’s
that you look at so earnestly? Why, says the Cock, I think I see a pack
of hounds yonder a little way off. Oh then, says the Fox, your humble
servant, I must be gone. Nay, pray, Cousin, don’t go, says the Cock, I’m
just coming down; sure you are not afraid of dogs in these peaceable
times. No, no, says he; but ten to one whether they have heard of the
proclamation yet.


MORALS.

    _Perfidious people are naturally to be suspected in reports
    that favour their own interest._

  _Take courage, hence, ye wise, nor dread deceit;_
  _Good sense and craft, how seldom do they meet!_
  _Tho’ keen, yet feeble, are the sharper’s tools,_
  _And cunning’s the peculiar gift of fools._


REFLECTION.

It is a very agreeable thing to see craft repelled by cunning; more
especially to behold the snares of the wicked broken and defeated by the
discreet management of the innocent. The moral of this Fable principally
puts us in mind, not to be too credulous towards the insinuations of
those who are already distinguished by their want of faith and honesty.
When, therefore, any such would draw us into a compliance with their
destructive measures, by a pretended civility and extraordinary concern
for our interest, we should consider such proposals in their true light,
as a bait artfully placed to conceal the fatal hook, which is intended to
draw us into captivity and thraldom. An honest man, with a little plain
sense, may do a thousand advantageous things for the public good; and,
without being master of much address or rhetoric, as easily convince
people that his designs are intended for their welfare. But a wicked
designing politician, though he has a tongue as eloquent as ever spoke,
may sometimes be disappointed in his projects and be foiled in his
schemes; especially when their destructive texture is so coarsely spun,
and the threads of mischief are so large in them, as to be seen even by
those whose senses are scarce perfect enough to see and understand them.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLII._

Age to be Honoured.

A pert and inconsiderate young Man happened to meet an old Man, whose age
and infirmity had brought his body almost to the shape of a bent bow.
Pray, father, says he, will you sell your bow? Save your money, you fool,
says the other; for when you come to my years, you shall have such a bow
for nothing.


MORALS.

    _There cannot be a greater folly and impertinence, than that of
    young men scoffing at the infirmities of age._

  _Though vig’rous health thy tide of life sustains,_
  _And youthful manhood revels in thy veins:_
  _With rev’rend awe regard the bending sage,_
  _Nor thoughtless mock th’ infirmities of age._


REFLECTION.

We are all born to die, and it is every jot as certain that we shall go
out of the world, as that we are already come into it: we are helpless in
infancy; ungovernable in youth; our strength and vigour scarce outlast
a morning sun; our infirmities hasten upon us as our years advance, and
we grow helpless in our old age as in our infancy. What, then, have the
best of us to boast of? Even time and human frailty alone will bring us
to our end without the help of any accidents or distempers; so that our
decays are as much the works of nature, as the first principles of our
being; and the young man’s conceit of the crooked bow is no better than
an irreverent way of making sport with the course of Providence; besides
shewing the folly of scoffing at that in another which he himself was
sure to come to at last, or worse.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLIII._

The Splenetic Traveller.

A splenetic and a facetious man were once upon a journey: the former went
slugging on with a thousand cares and troubles in his head, exclaiming
over and over: “Lord, what shall I do to live?” The other jogged merrily
away, and left his matters to Providence and good fortune. “Well,
brother,” says the sorrowful wight, “how can you be so frolicksome now?
As I am a sinner, my heart’s e’en ready to break for fear I should want
bread.” “Come, come,” says the other, “fall back, fall edge, I have fixed
my resolution, and my mind’s at rest.” “Ay, but for all that,” says the
other, “I have known the confidence of as resolute people as yourself
has deceived them in the conclusion;” and so the poor man fell into
another fit of doubting and musing, till he started out of it all on a
sudden: “Good Sir!” says he, “what if I should fall blind?” and so he
walked a good way before his companion with his eyes shut, to try how
it would be if that misfortune should befall him. In this interim, his
fellow-traveller, who followed him, found a purse of money upon the way,
which rewarded his trust in Providence; whereas the other missed that
encounter as a punishment of his distrust; for the purse had been his, as
he went first, if he had not put himself out of condition of seeing it.


MORALS.

    _He that commits himself to Providence is sure of a friend in
    time of need; while an anxious distrust of the divine goodness
    makes a man more and more unworthy of it, and miserable
    beforehand for fear of being so afterwards._

  _Who with vain fancies do themselves possess,_
  _Are never bless’d, or can never bless;_
  _Their life perplex’d, and fretful to no end—_
  _The truly wise on Providence depend._


REFLECTION.

The two opposite humours of a cheerful trust in Providence and a
suspicious diffidence of it, with the ordinary effects and consequences
of the one and the other, are very well set forth here for our
instruction and comfort. The Divine goodness never fails those that
depend upon it, provided that, according to the advice of _Hercules_ to
the _Carter_, they put their own shoulders to the work.

The most wretched sort of people under the sun are your dreamers upon
events, your low-spirited foreboders, supposers, and putters of cases:
they are still calculating within themselves, what if this or that
calamity, judgment, or disaster should befall them? and so they really
suffer the evils they dread most. It is very certain, that what we _fear_
we _feel_; besides that, fancy breeds misery as naturally as it does the
small-pox. Set a whimsical head once agog upon sprites and goblins, and
he will be ready to squirt his wits at his own shadow. There is no surer
remedy for this superstitious and desponding weakness, than first to
govern ourselves by the best improvement of that reason which Providence
has given us for a guide; and then, when we have done our own part, to
commit all cheerfully for the rest to the good pleasure of Heaven, with
trust and resignation. Why should I not as well comfort myself with the
_hope_ of what may be, as torment myself with the _fear_ of it? he that
distrusts in God’s providence, does effectually put himself out of His
protection.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLIV._

The Young Man and the Swallow.

A prodigal young spendthrift, who had wasted his whole patrimony in
taverns and gaming-houses among lewd, idle company, was taking a
melancholy walk near a brook. It was in the month of _January_, and
happened to be one of those warm sunshiny days which sometimes smile
upon us even in that wintry season of the year; and to make it the more
flattering, a swallow, which had made its appearance by mistake too soon,
flew skimming along upon the surface of the water. The giddy youth,
observing this, without any further consideration, concluded that summer
was now come, and that he should have little or no occasion for clothes,
so went and pawned them at the broker’s, and ventured the money for one
stake more, among his sharping companions. When this too was gone the
same way with the rest, he took another solitary walk in the same place
as before. But the weather, being severe and frosty, had made everything
look with an aspect very different from what it did before: the brook was
quite frozen over, and the poor swallow lay dead upon the bank of it; the
very sight of which cooled the young spark’s brains, and coming to a kind
of sense of his misery, he reproached the deceased bird as the author of
all his misfortunes: Ah, wretch that thou wert! says he, thou hast undone
both thyself and me, who was so credulous as to depend upon thee.


MORALS.

    _Some will listen to no conviction but what they derive from
    fatal experience._

  _Still blind to reason, nature, and his God,_
  _~Youth~ follows ~pleasure~, till he feels the rod_
  _Of ~sad experience~, then bemoans his fate,_
  _Nor sees his ~folly~ till it is too late._


REFLECTION.

They who frequent taverns and gaming-houses, and keep bad company,
should not wonder if they are reduced, in a very small time, to penury
and want. The wretched young fellows who once addict themselves to such
a scandalous kind of life, scarce think of, or attend to, any one thing
besides. They seem to have nothing else in their heads, but how they may
squander what they have got, and where they may get more when that is
gone. They do not make the same use of their reason that other people
do; but, like the jaundiced eye, view everything in that false light in
which their distemper and debauchery represent it. The young man in the
Fable gives us a pretty example of this; he sees a swallow in the midst
of winter, and instead of being surprised at it, as a very irregular and
extraordinary thing, concludes from thence that it is summer, as if he
had never thought before about the season. Well, the result of this wise
conclusion is of a piece with the conclusion itself; if it is summer, he
shall not want so many clothes, therefore he sells them,—for what? For
more money to squander away; as if (had his observation been just) summer
would have lasted all the year round. But the true result and conclusion
of all this is: When both his money and clothes are irrecoverably gone,
he comes to his right senses, is ready to perish with hunger, to starve
with cold, and to tear his own flesh with remorse and vexation at his
former stupidity.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLV._

The Brother and Sister.

A certain man had two children, a son and a daughter: The boy beautiful
and handsome enough; the girl not quite so well. They were both very
young, and happened one day to be playing near the looking-glass, which
stood on their mother’s toilet. The boy, pleased with the novelty of the
thing, viewed himself for some time, and, in a wanton roguish manner,
took notice to the girl how handsome he was. She resented it, and could
not bear the insolent manner in which he did it; for she understood it
(how could she do otherwise) as intended for a direct affront to her.
Therefore she ran immediately to her father, and, with a great deal of
aggravation, complained of her brother; particularly, for having acted
so effeminate a part as to look in a glass, and meddle with things which
belonged to women only. The father, embracing them both with much
tenderness and affection, told them, that he should like to have them
both look in the glass every day; to the intent that you, says he to the
boy, if you think that face of yours handsome, you may not disgrace and
spoil it by an ugly temper and a foul behaviour. You, says he, speaking
to the girl, that you may make up for the defects of your person, if
there be any, by the sweetness of your manners and the agreeableness of
your conversation.


MORALS.

    _We often make a false estimate in preferring our ornamental
    talents to our useful ones._

  _Ill manners may deform the fairest face,_
  _But gentleness gives ugliness a grace:_
  _Sure snarling ~Veny’s~ beauty less we prize,_
  _Than ~Pug’s~ black nose with his good-natured eyes._


REFLECTION.

There is scarce anything we see in the world, especially what belongs to
and hangs about our own person, but is capable of affording us matter for
some serious and useful consideration. And this Fable, notwithstanding
the scene of it is laid at the very beginning and entrance of life, yet
utters a doctrine worthy the attention of every stage and degree thereof,
from the child to the old man. Let each of us take a glass, and view
himself considerately. He that is vain and self-conceited, will find
beauties in every feature, and his whole shape will be without fault.
Let it be so; yet, if he would be complete, he must take care that the
inward man does not detract from and disgrace the outward; that the
depravity of his manners does not spoil his face, nor the wrongness of
his behaviour distort his limbs; or, which is the same thing, make his
whole person odious and detestable to the eye of his beholders. Is any
one modest in this respect, and deficient of himself? Or has he indeed
blemishes and imperfections, which may depreciate him in the sight of
mankind? Let him strive to improve the faculties of the mind, where
perhaps nature has not crampt him; and to excel in the beauties of a good
temper and an agreeable conversation, the charms of which are so much
more lasting and unalterably endearing, than those of the other sort.
They who are beautiful in person have this peculiar advantage, that,
with a moderate regard to complaisance and good manners, they bespeak
every one’s opinion in their favour. But then, be the outside of a man
ever so rough and uncouth, if his acquired accomplishments are but sweet
and engaging, how easily do we overlook the rest, and value him, like an
oriental jewel, not by a glittering outside, which is common to baser
stones, but by his true intrinsic worth, his bright imagination, his
clear reason, and the transparent sincerity of his honest heart.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLVI._

The Mice in Council.

The Mice called a General Council; and, having met, after the doors were
locked, entered into a free consultation about ways and means how to
render their fortunes and estates more secure from the danger of the Cat.
Many things were offered, and much was debated, _pro_ and _con_, upon the
matter. At last a young Mouse, in a fine florid speech, concluded upon an
expedient, and that the only one, which was to put them, for the future,
entirely out of the power of the enemy: and this was, that the Cat should
wear a bell about her neck, which upon the least motion would give the
alarm, and be a signal for them to retire into their holes. This speech
was received with great applause, and it was even proposed by some, that
the Mouse who made it should have the thanks of the assembly. Upon
which, an old grave Mouse, who had sat silent all the while, stood up,
and in another speech, owned that the contrivance was admirable, and the
author of it, without doubt, an ingenious Mouse; but, he said, he thought
it would not be so proper to vote him thanks, till he should farther
inform them how this bell was to be fastened about the Cat’s neck, and
what Mouse would undertake to do it.


MORALS.

    _The different lights, in which things appear to different
    judgments, recommend candour to the opinions of others, even at
    the time we retain our own._

  _Not urged by vain ~ambition’s~ airy dreams,_
  _Or specious ~wit~, does ~wisdom~ form her schemes,_
  _Poise well the scales, with due ~reflection~ scan_
  _The ~means proposed~, and then adopt a plan._


REFLECTION.

Many things appear feasible in speculation, which are afterwards found
to be impracticable. And since the execution of anything is that which
is to complete and finish its very existence, what raw counsellors are
those who advise, what precipitate politicians those who proceed, to
the management of things in their nature incapable of answering their
own expectations, or their promises to others. At the same time, the
Fable teaches us not to expose ourselves in any of our little politic
coffee-house committees, by determining what should be done upon every
occurrence of maladministration, when we have neither commission
nor power to execute it. He that, upon such occasion, adjudges, as a
preservative for the state, that this or that should be applied to the
neck of those who have been enemies to it, will appear full as ridiculous
as the Mouse in the Fable, when the question is asked, Who shall put it
there? In reality we do but expose ourselves to the hatred of some, and
the contempt of others, when we inadvertently utter our impracticable
speculations, in respect of the public, either in private company or
authorised assemblies.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLVII._

The Old Man and Death.

A poor feeble old man, who had crawled out into a neighbouring wood
to gather a few sticks, had made up his bundle, and, laying it over
his shoulders, was trudging homeward with it; but, what with age, and
the length of the way, and the weight of his burden, he grew so faint
and weak that he sunk under it; and, as he sat on the ground, called
upon Death to come, once for all, and ease him of his troubles. Death
no sooner heard him, but he came and demanded of him what he wanted.
The poor old creature, who little thought Death had been so near, and
frightened almost out of his senses with his terrible aspect, answered
him trembling: That having by chance let his bundle of sticks fall, and
being too infirm to get it up himself, he had made bold to call upon him
to help him; that, indeed, this was all he wanted at present; and that he
hoped his Worship was not offended with him for the liberty he had taken
in so doing.


MORALS.

    _Men under calamity may seem to wish for death; but they seldom
    bid him welcome when he stares them in the face._

  _“Oh with what joy would I resign my breath!”_
  _The wretch exclaims, and prays for instant death:_
  _The fiend approaching, he inverts his pray’r,_
  _“Oh grant me life, and double all my care!”_


REFLECTION.

This Fable gives us a lively representation of the general behaviour of
mankind towards that grim king of terrors, Death. Such liberties do they
take with him behind his back, that upon every little cross accident
which happens in their way, Death is immediately called upon; and they
even wish it might be lawful for them to finish by their own hands a
life so odious, so perpetually tormenting and vexatious. When, let but
Death only offer to make his appearance, and the very sense of his near
approach almost does the business: Oh then, all they want is a longer
life; and they would be glad to come off so well, as to have their old
burden laid upon their shoulders again. One may well conclude what an
utter aversion they, who are in youth, health, and vigour of body, have
to dying, when age, poverty, and wretchedness, are not sufficient to
reconcile us to the thought.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLVIII._

The Crow and the Pitcher.

A Crow, ready to die with thirst, flew with joy to a pitcher which he
beheld at some distance. When he came, he found water in it indeed, but
so near the bottom, that with all his stooping and straining, he was not
able to reach it. Then he endeavoured to overturn the pitcher, that so at
least he might be able to get a little of it; but his strength was not
sufficient for this. At last, seeing some pebbles lie near the place, he
cast them one by one into the pitcher; and thus, by degrees, raised the
water up to the very brim, and satisfied his thirst.


MORALS.

    _What we cannot compass by force, we may by invention and
    industry._

  _When ~frowning~ fates thy sanguine ~hopes~ defeat,_
  _And virtuous aims with ~disappointment~ meet,_
  _Submit not to ~despair~, th’ attempt renew,_
  _And rise ~superior~ to the ~vulgar~ crew_.


REFLECTION.

Many things which cannot be effected by strength, or by the old vulgar
way of enterprising, may yet be brought about by some new and untried
means. A man of sagacity and penetration, upon encountering a difficulty
or two, does not immediately despair; but if he cannot succeed one
way, employs his wit and ingenuity another; and, to avoid or get over
an impediment, makes no scruple of stepping out of the path of his
forefathers. Since our happiness, next to the regulation of our minds,
depends altogether upon our having and enjoying the conveniences of life,
why should we stand upon ceremony about the methods of obtaining them,
or pay any deference to antiquity upon that score? If almost every age
had not exerted itself in some new improvements of its own, we should
want a thousand arts; or, at least, many degrees of perfection in every
art, which at present we are in possession of. The invention of anything
which is more commodious for the mind or body than what they had before,
ought to be embraced readily, and the projector of it distinguished with
a suitable encouragement. Such as the use of the compass, for example,
from which mankind reaps so much benefit and advantage, and which was
not known to former ages. When we follow the steps of those who have
gone before us in the old beaten tract of life, how do we differ from
horses in a team, which are linked to each other by a chain of harness,
and move on in a dull, heavy pace to the tune of their leader’s bells?
But the man who enriches the present fund of knowledge with some new
and useful improvement, like a happy adventurer at sea, discovers, as
it were, an unknown land, and imports an additional trade into his own
country.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XLIX._

The Fox and the Grapes.

A Fox, very hungry, chanced to come into a Vineyard, where there hung
many bunches of charming ripe grapes; but nailed up to a trellis so high,
that he leaped till he quite tired himself without being able to reach
one of them. At last, Let who will take them! says he; they are but green
and sour; so I’ll even let them alone.


MORALS.

    _When a man finds it impossible to obtain the things he longs
    for, it is a mark of sound wisdom and discretion to make a
    virtue of necessity._

  _Old maids who loathe the matrimonial state,_
  _Poor rogues who laugh to scorn the rich and great,_
  _Patriots who rail at placemen and at pow’r,_
  _All, like sly ~Reynard~, say “~The Grapes are sour.~”_


REFLECTION.

This Fable is a good reprimand to a parcel of vain coxcombs in the world,
who, because they would never be thought to be disappointed in any of
their pursuits, pretend a dislike to everything which they cannot obtain.
There is a strange propensity in mankind to this temper, and there are
numbers of grumbling malcontents in every different faculty and sect in
life. The discarded statesman, considering the corruption of the times,
would not have any hand in the administration of affairs for all the
world. The country squire damns a court life, and would not go cringing
and creeping to a drawing-room for the best place the King has in his
disposal. A young fellow, being asked how he liked a celebrated beauty,
by whom all the world knew he was despised, answered, She had a stinking
breath. How insufferable is the pride of this poor creature man! who
would stoop to the basest, vilest actions, rather than be thought not
able to do anything. For what is more base and vile than lying? And when
do we lie more notoriously, than when we disparage and find fault with a
thing for no other reason but because it is out of our power.


[Illustration]

_FABLE L._

The Viper and the File.

A Viper entering a smith’s shop, looked up and down for something to eat,
and seeing a File, fell to gnawing it as greedily as could be. The File
told him, very gruffly, that he had best be quiet and let him alone; for
that he would get very little by nibbling at one, who, upon occasion,
could bite iron and steel.


MORALS.

    _It’s the fate of envy to attack those characters that are
    superior to its malice._

  _Witlings! beware, nor wantonly provoke_
  _Those who with int’rest may repay the joke;_
  _Some claim our pity who fall preys to wit,_
  _But all men triumph o’er the ~Biter Bit~._


REFLECTION.

By this Fable we are cautioned to consider what any person is, before
we make an attack upon him after any manner whatsoever: Particularly
how we let our tongues slip in censuring the actions of those who are,
in the opinion of the world, not only of an unquestioned reputation, so
that nobody will believe what we insinuate against them; but of such
an influence, upon account of their own veracity, that the least word
from them would ruin our credit to all intents and purposes. If wit be
the case, and we have a satirical vein, which at certain periods must
have a flow, let us be cautious at whom we level it; for if the person’s
understanding be of better proof than our own, all our ingenious sallies,
like liquor squirted against the wind, will recoil back upon our own
faces, and make us the ridicule of every spectator. This Fable, besides,
is not an improper emblem of Envy; which, rather than not bite at all,
will fall foul where it can hurt nothing but itself; and such is its
malignancy, that the greatest wits and brightest characters in all ages
have ever been the objects of its attack. Ought we not, then, to guard
against the admission of an inmate that not only attempts to injure the
virtuous part of mankind, but also effectually ruins the peace of its
possessor?


[Illustration]

_FABLE LI._

The Mountains in Labour.

The Mountains were said to be in labour, and uttered most dreadful
groans. People came together, far and near, to see what birth would be
produced; and after they had waited a considerable time in expectation,
out crept a mouse.


MORALS.

    _To raise uncommon expectations renders an ordinary event
    ridiculous._

  _Thus the vain Alchymist, in promise bold,_
  _Beholds projection big with MINES of GOLD:_
  _But now, his glasses burst, he thinks him rich_
  _To save ~a little oil to cure the itch~._


REFLECTION.

Great cry and little wool, is the _English_ proverb; the sense of which
bears an exact proportion to this Fable. By which are exposed, all those
who promise something exceeding great, but come off with a production
ridiculously little. Projectors of all kinds, who endeavour by artificial
rumours to raise the expectations of mankind, and then by their mean
performances defeat and disappoint them, have, time out of mind, been
lashed with the recital of this Fable. How agreeably surprising is
it to see an unpromising favourite, whom the caprice of fortune has
placed at the helm of state, serving the commonwealth with justice and
integrity, instead of smothering and embezzling the public treasure to
his own private and wicked ends! And on the contrary, how melancholy,
how dreadful! or rather, how exasperating and provoking a sight is it to
behold one, whose constant declarations for liberty and the public good
have raised people’s expectations of him to the highest pitch, as soon
as he is got into power exerting his whole art and cunning to ruin and
enslave his country! The sanguine hopes of all those that wished well to
virtue, and flattered themselves with a reformation of everything that
opposed the well-being of the community, vanish away in smoke, and are
lost in a dark, gloomy, uncomfortable prospect.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LII._

The Two Frogs.

One hot sultry summer, the lakes and ponds being almost everywhere dried
up, a couple of Frogs agreed to travel together in search of water. At
last they came to a deep well, and sitting upon the brink of it, began
to consult, whether they should leap in or no. One of them was for it;
urging, that there was plenty of clear spring water, and no danger of
being disturbed. Well, says t’other, all this may be true; and yet I
can’t come into your opinion for my life: For, if the water should happen
to dry up here too, how should we get out again?


MORALS.

    _We ought never to change our situation in life, without duly
    considering the consequences of such a change._

  _On things of ~moment~ with thyself debate._
  _Nor, inconsiderate, ~change~ thy present state,_
  _Nor on the ~specious good~ lay too much stress,_
  _Lest ~greater~ Ills incur, in shunning ~less~._


REFLECTION.

The moral of this Fable is intended to put us in mind _to look before we
leap_. That we should not undertake any action of importance, without
considering first, what the event of it is like to prove, and how we
shall be able to come off, upon such and such provisos. A good General
does not think he diminishes anything of his character when he looks
forward, beyond the main action, and concerts measures, in case there
should be occasion, for a safe retreat.

How many unfortunate matches are struck up every day for want of this
wholesome consideration? Profuse living, and extravagant gaming, both
which terminate in the ruin of those that follow them, are mostly owing
to a neglect of this precaution. Wicked counsellors advise, and ignorant
princes execute those things, which afterwards they often dearly repent.
Wars are begun by this blind stupidity, from which a state is not able
to extricate itself with either honour or safety; and projects are
encouraged by the rash accession of those, who never considered how they
were to get out, till they had plunged themselves irrecoverably into
them.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LIII._

The Thief and the Dog.

A thief coming to rob a certain house in the night, was disturbed in his
attempts by a fierce vigilant dog who kept barking at him continually.
Upon which the thief, thinking to stop his mouth, threw him a piece of
bread: But the dog refused it with indignation; telling him, that before,
he only suspected him to be a bad man; but now, upon his offering to
bribe him, he was confirmed in his opinion; and that, as he was entrusted
with the guardianship of his master’s house, he should never cease
barking while such a rogue as he lay lurking about it.


MORALS.

    _Nothing can alter the honest purposes of the man, who despises
    an insidious bribe; and whose mind is proof against temptation._

  _~Faithful~ to ~man~, and to thy conscience ~just~,_
  _~Spurn~ him who ~tempts~ thee to ~betray~ thy trust._
  _An ~honest mind’s~ the choicest gift of ~heav’n~,_
  _How ~blest~ to whom th’ ~etherial spark~ is given!_


REFLECTION.

A man who is very free in his protestations of friendship, or offers
of great civility, upon the first interview may meet with applause and
esteem from fools, but contrives his schemes of that sort to little or no
purpose, in the company of men of sense.

It is a common and known maxim, to suspect an enemy, even the more, for
his endeavouring to convince us of his benevolence; because the oddness
of the thing puts us upon our guard, and makes us conclude, that some
pernicious design must be couched under so sudden and unexpected a turn
of behaviour: But it is no unnecessary caution to be upon the watch
against even indifferent people, when we perceive them uncommonly forward
in their approaches of civility and kindness. The man, who at first sight
makes us an offer, which is due only to particular and well-acquainted
friends, must be either a knave, and intends by such a bait to draw
us into his net; or a fool, with whom we ought to avoid having any
communication.

Thus far the consideration of this Fable may be useful to us in private
life; what it contains farther, in relation to the public, is, That a
man, truly honest, will never let his mouth be stopped with a bribe;
but the greater the offer is which is designed to buy his silence, the
louder and more constantly will he open against the miscreants who would
practise it upon him.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LIV._

Hercules and the Carter.

As a clownish fellow was driving his Cart along a deep miry lane, the
wheels stuck so fast in the clay, that the horses could not draw them
out. Upon this, he fell a bawling and praying to _Hercules_ to come and
help him. _Hercules_ looking down from a cloud, bid him not lie there,
like an idle rascal as he was, but get up and whip his horses stoutly,
and clap his shoulder to the wheel, adding, That this was the only way
for him to obtain his assistance.


MORALS.

    _Prayers and wishes amount to nothing: We must put forth our
    own honest endeavours to obtain success on the assistance of
    heaven._

  _Inactive wishes are but waste of time,_
  _And, without efforts, pray’rs themselves a crime:_
  _Vain are their hopes who miracles expect,_
  _And ask from heaven what themselves neglect._


REFLECTION.

This Fable shews us how vain and ill-grounded the expectations of those
people are, who imagine they can obtain whatever they want by importuning
heaven with their prayers; for it is so agreeable to the nature of the
Divine Being, to be better pleased with virtuous actions and an honest
industry, than idle Prayers, that it is a sort of blasphemy to say
otherwise. These were the sentiments of honest good heathens, who were
strangers to all revealed religion: But it is not strange that they
should embrace and propagate such a notion, since it is no other than the
dictate of common reason. What is both strange in itself, and surprising
how it could be made so fashionable, is, that most of those whose reason
should be enlightened by Revelation, are very apt to be guilty of this
stupidity, and, by praying often for the comforts of life, to neglect
that business which is the proper means of procuring them. How such a
mistaken devotion came to prevail, one cannot imagine, unless from one
of these two motives; either that people, by such a veil of hypocrisy,
would pass themselves upon mankind for better than they really are;
or are influenced by unskilful preachers (which is sometimes, indeed
too often, the case) to mind the world as little as possible, even to
the neglect of their necessary callings. No question but it is a great
sin for a man to fail in his trade or occupation, by running often to
prayers: it being a demonstration in itself, though the Scripture had
never said it, that we please God most, when we are doing the most good:
And how can we do more good, than by a sober honest industry, _to provide
for those of our own household_, and to endeavour _to have to give to
him that needeth_. The man who is virtuously and honestly engaged, is
actually serving God all the while, and is more likely to have his silent
wishes, accompanied with strenuous endeavours, complied with by the
Supreme Being, than he who begs with a fruitless vehemence, and solicits
with an empty hand: A hand which would be more religious were it usefully
employed, and more devout, were it stretched forth to do good to those
that want it.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LV._

The Sick Kite.

A Kite had been sick a long time; and finding there were no hopes of
recovery, begged of his mother to go to all the churches and religious
houses in the country, to try what prayers and promises would effect in
his behalf. The old Kite replied: Indeed, dear Son, I would willingly
undertake anything to save your life, but I have great reason to despair
of doing you any service in the way you propose: For, with what face can
I ask anything of the Gods in favour of one whose whole life has been a
continued scene of rapine and injustice, and who has not scrupled upon
occasion to rob the very altars themselves?


MORALS.

    _After a long life spent in acts of impiety and wickedness, we
    may justly suspect the sincerity of a death-bed repentance._

  _Thus early sinning, and repenting late,_
  _The dying debauchee would bribe his fate;_
  _Pray’rs, alms, and promises he tries in vain,_
  _Not sick of follies past, but present pain._


REFLECTION.

The rehearsal of this Fable almost unavoidably draws our attention to
that very serious and important point, the consideration of a death-bed
repentance. And, to expose the absurdity of relying upon such a weak
foundation, we need only ask the same question with the Kite in the
Fable: How can he, that has offended the Gods all his life-time by doing
acts of dishonour and injustice, expect that they should be pleased with
him at last, for no other reason but because he fears he shall not be
able to offend them any longer; when, in truth, such a repentance can
signify nothing, but a confirmation of his former impudence and folly?
For sure no stupidity can exceed that of the man who expects a future
judgment, and yet can bear to commit any piece of injustice, with a sense
and deliberation of the fact.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LVI._

The Two Pots.

An earthen pot and one of brass, standing together upon the river’s
brink, were both carried away by the flowing in of the tide. The earthen
pot showed some uneasiness, as fearing he should be broken; but his
companion of brass bid him be under no apprehensions, for that he would
take care of him. Oh! replies the other, keep as far off as ever you can,
I entreat you; it is you I am most afraid of: For, whether the stream
dashes you against me, or me against you, I am sure to be the sufferer;
and therefore, I beg of you, do not let us come near one another.


MORALS.

    _Reciprocal pleasure and advantage is the only rational
    foundation for real friendship._

  _Born to the comforts of an humble state,_
  _Fly their embrace, if courted by the great._
  _Happy to learn, how ill you can afford_
  _The vast expense of how-d’yes from my lord._


REFLECTION.

A man of a moderate fortune, who is contented with what he has, and finds
he can live happily upon it, should take care not to hazard and expose
his felicity by consorting with the great and the powerful. People of
equal conditions may float down the current of life without hurting each
other; but it is a point of some difficulty to steer one’s course in the
company of the great, so as to escape without a bulge. One would not
choose to have one’s little country-box situated in the neighbourhood
of a very great man; for whether I ignorantly trespass upon him, or he
knowingly encroaches upon me, I only am like to be the sufferer. I can
neither entertain nor play with him upon his own terms; for that which is
moderation and diversion to him, in me would be extravagance and ruin.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE LVII._

The Sparrow and the Hare.

A Hare, being seized by an Eagle, squeaked out in a most woful manner.
A Sparrow that sat upon a tree just by and saw it, could not forbear
being unseasonably witty, but called out, and said to the Hare: So ho!
what! sit there and be killed? Pr’ythee, up and away; I dare say, if you
would but try, so swift a creature as you are would easily escape from
the Eagle. As he was going on with his cruel raillery, down came a Hawk,
and snapt him up; and, notwithstanding his vain cries and lamentations,
fell a devouring of him in an instant. The Hare, who was just expiring,
yet received comfort from this accident, even in the agonies of death;
and, addressing her last words to the Sparrow, said: You, who just now
insulted my misfortune with so much security, as you thought, may please
to shew us how well you can bear the like, now it has befallen you.


MORALS.

    _The mutability of human affairs is such, that no situation,
    however seemingly advantageous, ought to make us jest with the
    misfortunes of others._

  _Tradesman, insult not, if a neighbour fail._
  _Lest, by and by, yourself should go to jail;_
  _Nor, if a damsel slip, Prude, shake your head,_
  _Lest you yourself next month be brought to bed._


REFLECTION.

Nothing is more impertinent than for people to be giving their opinion
and advice in cases in which, were they to be their own, themselves would
be as much at a loss what to do. But so great an itch have most men to
be directors in the affairs of others, either to shew the superiority of
their understanding, or their own security and exemption from the ills
they would have removed, that they forwardly and conceitedly obtrude
their counsel, even at the hazard of their own safety and reputation.
There have been instances of those who, either officiously or for the
jest’s sake, have spent much of their time in reading lectures of economy
to the rest of the world, when at the same time their own ill husbandry
has been such, that they were forced to quit their dwelling and take
lodgings, while their goods were sold to make a composition for the debts
which they owed to petty tradesmen.

Without giving more examples of this kind, of which every one may furnish
himself with enough from his own observation, we cannot but conclude that
none are greater objects of ridicule than they who thus merrily assume a
character which, at the same time, by some incidents of their life, they
convince us of their being so unfit for.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LVIII._

The Cat and the Fox.

As the Cat and the Fox were talking politics together, on a time, in
the middle of the forest, _Reynard_ said, Let things turn out ever so
bad, he did not care, for he had a thousand tricks for them yet before
they should hurt him. But pray, says he, Mrs Puss, suppose there should
be an invasion, what course do you design to take? Nay, says the Cat,
I have but one shift for it; and if that won’t do, I am undone. I am
sorry for you, replies _Reynard_, with all my heart, and would gladly
furnish you with one or two of mine, but indeed, neighbour, as times go,
it is not good to trust; we must even be every one for himself, as the
saying is, and so your humble servant. These words were scarce out of his
mouth, when they were alarmed with a pack of hounds that came upon them
full cry. The Cat, by the help of her single shift, ran up a tree, and
sat securely among the top branches; from whence she beheld _Reynard_,
who had not been able to get out of sight, overtaken with his thousand
tricks, and torn in as many pieces by the dogs which had surrounded him.


MORALS.

    _Successful cunning often makes an ostentatious pretension to
    wisdom._

    _The sly politician may boast of his arts,_
  _How his budget is full, and by cunning he’s guided;_
    _But the wise and the wary, less proud of his parts,_
  _With a single expedient is better provided._


REFLECTION.

A man that sets up for more cunning than the rest of his neighbours, is
generally a silly fellow at the bottom. Whoever is master of a little
judgment and insight into things, let him keep them to himself and make
use of them as he sees occasion; but he should not be teasing others
with an idle and impertinent ostentation of them. One good discreet
expedient made use of upon an emergency, will do a man more real service,
and make others think better of him, than to have passed all along for a
shrewd, crafty knave, and be bubbled at last. When any one has been such
a coxcomb as to insult his acquaintance, by pretending to more policy
and stratagem than the rest of mankind, they are apt to wish for some
difficulty for him to shew his skill in; where, if he should miscarry
(as ten to one but he does), his misfortune, instead of pity, is sure to
be attended with laughter. He that sets up for a biter, as the phrase
is, being generally intent upon his prey, or vain of shewing his art,
frequently exposes himself to the traps of one sharper than himself, and
incurs the ridicule of those whom he designed to make ridiculous.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE LIX._

The Old Hound.

An old Hound, who had been an excellent good one in his time, and given
his master great sport and satisfaction in many a chase, at last, by
the effect of years, became feeble and unserviceable. However, being in
the field one day, when the Stag was almost run down, he happened to be
the first that came in with him, and seized him by one of his haunches;
but, his decayed and broken teeth not being able to keep their hold, the
Deer escaped, and threw him quite out. Upon which, his master, being in
a great passion, was going to strike him, when the honest old creature
is said to have barked out his apology: Ah! do not strike your poor old
servant; it is not my heart and inclination, but my strength and speed
that fail me. If what I now am displeases, pray don’t forget what I have
been.


MORALS.

    _Useful services, performed in youth, ought not to be cancelled
    by old age and infirmities._

  _Oh let not those whom honest servants bless,_
  _With cruel hand their age infirm oppress;_
  _Forget their service past, their former truth,_
  _And all the cares and labours of their youth._


REFLECTION.

This Fable may serve to give us a general view of the ingratitude
of the greatest part of mankind. Notwithstanding all the civility
and complaisance that is used among people where there is a common
intercourse of business, yet, let the main spring, the probability of
their being serviceable to each other, either in point of pleasure or
profit, be but once broken, and farewell courtesy. So far from continuing
any regard in behalf of past favours, that it is very well if they
forbear doing anything that is injurious. If the master had only ceased
to caress and make much of the old Hound when he was past doing any
service, it had not been very strange; but to treat a poor creature ill,
not for a failure of inclination, but merely a defect of nature, must,
notwithstanding the crowd of examples there are to countenance it, be
pronounced inhuman and unreasonable.

There are two accounts upon which people that have been useful are
frequently neglected. One, when they are so decayed, either through age
or some accident, that they are no longer equal to the services they have
formerly done; the other, when the occasion or emergency which required
such talents no longer exists. _Phædrus_, who more than once complains of
the bad consequences of age, makes no other application to this Fable,
than by telling his friend _Philetas_, with some regret, that he wrote it
with such a view; having, it seems, been repaid with neglect, or worse
usage, for services done in his youth to those who were then able to
afford him a better recompense.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LX._

Two Young Men and the Cook.

Two young men went into a cook’s shop, under pretence of buying meat;
and while the cook’s back was turned, one of them snatched up a piece
of beef, and gave it to his companion, who presently clapt it under his
cloak. The cook turning about again, and missing his beef, began to
charge them with it; upon which, he that first took it swore bitterly
he had none of it. He that had it swore as heartily, that he had taken
up none of his meat. Why look ye, gentlemen, says the cook, I see your
equivocation; and though I can’t tell which of you has taken my meat, I
am sure, between you both, there’s a thief, and a couple of rascals.


MORALS.

    _Evading the truth is just as blameable as denying it._

  _Thus quibbling thieves evade the charge,_
  _Offend the laws, and go at large:_
  _But though ’tis hard the crime to fix,_
  _We know they’re guilty by their tricks._


REFLECTION.

An honest man’s word is as good as his oath; and so is a rogue’s too; for
he that will cheat and lie, why should he scruple to forswear himself? Is
the latter more criminal than either of the former? An honest man needs
no oath to oblige him; and a rogue only deceives you the more certainly
by it, because you think you have tied him up, and he is sure you have
not. In truth, it is not easy, with the eye of reason, to discern, that
there is any good in swearing at all. We need not scruple to take an
honest man’s bare asseveration; and we shall do wrong if we believe a
rogue, though he swears by the most solemn oaths that can be invented.

There are, besides, a sort of people who are rogues, and yet don’t know
that they are such; who, when they have taken an oath, make a scruple of
breaking it, but rack their invention to evade it by some equivocation
or other; by which, if they can but satisfy their acquaintance, and serve
their own scheme they think all is well, and never once consider the
black and heinous guilt which must attend such a behaviour. They solemnly
call the supreme Being to witness; to what? to a sham, an evasion, a lie.
Thus these unthinking, prevaricating wretches, at the same time that they
believe there is a God, act as if there were none; or, which is worse,
dare affront him in the highest degree. They who by swearing would clear
themselves of a crime, of which they are really guilty, need not be at
much pains about wording their oath; for, express themselves how they
will, they are sure to be forsworn.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXI._

The Dog and the Sheep.

The Dog sued the Sheep for a debt, of which the Kite and the Wolf were
to be judges. They, without debating long upon the matter, or making
any scruple for want of evidence, gave sentence for the plaintiff; who
immediately tore the poor Sheep in pieces, and divided the spoil with the
unjust judges.


MORALS.

    _We cannot reasonably hope for justice in a court, where the
    judges are interested in the decision._

  _Whose life is safe, if tried before a judge,_
  _That to the hapless pris’ner bears a grudge?_
  _Whose property secur’d from lawless fury,_
  _If any private int’rest warps the jury?_


REFLECTION.

Deplorable are the times, when open bare-faced villany is protected and
encouraged, when innocence is obnoxious, honesty contemptible, and it is
reckoned criminal to espouse the cause of virtue. Men originally entered
into covenants and simple compacts with each other for the promotion of
their happiness and well-being, for the establishment of justice and
public peace. How comes it then that they look stupidly on, and tamely
acquiesce, when wicked men pervert this end, and establish an arbitrary
tyranny of their own upon the foundation of fraud and oppression? Among
beasts, who are incapable of being civilised by social laws, it is no
strange thing to see innocent helpless sheep fall a prey to dogs, wolves,
and kites: But it is amazing how mankind could ever sink down to such a
low degree of base cowardice, as to suffer some of the worst of their
species to usurp a power over them, to supersede the righteous laws of
good government, and to exercise all kinds of injustice and hardship
in gratifying their own vicious lusts. Wherever such enormities are
practised, it is when a few rapacious statesmen combine together, to get
and secure the power in their own hands, and agree to divide the spoils
among themselves. For as long as the cause is to be tried only among
themselves, no question but they will always vouch for each other. But,
at the same time, it is hard to determine which resemble brutes most,
they in acting, or the people in suffering them to act their vile selfish
schemes.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXII._

The Proud Frog.

An Ox, grazing in a meadow, chanced to set his foot among a parcel of
young frogs, and trod one of them to death. The rest informed their
mother, when she came home, what had happened; telling her, that the
beast which did it was the hugest creature that ever they saw in their
lives. What, was it so big? says the old Frog, swelling and blowing up
her speckled belly to a great degree. Oh, bigger by a vast deal, say
they. And so big? says she, straining herself yet more. Indeed, Mamma,
say they, if you were to burst yourself, you would never be so big. She
strove yet again, and burst herself indeed.


MORALS.

    _The silly ambition of vying with our superiors, in station and
    fortune, is the direct road to ruin._

  _Ye cits! of narrow means and small estate,_
  _View not with envy the luxurious great:_
  _Think that from riot bankruptcies will come,_
  _And mark your prudent neighbour worth a plum._


REFLECTION.

Whenever a man endeavours to live equal with one of a greater fortune
than himself, he is sure to share a like fate with the Frog in the Fable.
How many vain people of moderate easy circumstances burst and come to
nothing, by vying with those whose estates are more ample than their own!
Sir _Changeling Plumbstock_ was possessed of a very considerable demesne,
devolved to him by the death of an old uncle of the city, who had adopted
him his heir. He had a false taste of happiness; and, without the least
economy, trusting to the sufficiency of his vast revenue, was resolved to
be outdone by nobody, in shewish grandeur and expensive living. He gave
five thousand pounds for a piece of ground in the country, to set a house
upon, the building and furniture of which cost fifty thousand more; and
his gardens were proportionably magnificent. Besides which, he thought
himself under a necessity of buying out two or three tenements which
stood in his neighbourhood, that he might have elbow room enough. All
this he could very well bear; and still might have been happy, had it not
been for an unfortunate view which he one day happened to take of my Lord
_Castlebuilder’s_ gardens, which consist of twenty acres, whereas his own
were not above twelve. For from that time he grew pensive; and before the
ensuing winter, gave five and thirty years’ purchase for a dozen acres
more to enlarge his gardens, built a couple of exorbitant greenhouses
and a large pavilion at the farther end of a terrace walk, the bare
repairs and superintendencies of all which call for the remaining part of
his income. He is mortgaged pretty deep, and pays nobody; but, being a
privileged person, resides altogether at a private cheap lodging in the
city of _Westminster_.

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXIII._

The Dove and the Bee.

The Bee, compelled by thirst, went to drink in a clear purling rivulet;
but the current, with its circling eddy, snatched her away, and carried
her down the stream. A Dove, pitying her distressed condition, cropt a
branch from a neighbouring tree, and let it fall into the water, by means
of which the Bee saved herself, and got ashore. Not long after, a Fowler,
having a design upon the Dove, planted his nets and all his little
artillery in due order, without the Bird’s observing what he was about;
which the Bee perceiving, just as he was going to put his design in
execution she bit him by the heel, and made him give so sudden a start,
that the Dove took the alarm, and flew away.


MORALS.

    _Charity will have its rewards one time or other; for certain
    in the promised recompense hereafter, perhaps in a grateful
    return here._

  _Hail gratitude! the spark whence virtue springs,_
  _And adoration to the King of kings;_
  _The greatest bliss the feeling bosom knows,_
  _The source whence every gen’rous action flows._


REFLECTION.

One good turn deserves another; and gratitude is excited by so noble
and natural a spirit, that he ought to be looked upon as the vilest
of creatures, who has no sense of it. It is, indeed, so very just and
equitable a thing, and so much every man’s duty, that to speak of it
properly one should not mention it as anything meritorious, or that may
claim praise and admiration, any more than we should say a man ought to
be rewarded or commended for not killing his father, or forbearing to set
fire to his neighbour’s house. The bright and shining piece of morality,
therefore, which is recommended to us in this Fable, is set forth in this
example of the Dove, who, without any obligation or expectation, does
a voluntary office of charity to its fellow-creature in distress. The
constant uninterrupted practice of this virtue is the only thing in which
we are capable of imitating the great Author of our being, whose _Beloved
Son_, besides the many precepts He has given to enforce this duty, used
this expression as a common saying, _It is more blessed to give than to
receive_.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXIV._

The Collier and the Fuller.

The Collier and the Fuller, being old acquaintance, happened upon a
time to meet together; and the latter, being but ill provided with a
habitation, was invited by the former to come and live in the same house
with him. I thank you, my dear friend, replies the Fuller, for your kind
offer, but it cannot be; for if I were to dwell with you, whatever I
should take pains to scour and make clean in the morning, the dust of you
and your coals would blacken and defile, as bad as ever, before night.


MORALS.

    _We commonly imbibe the principles and manners of those with
    whom we associate._

  _With vice allied, however pure,_
  _No virtue can be long secure:_
  _Shun then the traitress and her wiles,_
  _Whate’er she touches she defiles._


REFLECTION.

It is of no small importance in life, to be cautious what company we
keep, and with whom we enter into friendships. For though we are ever
so well disposed ourselves, and happen to be ever so free from vice and
debauchery, yet, if those with whom we frequently converse are engaged
in a lewd, wicked course, it will be almost impossible for us to escape
being drawn in with them.

If we are truly wise, and would shun those _siren_ rocks of pleasure upon
which so many have split before us, we should forbid ourselves all manner
of commerce and correspondence with those who are steering a course
which, reason tells us, is not only not for our advantage, but must end
in our destruction.

All the virtue we can boast of will not be sufficient to ensure us, if
we embark in bad company. For though our philosophy were such, as that
we could preserve ourselves from being tainted and infected with their
manners, yet their character would twist and entwine itself along with
ours in so intricate a fold, that the world would not take the trouble
to unravel and separate them. Reputations are of a subtle insinuating
texture like water; that which is derived from the clearest spring, if
it chances to mix with a foul current, runs on, undistinguished, in one
muddy stream for the future, and must for ever partake of the colour and
condition of its associate.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXV._

The Boy and his Mother.

A little Boy, who went to school, stole one of his school-fellow’s
horn-books, and brought it home to his mother; who was so far from
correcting and discouraging him upon account of the theft, that she
commended and gave him an apple for his pains. In process of time, as the
child grew up to be a man, he accustomed himself to greater robberies;
and at last, being apprehended and committed to gaol, he was tried and
condemned for a felony. On the day of his execution, as the officers
were conducting him to the gallows, he was attended by a vast crowd of
people, and among the rest by his mother, who came sighing and sobbing
along, and deploring extremely her son’s unhappy fate; which the criminal
observing, he called to the sheriff, and begged the favour of him, that
he would give him leave to speak a word or two to his poor afflicted
mother. The sheriff (as who would deny a dying man so reasonable a
request) gave him permission; and the felon, while every one thought
he was whispering something of importance to his mother, bit off her
ear, to the great offence and surprise of the whole assembly. What, say
they, was not this villain contented with the impious acts which he has
already committed, but he must increase the number of them, by doing
this violence to his mother? Good people, replied he, I would not have
you be under a mistake; that wicked woman deserves this, and even worse
at my hands; for if she had chastised and chid, instead of rewarding and
caressing me, when in my infancy I stole the horn-book from the school, I
had not come to this ignominious untimely end.


MORALS.

    _Youthful minds, like the pliant wax, are susceptible of the
    most lasting impressions, and the good or evil bias they then
    receive is seldom or ever eradicated._

  _Fathers and mothers! train your children’s youth_
  _To virtue, honour, honesty, and truth;_
  _Dreadful! to bring about your child’s damnation,_
  _And give your sons a ~Tyburn~ education._


REFLECTION.

Notwithstanding the great innate depravity of mankind, one need not
scruple to affirm, that most of the wickedness, which is so frequent
and so pernicious in the world, arises from a bad education; and that
the child is obliged either to the example or connivance of its parents,
for most of the vicious habits which it wears through the course of its
future life. The mind of one that is young is, like wax, soft and capable
of any impression which is given it: but it is hardened by time, and
the first signature grows so firm and durable, that scarce any pains or
application can erase it. It is a mistaken notion in people, when they
imagine that there is no occasion for regulating or restraining the
actions of very young children, which though allowed to be sometimes
very naughty in those of a more advanced age, are in them, they suppose,
altogether innocent and inoffensive. But, however innocent they may be,
as to their intention then, yet, as the practice may grow upon them
unobserved, and root itself into a habit, they ought to be checked and
discountenanced in their first efforts towards anything that is injurious
or dishonest; that the love of virtue and the abhorrence of wrong and
oppression may be let into their minds, at the same time that they
receive the very first dawn of understanding, and glimmering of reason.
Whatever guilt arises from the actions of one whose education has been
deficient as to this point, no question but a just share of it will be
laid, by the great Judge of the world, to the charge of those who were,
or should have been, his instructors.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXVI._

The Wanton Calf.

A Calf, full of play and wantonness, seeing the Ox at plough, could not
forbear insulting him. What a sorry poor drudge art thou, says he, to
bear that heavy yoke upon your neck, and go all day drawing a plough at
your tail, to turn up the ground for your master! But you are a wretched
dull slave, and know no better, or else you would not do it. See what a
happy life I lead; I go just where I please; sometimes I lie down under
the cool shade; sometimes frisk about in the open sunshine; and, when I
please, slake my thirst in the clear sweet brook: But you, if you were
to perish, have not so much as a little dirty water to refresh you. The
Ox, not at all moved with what he said, went quietly and calmly on with
his work: and, in the evening, was unyoked and turned loose. Soon after
which he saw the Calf taken out of the field, and delivered into the
hands of a priest, who immediately led him to the altar, and prepared to
sacrifice him. His head was hung round with fillets of flowers, and the
fatal knife was just going to be applied to his throat, when the Ox drew
near and whispered him to this purpose: Behold the end of your insolence
and arrogance; it was for this only you were suffered to live at all; and
pray now, friend, whose condition is best, yours or mine?


MORALS.

    _To insult people in distress is the property of a cruel,
    indiscreet, and giddy temper; for on the next turn of fortune’s
    wheel, we may be thrown down to their condition, and they
    exalted to ours._

  _Thus oft the industrious poor endures reproach_
  _From rogues in lace, and sharpers in a coach;_
  _But soon to ~Tyburn~ sees the villains led,_
  _While he still earns in peace his daily bread._


REFLECTION.

We may learn by this Fable the consequence of an idle life, and how well
satisfied laborious, diligent men are, in the end, when they come quietly
to enjoy the fruits of their industry. They who, by little tricks and
sharpings, or by open violence and robbery, live in a high extensive way,
often, in their hearts at least, despise the poor honest man, who is
contented with the virtuous product of his daily labour, and patiently
submits to his destiny. But how often is the poor man comforted, by
seeing these wanton villains led in triumph to the altar of justice,
while he has many a cheerful summer’s morning to enjoy abroad, and many a
long winter’s evening to indulge himself in at home, by a quiet hearth,
and under an unenvied roof: Blessings, which often attend a sober,
industrious man, though the idle and the profligate are utter strangers
to them.

Luxury and intemperance, besides their being certain to shorten a man’s
days, are very apt not only to engage people with their seeming charms
into a debauched life, utterly prejudicial to their health, but to
make them have a contempt for others, whose good sense and true taste
of happiness inspire them with an aversion to idleness and effeminacy,
and put them upon hardening their constitution by innocent exercise
and laudable employment. How many do gluttony and sloth tumble into an
untimely grave! while the temperate and the active drink sober draughts
of life, and spin out their thread to the most desirable length.


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXVII._

Jupiter and the Herdsman.

A Herdsman, missing a young heifer that belonged to his herd, went up
and down the forest to seek it. And having walked a great deal of ground
to no purpose, he fell a praying to _Jupiter_ for relief; promising
to sacrifice a Kid to him, if he would help him to a discovery of the
thief. After this, he went on a little farther, and came near a grove
of oaks, where he found the carcase of his heifer, and a lion grumbling
over it, and feeding upon it. This sight almost scared him out of his
wits; so down he fell upon his knees once more, and addressing himself
to _Jupiter_; O _Jupiter_! says he, I promised thee a Kid to show me the
thief, but now I promise thee a bull, if thou wilt be so merciful as to
deliver me out of his clutches.


MORALS.

    _We ought never to supplicate the Divine power, but through
    motives of religion and virtue; prayers, dictated by passion or
    interest, are unacceptable to the Deity._

  _Short-sighted wretch! endure thy care,_
    _Nor heave th’ impatient sigh:_
  _Heav’n hears thee, but perhaps thy pray’r_
    _’Tis mercy to deny._


REFLECTION.

How ignorant and stupid are some people, who form their notions of the
Supreme Being from their own poor shallow conceptions; and then, like
froward children with their nurses, think it consistent with infinite
wisdom and unerring justice to comply with all their whimsical petitions.
Let men but live as justly as they can, and just Providence will give
them what they ought to have. Of all the involuntary sins which men
commit, scarce any are more frequent, than that of their praying absurdly
and improperly, as well as unseasonably, when their time might have been
employed so much better. The many private collections, sold up and down
the nation, do not a little contribute to this injudicious practice:
Which is the more to be condemned, in that we have so incomparable a
public liturgy; one single address whereof (except the Lord’s Prayer) may
be pronounced to be the best that ever was compiled; and alone preferable
to all the various manuals of occasional devotion, which are vended by
hawkers and pedlars about our streets. It is as follows:—

    _Almighty God, the fountain of all wisdom, who knowest our
    necessities before we ask, and our ignorance in asking; we
    beseech thee to have compassion upon our infirmities; and
    those things, which for our unworthiness we dare not, and for
    our blindness we cannot ask, vouchsafe to give us, for the
    worthiness of thy Son ~Jesus Christ~ our Lord._


[Illustration]

_FABLE LXVIII._

There’s no To-morrow.

A Man, who had lived a very profligate life, at length being awakened
by the lively representations of a sober friend on the apprehensions of
a feverish indisposition, promised that he would heartily set about his
reformation, and that To-morrow he would seriously begin it. But the
symptoms going off, and that To-morrow coming, he still put it off till
the next, and so he went on from one To-morrow to another; but still he
continued his reprobate life. This his friend observing, said to him, I
am very much concerned to find how little effect my disinterested advice
has upon you: But, my friend, let me tell you, that since your To-morrow
never comes, nor do you seem to intend it shall, I will believe you
no more, except you set about your repentance and amendment this very
moment: for, to say nothing of your repeated broken promises, you must
consider, that the time that is past is no more; that To-morrow is _not_
OURS; and the _present_ NOW is all we have to boast of.


MORALS.

    _That compunction of heart cannot be sincere, which takes
    not immediate effect, and can be put off till To-morrow. The
    friend’s closing observation in the Fable is so good a moral,
    that we need add nothing to it._

  _~Eager~ to mend, and ~brookless~ of delay,_
  _~Sincere~ repentance waits no ~future~ day;_
  _The ~present~ moment only is allow’d;_
  _~Uncertain~ hopes and fears ~to-morrow~ shroud._


REFLECTION.

Whoever considers this emblem, will find it to be his own case; we
promise, and we put off, and we sin, and go on sinning: but still, as
our conscience checks us for it, we take up faint purposes, and half
resolutions, to do so no more, and to lead a new life for the future.
Thus, with the young fellow here, we indulge ourselves in our pleasures
from time to time; and when we have trifled away our lives, day after
day, from one To-morrow to another, that same To-morrow never comes.
This is the sluggard’s plea and practice; the libertine’s, the miser’s;
and in short, whose is it not? Now, if we would but consider the vanity
and vexation of a lewd course of life; the impiety first of entering
into vows, which we intend beforehand not to perform, and afterward of
breaking them; the folly and the presumption of undertaking anything
that is wholly out of our power; the necessity of improving every
moment of our lives; the desperate and the irreparable hazard of losing
opportunities; we should not venture body and soul upon the necessity
of a procrastinated repentance, and postpone the most certain duties of
a man, and of a Christian; for there is no To-morrow, nor anything, in
truth, but the present instant, that we can call our own.

[Illustration]




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PART III.

FABLES, _in Verse_.


[Illustration]

_FABLE I._

The Cuckoo Traveller.

  A Cuckoo once, as Cuckoos use,
  Who’d been upon a winter’s cruise,
  Return’d with the returning spring—
  Some hundred brothers of the wing,
  Curious to hear from foreign realms,
  Got round him in a tuft of elms.
  He shook his pinions, struck his beak,
  Attempted twice or thrice to speak;
  At length, up-rising on his stand,

    “Old England! Well, the land’s a land!
  But rat me, gentlemen,” says he,
  “We passage-fowl that cross the sea
  Have vast advantages o’er you;
  Whose native woods are all you view.
  The season past, I took a jaunt
  Among the isles of the Levant;
  Where, by the way, I stuff’d my guts
  With almonds and pistachio nuts.
  ’Twas then my whim some weeks to be
  In that choice garden, Italy:
  But, underneath the sky’s expanse,
  No climate like the south of France!
  You’ve often heard, I dare to swear,
  How plenty ortolans are there;
  ’Tis true, and more delicious meat,
  Upon my honour, I ne’er eat;
  The eggs are good; it was ill luck
  What day I had not ten to suck;
  Yet notwithstanding, to my _goût_,
  The bird’s the sweeter of the two.”
    He went on, talking pert and loud,
  When an old Raven, ’mongst the crowd,
  Stopp’d short his insolent career—
  “Why, what a monstrous bustle’s here!
  You travell’d, sir! I speak to you,
  Who’ve passed so many countries thro’;
  Say, to what purpose is’t you roam,
  And what improvements bring you home?
  Has Italy, on which you doat,
  Supply’d you with another note?
  Or France, which you extol so high,
  Taught you with better grace to fly?
  I cannot see that both together
  Have alter’d you a single feather:
  Then tell not us of where you’ve been,
  Of what you’ve done, or what you’ve seen;
  While you and all your rambling pack
  Cuckoos go out, Cuckoos come back.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE II._

The Ant and the Grasshopper.

  ’Twas that bleak season of the year,
  In which no smiles, no charms appear;
  Bare were the trees; the rivers froze;
  The hills and mountains capt with snows;
  When, lodging scarce and victuals scant,
  A Grasshopper address’d an Ant:
  And, in a supplicating tone,
  Begg’d he would make her case his own.

    “It was, indeed, a bitter task
  To those who were unused to ask;
  Yet she was forc’d the truth to say,
  She had not broke her fast that day;
  His worship, tho’, with plenty bless’d,
  Knew how to pity the distress’d;
  A grain of corn to her was gold,
  And Heav’n would yield him fifty-fold.”

    The Ant beheld her wretched plight,
  Nor seem’d unfeeling at the sight;
  Yet, still inquisitive to know
  How she became reduc’d so low,
  Asked her—we’ll e’en suppose in rhyme—
  What she did all the summer time?

    “In summer time, good sir,” said she,
  “Ah! these were merry months with me!
  I thought of nothing but delight,
  And sung, Lord, help me! day and night:
  Through yonder meadows did you pass,
  You must have heard me in the grass.”

    “Ah!” cry’d the Ant, and knit his brow—
  “But ’tis enough I hear you now;
  And, Madam Songstress, to be plain,
  You seek my charity in vain:
  What, shall th’ industrious yield his due
  To thriftless vagabonds like you!
  Some corn I have, but none to spare,
  Next summer learn to take more care;
  And in your frolic moods, remember,
  July is follow’d by December.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE III._

The Wolf and the Dog.

  A prowling Wolf, that scour’d the plains,
  To ease his hunger’s griping pains,
  Ragged as courtier in disgrace,
  Hide-bound, and lean, and out of case,
  By chance a well-fed Dog espy’d,
  And being kin, and near ally’d,
  He civilly salutes the cur:
  “How do you, Cuz? Your servant, sir.
  O happy friend! how gay thy mien!
  How plump thy sides, how sleek thy skin!
  Triumphant plenty shines all o’er,
  And the fat melts at ev’ry pore!
  While I, alas! decay’d and old,
  With hunger pin’d, and stiff with cold,
  With many a howl and hideous groan,
  Tell the relentless woods my moan.
  Pr’ythee (my happy friend!) impart
  Thy wondrous, cunning, thriving art.”
  “Why, faith, I’ll tell thee as a friend,
  But first thy surly manners mend;
  Be complaisant, obliging, kind,
  And leave the Wolf for once behind.”
    The Wolf, whose mouth began to water,
  With joy and rapture gallop’d after,
  When thus the Dog: “At bed and board,
  I share the plenty of my lord;
  From ev’ry guest I claim a fee,
  Who court my lord by bribing me.
  In mirth I revel all the day,
  And many a game at romps I play:
  I fetch and carry, leap o’er sticks,
  With twenty such diverting tricks.”
  “’Tis pretty, faith,” the Wolf reply’d,
  And on his neck the collar spy’d:
  He starts, and without more ado,
  He bids the abject wretch adieu:
  “Enjoy your dainties, friend; to me
  The noblest feast is liberty:
  The famish’d Wolf, upon these desert plains,
  Is happier than a fawning cur in chains.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE IV._

The Nightingale.

  How few with patience can endure
  The evils they themselves procure.
    A Nightingale, with snares beset,
  At last was taken in a net:
  When first she found her wings confin’d,
  She beat and flutter’d in the wind,
  Still thinking she could fly away;
  Still hoping to regain the spray:
  But, finding there was no retreat,
  Her little heart with anger beat;
  Nor did it aught abate her rage;
  To be transmitted to a cage.
  The wire apartment, tho’ commodious,
  To her appear’d excessive odious;
  And though it furnish’d drink and meat,
  She car’d not, for she could not eat;
  ’Twas not supplying her with food;
  She lik’d to gather it from the wood:
  And water clear, her thirst to slake,
  She chose to sip from the cool lake:
  And, when she sung herself to rest,
  ’Twas in what hedge she lik’d the best:
  And thus, because she was not free,
  Hating the chain of slavery,
  She rather added link to link:
  —Just so men reach misfortune’s brink.
    At length, revolving on her state,
  She cries, “I might have met worse fate,
  Been seiz’d by kites or prowling cat,
  Or stifled in a school boy’s hat;
  Or been the first unlucky mark,
  Sure hit by some fantastic spark.”
    Then conscience told her, want of care
  Had made her fall into the snare;
  That men were free their nets to throw;
  And birds were free to come or go:
  And all the evils she lamented,
  By caution might have been prevented.
    So, on her perch more pleas’d she stood,
  And peck’d the kindly offer’d food;
  Resolv’d, with patience, to endure
  Ills she had brought, but could not cure.


[Illustration]

_FABLE V._

The Two Foxes.

  Two hungry Foxes once agreed
  To execute a bloody deed,
  And make the farmer’s poultry bleed.
  Thus, as their rage was very hot,
  Cocks, hens, and chickens went to pot.
    The one (the slaughter being o’er)
  Young, and a perfect epicure,
  Propos’d on all the spoil to sup,
  And at one meal to eat it up.
  The other old, at heart a miser,
  Refus’d his scheme, and thought it wiser
  To lay aside some of the prey,
  And so provide for a bad day.
    “Listen, my child,” says he, “to age;
  Experience has made me sage:
  I know the various turns of fate:
  How changeable is every state!
  A mighty treasure we have found;
  Success has all our wishes crown’d;
  See! the vast havoc all around!
  Oh let us not be lavish, son,
  Nor throw away what we have won!
  Oh let us not consume our store,
  But, being frugal, make it more!”
  “Your fine harangue,” replies the other,
  “Might take, were I a griping brother:
  But, as I’m generous and free,
  It ne’er shall have effect on me.
  I’ll live, old daddy, while I may
  Indulge my noble self with prey,
  And feast in spite of all you say.
  But should I not—why, to our sorrow,
  The fowls will stink before to-morrow.
  If we return—the clown will watch us;
  And, hang the dog, he’ll surely catch us:
  In ambush he will watch our waters,
  Or else with dogs beat up our quarters.”

    This said, each fox himself obey’d,
  Pursu’d the scheme that he had laid.

    The younger one fell to the meat;—
  And died o’ercharg’d with what he eat.
  The old one, as with joy next morning,
  To his hid spoil he was returning,
  Ta’en by the farmer in surprise,
  Fell by his hand a sacrifice.

    Thus each man has his ruling passion,
  And ev’ry age its inclination:
  The young are heedless in their measures,
  And boundless in pursuit of pleasures:
  The old are all persuasion past,
  Positive, and griping to the last.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VI._

The Butterfly and Boy.

  ’Twas on a day serene and fair,
  The sun was bright and æther clear,
  The rocking winds were lull’d to rest,
  And ev’ry murmuring gale supprest;
  When, tempted by th’ alluring heat,
  A Fly forsook her dark retreat
  To taste the sweetness of the skies,
  And tinge her wings with various dyes;
  Restless she rov’d her narrow tour,
  And borrow’d paint from ev’ry flow’r;
  Till, deck’d with all the insect grace,
  She sparkled fairest of her race.

    In all her splendour, pomp, and pride,
  The winged-gem a Boy espy’d;
  Who, pleas’d to see how bright it shone,
  Resolv’d to make the prize his own;
  And straight with speed began to trace
  The gilded Fly from place to place:
  But, conscious of some danger near,
  The Butterfly her course would steer,
  Now high, then low, now here, then there,
  To balk the aim, or shun the blow
  She justly dreaded from her foe.

    The Lad, still eager to pursue
  The Fly that always kept in view,
  Thro’ many a lane and meadow went,
  His soul so on the prize was bent,
  Undaunted ran from morn to noon,
  To gain the heart-enchanting boon.

    At length, when sweat bedew’d his face,
  And almost weary of the chase,
  The Fly in evil hour is caught,
  And homewards by the conqueror brought;
  Who vainly hop’d, the glorious spoil
  Would more than recompense his toil;
  But while, with pleasure and surprise,
  Her form and beauty feast his eyes,
  The Fly escapes, and mounts the skies,
  With rallied force augments her flight,
  And quick evades his keenest sight;
  Then he, deluded youth! gave o’er
  All hope to find the booty more.
  Enrag’d condemns his cruel fate,
  And wept his folly—but too late.

    Thus foolish mortals waste their days,
  In seeking pleasures, wealth, and praise;
  They hunt for honours, titles, fame,
  And risk their souls to gain a—name;
  Chase every glitt’ring toy they spy,
  Just as the Lad pursu’d the Fly,
  And e’er they grasp the bauble—die.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VII._

The Hounds in Couples.

  Wedlock, a name not much in fashion,
  Subservient ofttimes is to passion.
  How oft we see a thoughtless pair,
  Brought up by Nature’s fost’ring care,
  When love first fires their youthful breast,
  Pant with impatience to be blest:
  Tempers unstudied! thoughts untried!
  Yet sigh, alas! to be allied.
  Because their hours of courtship run
  Sweet, under love’s meridian sun,
  They think to breathe a tranquil life,
  And be the happy man and wife.
  Vain thought!—the flatt’ring phantom flies,
  And opes at length their purblind eyes.
  Then—— but attend my simple story,
  The sequel will appear before ye.

    The morning dawns, with orient sky,
  Clad with its purple royalty,
  Once more’s the throne of infant day,
  And all th’ horizon round looks gay.
  The horn deep-ton’d the huntsman fills,
  The strains re-echo from the hills;
  Unkennell’d for the bloody chase,
  Impatient rush the babbling race:
  Some, widely stretching o’er the plain,
  Vocif’rous chaunt the heedless train;
  These stretch their limbs, while others bound
  In wanton circles o’er the ground.

    The squire survey’d with secret pride
  The mottled pack on either side:
  The puppies did not ’scape his view;
  Their youthful tricks were pleasing too.
  But lest a part unskill’d, and young,
  Should lead the rest with lavish tongue,
  It was decreed they should be tied,
  And trudge in couples, side by side.
  To Ringwood, Sweetlips was assign’d:
  These two with patience jogg’d behind.
  To Trueman, so ’twas doom’d by fate,
  Maiden was yok’d as trav’lling mate:
  In these an early fondness grew,
  If he did this, she’d do so too;
  From Maiden Trueman scarce would stray,
  But spent with her the livelong day;
  For her the half-pick’d bone he’d spare,
  And guard her with a lover’s care.
  If he in playful frolic run,
  Or bask’d beneath th’ enlivening sun,
  As sure she would his steps attend,
  Or near his side her length extend.
  From one calm mind their actions grew;
  But now, alas! they spring from two.
  Divided cares invade each breast;
  Divided thoughts and interest;
  Now ’tis they feel the galling chain,
  And howl for liberty again.
  To join the pack if he’s inclin’d,
  She with slow pace will drag behind:
  He this way draws, she tugs another,
  They prove tormentors to each other.
  Now boldly they exert their might,
  Snarl answers snarl—bite follows bite;
  With double ire their fury burns,
  And gains them mastership by turns.
  But strength victorious rules the field,
  To force superior all must yield:
  At length subdued the fair one lies,
  And calls assistance by her cries;
  But ah! in vain, no succour’s near,
  The hunt pursue the tim’rous hare.
  Too late she sees from whence arose
  The source of all her bleeding woes:
  Secluded now from every friend,
  Her sorrows but with life can end,
  What’s to be done—reflection’s vain,
  And serves but to increase her pain;
  Quite spent, she howling yields her life,
  A prey to discontent and strife.


[Illustration]

_FABLE VIII._

The Sow and the Peacock.

  In days of yore, as authors tell,
  When beasts and birds could read and spell,
  No matter where, in town or city,
  There liv’d a Swine exceeding witty;
  And, for the beauties of her mind,
  Excelling all her bristl’d kind:
  But yet, to mortify her pride,
  She found at last her failing side.
  Philosophy she had good store,
  Had ponder’d Seneca all o’er;
  Yet all precautions useless prove
  Against the pow’r of mighty love.

    It happen’d on a sultry day,
  Upon her fav’rite couch she lay,—
  ’Twas a round dunghill soft and warm,
  O’ershadow’d by a neighb’ring barn,—
  When lo, her winking eyes behold
  A creature with a neck of gold,
  With painted wings and gorgeous train,
  That sparkled like the starry plain:
  His neck and breast all brilliant shine
  Against the sun. The dazzl’d Swine,
  Who never saw the like before,
  Began to wonder and adore;
  But seeing him so fair and nice,
  She left her dunghill in a trice;
  And, fond to please, the grunting elf
  Began to wash and trim herself;
  And from the stinking pool she run
  To dry her carcase in the sun;
  And rubb’d her sides against a tree:
  And now, as clean as hogs can be,
  With cautious air and doubtful breast,
  The glitt’ring Peacock thus address’d:

    “Sir, I, a homely rural Swine,
  Can boast of nothing fair nor fine,
  No dainties in our troughs appear,
  But, as you seem a stranger here,
  Be pleas’d to walk into my sty,
  A little hut as plain as I.
  Pray venture through the humble door;
  And tho’ your entertainment’s poor,
  With me you shall be sure to find
  An open heart and honest mind;
  And that’s a dainty seldom found
  On cedar floors and city ground.”

    Thus far the Sow had preach’d by rule,
  She preach’d, alas! but to a fool;
  For this same Peacock, you must know,
  Had he been man, had been a beau:
  And spoke, like them, but mighty little
  That to the point could tend a tittle:
  And with an air that testify’d
  He’d got at least his share of pride,
  He thus began: “Why, truly now,
  You’re very civil, Mrs Sow:
  But I am very clean, d’ye see;
  Your sty is not a place for me.
  Should I go through that narrow door,
  My feathers might be soil’d or tore;
  Or scented with unsav’ry fumes:
  And what am I without my plumes?”

    The much offended Sow replies,
  And turns asquint her narrow eyes,
  “Sir, you’re incorrigibly vain,
  To value thus a shining train;
  For when the northern wind shall blow,
  And send us hail, and sleet, and snow,
  How will you save from such keen weathers,
  Your merit—sir, I mean your feathers?
  As for myself,—to think that I
  Should lead an idiot to my sty,
  Or strive to make an oaf my friend,
  Makes all my bristles stand on end:
  But for the future, when I see
  A bird that much resembles thee,
  I’ll ever make it as a rule,
  The shining case contains a fool.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE IX._

The King-Dove.

  Thousands, who start at Nero’s name,
  With Nero’s power would act the same;
  And few in humble spheres can know
  How much to want of pow’r they owe—
  The passions sleep unrous’d by might,
  As objects lie forgot in night;
  Tho’ unregarded till they’re seen,
  They both exist beneath the screen,
  And Sol returning, grandeur near,
  The passions rise, and shapes appear:
  And e’en a dove, the Fable tells,
  Begirt with pow’r a tyrant swells—
    Thus runs the tale—Between the Kite
  And Doves there chanc’d a fatal fight,
  Before his force their numbers fled,
  The victor on the captives fed—
  What can be done?—they pine, they grieve,
  The spar’d can scarce be said to live.—

    At last, their king Columbo’s call
  Commands the senate to the hall:
  Columbo, best of doves and kings,
  Up-rising clapt his painted wings,
  Then thus harangu’d ’em from above,
  And spake the monarch, and the Dove—
  “My suff’ring friends, with grief and pain
  I fear we meet but to complain;
  Yet my fond bosom fain would know
  Your thoughts of our relentless foe—
  If any, blest with skill to save,
  Have plann’d the proud oppressor’s grave,
  Whatever perils shall attend
  A scheme to save one bleeding friend,
  I’ll meet, I’ll vanquish, or no more
  Return to this opprobrious shore:
  For oh! to steal the tyrant’s breath,
  I’d perch upon the dart of death.”
  He ceas’d, and soft applauses sprung
  From ev’ry heart to ev’ry tongue:
  Then one arose among the rest,
  And mov’d,—That Jove might be addrest,
  Arms on their monarch to bestow,
  Like those so dreadful on their foe.
  The rest consent, the pray’r is made,
  Jove will’d, and Nature straight obey’d.
  Columbo feels his form distend,
  His beak grow crook’d, claws extend;
  On his increasing strength presumes,
  And pleas’d he shakes his alter’d plumes,
  To single combat dares the foe,
  And deep imprints the fatal blow.
  The Kite expires,—and peace again
  Reviv’d to bless Columbo’s reign.

    But flush’d with conquest, proud in arms,
  He longs, he pants, for fresh alarms,
  And to himself elated thought—
  “Had I these gifts of Jove for nought?”
  Now swelling high with proud disdain,
  He scorns his meek, his peaceful train;
  A thousand wives the monarch claims,
  And seizes all their fairest dames;
  A thousand slaves attend his will,
  A thousand nests his treasures fill;
  None for themselves eat, sleep, or love,
  ’Tis all the King’s—imperial Dove!
  Too noble grown for common food,
  He longs to taste of pigeon’s blood;
  Nor long the appetite withstood.
  With treble anguish now they moan
  A wide destroyer on their throne,
  Despairing drag the galling chain,
  And vainly curse Columbo’s reign.
  This fatal change let man informed pursue,
  Catch rising truths from every fabled view,
  And learn from hence no dang’rous pow’r to trust,
  E’en with the wise, the gentle, and the just.
  Since e’en that pow’r less prompts to good than ill,
  And bends to vice vain man’s unequal will—
  Wrongs to redress ne’er arm alone your friend,
  But, cloth’d in equal might, his steps attend;
  Let equal arms your injur’d rights maintain,
  Divide the strength, the labours, honours, gain:
  Still on a level, tho’ with conquest bright,
  No traitor thoughts shall rise from matchless might:
  Peace with her genuine charms shall either bless,
  And just dependencies prevent excess.


[Illustration]

_FABLE X._

The Camelion.

  Oft has it been my lot to mark
  A proud, conceited, talking spark,
  With eyes, that hardly serv’d at most
  To guard their master ’gainst a post,
  Yet round the world the blade has been
  To see whatever could be seen.
  Returning from his finish’d tour,
  Grown ten times perter than before,
  Whatever word you chance to drop,
  The travell’d fool your mouth will stop;
  “Sir, if my judgment you’ll allow—
  I’ve seen—and sure I ought to know”—
  So begs you’d pay a due submission,
  And acquiesce in his decision.

    Two travellers of such a cast,
  As o’er Arabia’s wild they past,
  And on their way in friendly chat
  Now talk’d of this, and then of that,
  Discours’d a while ’mongst other matter,
  Of the Camelion’s form and nature.
  “A stranger animal,” cries one,
  “Sure never liv’d beneath the sun:
  A lizard’s body lean and long,
  A fish’s head, a serpent’s tongue;
  Its tooth with triple claw disjoin’d;
  And what a length of tail behind!
  How slow its pace, and then its hue—
  Who ever saw so fine a blue?”

    “Hold there,” the other quick replies,
  “’Tis green—I saw it with these eyes,
  As late with open mouth it lay,
  And warm’d itself in sunny ray;
  Stretch’d at its ease the beast I view’d,
  And saw it eat the air for food.”

    “I’ve seen it, sir, as well as you,
  And must again affirm it blue:
  At leisure I the beast survey’d,
  Extended in the cooling shade.”

    “’Tis green, ’tis green, sir, I assure ye.”
  “Green!” cries the other in a fury.

    “Why, sir—d’ye think I’ve lost my eyes?”
  “’Twere no great loss,” the friend replies;
  “For, if they always serve you thus,
  You’ll find ’em but of little use.”

    So high at last the contest rose,
  From words they almost came to blows:
  When luckily came by a third—
  To him the question they refer’d;
  And begg’d he’d tell ’em, if he knew,
  Whether the thing was green or blue.

    “Sirs,” cries the umpire, “cease your pother—
  The creature’s neither one nor t’other.
  I caught the animal last night,
  And view’d it o’er by candle light:
  I mark’d it well—’twas black as jet—
  You stare—but, sirs, I’ve got it yet,
  And can produce it.” “Pray, sir, do:
  I’ll lay my life, the thing is blue.”
  “And I’ll be sworn, that when you’ve seen
  The reptile, you’ll pronounce him green.”

    “Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,”
  Replies the man, “I’ll turn him out:
  And when before your eyes I’ve set him,
  If you don’t find him black, I’ll eat him.”
    He said; then full before their sight
  Produc’d the beast, and lo! ’twas white.
  Both star’d, the man look’d wondrous wise—
  “My children,” the Camelion cries,
  Then first the creature found a tongue,
  “You all are right, and all are wrong:
  When next you talk of what you view,
  Think others see, as well as you:
  Nor wonder, if you find that none
  Prefers your eye-sight to his own.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XI._

The Three Warnings.

  The tree of deepest root is found
    Least willing still to quit the ground;
  ’Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
    That love of life increas’d with years:
  So much, that in our latter stages,
  When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
    The greatest love of life appears.

    This great affection to believe,
  Which all confess, but few perceive,
  If old assertions can’t prevail,
  Be pleas’d to hear a modern tale.

    When sports went round, and all were gay
  On neighbour Dobson’s wedding-day,
  Death call’d aside the jocund groom
  With him into another room:
  And looking grave,—“You must,” says he,
  “Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.”
  “With you! and quit my Susan’s side!
  With you!” the hapless husband cry’d:
  “Young as I am; ’tis monstrous hard;
  Besides, in truth, I’m not prepar’d:
  My thoughts on other matters go,
  This is my wedding-night, you know.”

    What more he urg’d I have not heard:
  His reasons could not well be stronger;
  For Death the poor delinquent spar’d,
  And left to live a little longer.
  Yet calling up a serious look,
  His hour-glass trembling while he spoke,
  “Neighbour,” he said, “Farewell: No more
  Shall death disturb your mirthful hour;
  And further to avoid all blame
  Of cruelty upon my name,
  To give you time for preparation,
  And fit you for your future station,
  Three several warnings you shall have
  Before you’re summon’d to the grave,
  Willing for once I’ll quit my prey,
    And grant a kind reprieve:
  In hopes you’ll have no more to say,
  But when I call again this way
    Well pleas’d the world will leave.”
  To these conditions both consented,
  And parted, perfectly contented.

    What next the hero of our tale befell,
  How long he liv’d, how wise, how well,
  How roundly he pursu’d his course,—
  And smok’d his pipe, and strok’d his horse,—
  The willing muse shall tell:
  He chaffer’d on, he bought, he sold,
  Nor once perceiv’d his growing old,
  Nor thought of death as near:
  His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
  Many his gains, his children few,
  He pass’d his hours in peace;
  But while he view’d his wealth increase,
  While thus along life’s dusty road
  The beaten track content he trod,
  Old time, whose haste no mortal spares,
  Uncall’d, unheeded, unawares,
  Brought on his eightieth year.

    And now one night in musing mood,
  As all alone he sat,
  Th’ unwelcome messenger of fate,
    Once more before him stood.

  Half kill’d with anger and surprise,
  “So soon return’d!” old Dobson cries:
  “So soon, d’ye call it!” Death replies:
    “Surely, my friend, you’re but in jest;
  Since I was here before,
    ’Tis six and forty or fifty years at least,
  And you are now fourscore.”

    “So much the worse,” the clown rejoin’d:
  “To spare the aged would be kind:
  However, see your search be legal;
  And your authority—Is’t regal?
  Else you are come on a fool’s errand,
  With but a secretary’s warrant.
  Besides, you promis’d me three warnings,
  Which I have look’d for nights and mornings.
  But, for that loss of time and ease,
  I can recover damages.”

    “I know,” cries Death, “that at the best,
  I seldom am a welcome guest;
  But don’t be captious, friend, at least:
  I little thought you’d still be able
  To stump about your farm and stable;
  Your years have run to a great length,
  I wish you joy tho’ of your strength.”

    “Hold,” says the farmer, “not so fast,
  I have been lame these four years past.”

    “And no great wonder,” Death replies,
  “However you still keep your eyes,
  And sure to see one’s loves and friends
  For legs and arms would make amends.”

    “Perhaps,” says Dobson, “so it might,
  But latterly I’ve lost my sight.”

    “This is a shocking story, faith,
  Yet there’s some comfort still,” says Death;
  “Each strives your sadness to amuse,
  I warrant you hear all the news.”

    “There’s none,” cries he, “and if there were
  I’m grown so deaf I could not hear.”
  “Nay then,” the spectre stern rejoin’d,
    “These are unjustifi’ble yearnings;
  If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
    You’ve had your three sufficient warnings.
  So come along, no more we’ll part,
  He said, and touch’d him with his dart;
  And now old Dobson, turning pale,
  Yields to his fate—so ends my tale.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XII._

The Caterpillar and Butterfly.

  The morning blush’d with vivid red,
  And night in sudden silence fled;
  Sad Philomel no more complains,
  The lark begins his sprightly strains;
  Light paints the flow’rs of various hue,
  And sparkles in the pendent dew;
  Life moves o’er all the quicken’d green,
  And beauty reigns, unrival’d queen.

    Green as the leaf, on which he lay,
  A Caterpillar wak’d to-day:
  And look’d around, and chanc’d to ’spy
  A leaf of more inviting dye;
  From where he lay he crawl’d, and found
  The verdant spot’s indented bound;
  Stretch’d from the verge, he strove to gain
  The neighb’ring leaf, but strove in vain.
  In that nice moment, prompt to save,
  A brother worm this warning gave.

    “Oh! turn, advent’rous as thou art,
  Nor hence, deceiv’d by hope, depart;
  What though the leaf, that tempts thee, shows
  More tasteful food, more soft repose;
  What, though with brighter spangles gay,
  Its dew reflects an earlier ray?
  Oh! think what dangers guard the prize;
  Oh! think what dangers; and be wise!
  The pass from leaf to leaf forbear;
  Behold how high they wave in air!
  And should’st thou fall, tremendous thought!
  What ruin would avenge thy fault?
  Thy mangled carcase, writh’d with pain,
  Shall mark with blood the dusty plain:
  Then death, the dread of all below,
  Thy wish—will surely end thy woe;
  Untimely death, for now to die,
  Is ne’er to rise a butterfly.”
  “A Butterfly!” th’ Advent’rer cry’d,
  “What’s that?” “A bird,” his friend reply’d,
  “To which this reptile form shall rise,
  And gorgeous mount the lofty skies;
  The joyful season time shall bring,
  He bears it on his rapid wing.
  An age there is, when all our kind,
  Disdain the ground, and mount the wind:
  And should thy friend this age attain—”
  With haste the worm reply’d again,
  “Say what assurance canst thou give,
  That I with birds a bird shall live?
  For could I trust thy pleasing tale,
  No wanton wish should e’er prevail;
  For what, that worms obtain, can vie
  With bliss of birds that wing the sky?”
  “Believe my words,” th’ Adviser said,
  “Since not of private int’rest bred;
  Not on thy life or death depend
  My pleasure or my pain—— Attend!
  Like thee, to all the future blind,
  I knew not wings for worms design’d,
  Till yon last sun’s ascending light
  Remov’d the dusky shades of night.
  Soon as his rays, from heav’n sublime,
  Shone on that leaf you wish to climb;
  That leaf, which shades, in earliest hours,
  This less conspicuous spot of ours:
  Surpris’d, a lovely form I saw,
  That touch’d me with delight and awe;
  ’Twas near, and while my looks betray’d
  My wonder,” thus the Stranger said:

    “If view’d by thee with wond’rous eyes
  My graceful shape and vary’d dyes,
  New wonder still prepare to feel,
  Amazing truths my words reveal:
  For know, like thine my humble birth;
  Like thee, I crawl’d a worm on earth.”

    “Ah! mock me not,” said I, “nor seek
  A worthless triumph o’er the weak;
  Canst thou, thy form with down o’erspread,
  By nature crown’d thy regal head,
  Canst thou my reptile shape have worn?
  My reptile shape, of all the scorn!
  Hast thou! whose gorgeous wings display
  Each vary’d tint that drinks the day,
  More bright than drops of orient dew,
  More gay than flow’rs of gaudiest hue,
  With purple edg’d, and fring’d with gold,
  Like light, too splendid to behold!
  Hast thou, an abject worm like me,
  Crawl’d prone on earth! it cannot be.”

    “Oh! cease the doubts,” the Stranger cry’d,
  “To faith thy happiness ally’d—
  Not thrice the morn these eyes have view’d,
  Since genial spring my life renew’d;
  From death-like slumbers wak’d, I found
  A guardian shell invest me round;
  The circling shield I broke, nor knew
  How long my safety hence I drew;
  But soon perceiv’d, and knew the spot,
  Where once, a worm, I fix’d my lot;
  The _past_ with wonder touch’d my breast,
  More wonder still the _now_ imprest,
  With pleasure mixt—the pleasure grew,
  At ev’ry thought, at ev’ry view;
  Transform’d, my unknown pow’r I try,
  I wave my wings, I rise! I fly!
  Enraptur’d with the blissful change,
  From field to field I wanton range;
  From flow’r to flow’r, from tree to tree,
  And see whate’er I wish to see;
  Now glide along the daisy’d ground;
  Now wheel in wanton circles round;
  Now mount aloft, and sport in air,
  Transported, when I will, and where,
  Still present, to whate’er invites,
  Each moment brings me new delights;
  Nor fear allays the joys I know,
  The dangers scorn’d that lurk below;
  No trampling hoof, my former dread,
  Can crush me, mangled, to the dead.
  Ev’n man himself pursues, in vain,
  My sportive circuit o’er the plain.”
  He said, and raptur’d with the thought,
  New charms his bright’ning plumage caught,
  He clapt his wings, his rapid flight
  I trac’d with fond desiring sight,
  Oh! glorious state—reserv’d to this,
  I risk not life for reptile bliss;
  Oh! catch the glowing wish from me,
  The same the bliss reserv’d for thee;
  Desist from ev’ry rash design,
  And beauty, plumes, and wings are thine.
  He ceas’d—th’ Advent’rer thus reply’d:
  “By thee the fancy’d change be try’d,
  The _now_ is _mine_, the _now_ alone,
  The _future_ fate’s—a dark unknown!
  To nature’s voice my ears incline;
  All lovely, loving, all divine!
  To joy she courts, she points the way,
  And chides this cold, this dull delay.
  Farewell—let hope thy bliss supply,
  And count thy gains with fancy’s eye;
  Be thine the wings that time shall send,
  Believing and obliging friend.”—

  He said, and sneering sly disdain,
  The neighb’ring leaf attempts to gain;
  He falls—all bruis’d on earth he lies;
  Too late repents, and groans, and dies.
  His friendly monitor, with care,
  Avoids each pleasure-baited snare,
  False pleasure, false, and fatal too!
  Superior joys he keeps in view;
  They come—the genial spring supplies
  The wings he hoped, and lo! he flies;
  Tastes all that summer suns prepare,
  And all the joys of earth and air!

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIII._

The Two Doves.

  Two Turtles once, of gentlest kind,
  In softest bands by love were join’d;
  ’Til tired of home Columbo grew,
  And pensive sigh’d for something new;
  For distant realms prepar’d to part,—
  When spoke the partner of his heart:
  “Why should my dear Columbo rove,
  And leave me widow’d in the grove—
  What ill can worse than absence prove?
  Yet let the toils, the perils, cares,
  Which fate for travellers prepares,
  Retard thy speed—attend the spring,
  And wait the zephyr’s aiding wing;
  What haste?—this hour, ill omen’d found!
  The raven’s croak was heard around;
  Hawks, nets, and ills of ev’ry kind
  Henceforth shall haunt my boding mind;
  And what does Heav’n at home deny
  That thou canst wish, or Heav’n supply?”

    These words in doubt Columbo hold,
  Still weakly vain, and rashly bold;
  At length his restless wish prevails,
  And love, and fear, and prudence fails:
  When thus he spoke with cheerful air—
  “From Turturella far be care,
  No more let tears those eyes distain,
  Whate’er I seek three days shall gain;
  Returning then, to thee I’ll tell
  Whate’er I saw, or me befell:
  Amusing thus the pensive day,
  Who little see, can little say,
  Of rich description full, my tale
  Shall oft thy listening ear regale;
  The scenes I’ll paint so strong, so true,
  In fancy thou shalt travel too.”

    This said, Farewell dissolves his heart,
  And wet with mutual tears they part.

    As Turturella pensive sate,
  In fancy wand’ring with her mate,
  Far as her utmost ken she sees
  A bird approach by slow degrees;
  Not form’d for flight he seem’d, nor song,
  But stopp’d by turns, and limp’d along:
  Her pains who feels can tell alone,
  The bird for chang’d Columbo known;
  Her mate, with pearly tears to greet,
  Down from her nest she flew to meet.
  Awhile with silent grief opprest,
  At length she softly him addrest:
  “Oh! tell me, dear Columbo, tell
  What scenes you saw, what woes befell;
  Why wounded thus Columbo mourns,
  And ere th’ appointed day returns?”
  With falt’ring voice Columbo cry’d,
  “From thee no more my heart I hide—
  Scarce from this peaceful grove I past
  When sudden clouds the skies o’ercast;
  I saw the storm, for shelter sought,
  A single tree that shelter brought,
  Thin leav’d, and pervious to the show’r,
  I felt the rig’rous season’s power.
  The cloud dissolv’d, benumb’d with cold,
  Again my dripping wings unfold;
  In neighb’ring fields some corn I view,
  And, hov’ring near, a turtle too;
  By flatt’ring hopes deluded there,
  I struggled in the fowler’s snare:
  The turtle tutor’d to betray,
  Beneath the bait a net there lay.
  Unwonted strength despair supply’d,
  I broke the snare my feet that ty’d;
  With less than half my tail I fled,
  And trail’d behind a broken thread,
  A remnant of the snare, when lo!
  A vulture sees me, dreadful foe!
  Just as he stoop’d to snatch the prey,
  From heav’n an eagle wing’d his way;
  I, while the sons of rapine fight,
  Improv’d the lucky hour in flight
  The ruins of a cot were near,
  I thought my dangers ended here;
  Deceitful thought! a playful boy
  (The cruel race in sport destroy)
  Whirl’d round the sling, the rapid stone
  Laid bare my pinion to the bone.
  Yet reach I living this abode,
  What signal mercies Heav’n bestow’d!
  Left in this grove to sigh alone
  What fate has Turturella known?”
  “More signal yet, by far,” said she,
  “The mercies Heav’n bestow’d on me.”
  “Alas! what woes,” Columbo cry’d,
  “In this short absence hast thou try’d?
  What near escapes to equal mine?
  Amazing marks of love divine!”
  “The woes averted from my head
  Are those which thou hast felt,” she said;
  “No near escapes ’twas mine to prove,
  What more amazing mark of love!
  In _ease_ and _safety_ more I gain
  Than _life_ to thee, preserv’d with pain,
  See then the mercies that I meant,
  Which Heav’n to give me, gave Content!
  Learn hence the gifts of Jove to prize,
  And, ere misfortunes teach, be wise.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIV._

The Beau and Butterfly.

  When summer deckt each sylvan scene,
  And sunshine smil’d along the green,
  When groves allur’d with noon-tide shade,
  And purling brooks refresh’d the glade;
  An empty form of empty show,
  A flutt’ring insect, call’d a Beau,
  In gaudy colours rich and gay,
  A mere papilio of the day,
  Was seen around the fields to rove,
  And haunt, by turns, the stream and grove:
  A silver zone entwin’d his head,
  His belly shone with lively red,
  His wings were green, but studded o’er
  With gold-embroider’d spots before.
  Around him various insects came,
  Of diff’rent colour, different name;
  And, ting’d with every gorgeous dye,
  Among the rest a Butterfly;
  His wings are spread with wanton pride,
  And beauty fades from all beside.
  The Beau beholds, with envious eyes,
  The living radiance as it flies:
  “And shall,” said he, “this worthless thing.
  That lives but on a summer’s wing,
  This flying worm, more gaudy shine,
  And wear a dress more gay than mine?
  Is this wise Nature’s equal care
  To deck a Butterfly so fair,
  While man, her worthiest, greatest part,
  Must wear the homely rags of art?”
  Thus reason’d he, as reason beaux,
  The subject of their logic clothes;
  When thus the Butterfly reply’d,
  With deeper tints by anger dy’d:
  “Vain, trifling mortal! could’st thou boast
  To prize what Nature prizes most
  On man bestow’d, thou would’st not see
  With envy aught she gives to me.
  This painted vestment, all my store,
  She gives, and I can claim no more—
  But man, for greater ends design’d,
  Should boast the beauties of the mind.
  More bright than gold with wisdom shine,
  And virtue’s sacred charms be thine:
  To rule the world by reason taught,
  On dress disdain to waste a thought;
  For he, whom folly bends so low,
  Ambitious to be thought a beau.
  Is studious only to be gay,
  In toilet-arts consumes the day;
  And, the long trifling labours o’er,
  Takes wing, and bids the world adore;
  Looks down with scorn on rival flies,
  Himself less splendid and less wise;
  With scorn, his scorn return’d again,
  Proud insect! impotently vain!
  The fool who thus by self is priz’d,
  By others justly is despis’d.”
  She said, and flutter’d round on high,
  Nor stay’d to hear the Beau’s reply.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XV._

The Bears and Bees.

  As two young Bears in wanton mood,
  Forth-issuing from a neighb’ring wood,
  Came where th’ industrious Bees had stor’d
  In artful cells their luscious hoard;
  O’erjoy’d they seiz’d with eager haste
  Luxurious on the rich repast.
  Alarm’d at this, the little crew
  About their ears vindictive flew.
  The beasts, unable to sustain
  Th’ unequal combat, quit the plain:
  Half blind with rage, and mad with pain,
  Their native shelter they regain;
  There sit, and now discreeter grown,
  Too late their rashness they bemoan;
  And this by dear experience gain,
  “That pleasure’s ever bought with pain.”
  So when the gilded baits of vice
  Are plac’d before our longing eyes,
  With greedy haste we snatch our fill,
  And swallow down the latent ill;
  But when experience opes our eyes,
  Away the fancied pleasure flies—
  It flies, but oh! too late we find
  It leaves a real sting behind.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVI._

The Trees.

  Once on a time, when great Sir Oak
  Held all the trees beneath his yoke,
  The monarch, anxious to maintain,
  In peaceful state, his sylvan reign,
  Saw, to his sorrow and distraction,
  His subject trees take root in faction,
  And, though late join’d in union hearty,
  Now branching into shoots of party,
  Each sturdy stick of factious wood
  Stood stiff and stout for public good:
  For patriots ever, ’tis well known,
  Seek others welfare, not their own,
  And all they undertake, you know,
  Is meant _pro bono publico_.
  The hardy Fir, from northern earth
  Who took its name, and drew its birth,
  The Oak plac’d next him to support
  His government, and grace his court.
  The Fir, of an uncommon size,
  Rear’d his tall head unto the skies,
  O’er-topp’d his fellow-plants, his height
  Who view’d, and sicken’d at the sight:
  With envy ev’ry fibre swell’d,
  While in them the proud sap rebell’d;
  “Shall then,” they cried, “the Ash, the Elm,
  The Beech, no longer rule the helm?
  What! shall the ignoble Fir, a plant,
  In tempest born, and nurs’d in want,
  Far from black regions of the north,
  And native famine, issue forth;
  In this our happier soil take root,
  And dare our birthright to dispute?”
  On this the fatal storm began,
  Confusion thro’ the forest ran;
  Mischief in each dark shade was brewing,
  And all betoken’d general ruin:
  While each, to make their party good,
  Brib’d the vile shrubs and underwood:
  And now the Bramble and the Thistle
  Sent forth essay, ode, epistle;
  To which anon, with equal mettle,
  Replied the Thorn and stinging Nettle.
  “What’s to be done, or how oppose
  The storm which in the forest rose?”
  Grief shook the mighty monarch’s mind,
  And his sighs labour’d in the wind.
  At length, the tumult, strife, and quarrel,
  Alarming the sagacious laurel,
  His mind unto the King he broke,
  And thus addrest him: “Heart of Oak!
  Sedition is on foot, make ready;
  And fix your empire firm and steady.
  Faction in vain shall shake the wood,
  While you pursue the general good.
  Fear not a foe, trust not a friend,
  Upon yourself alone depend.
  If not too partially ally’d,
  By fear or love to either side,
  In vain shall jarring factions strive,
  Cabals in vain dark plots contrive.
  Slave to no foe, dupe to no minion,
  Maintain an equal just dominion:
  So shall you stand by storms unbroke,
  And all revere the ROYAL OAK.”

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVII._

The Philosopher and Glow-Worm.

  When toilsome hours of day were spent,
  The world seem’d wrapt in calm content,
  Each anxious care forsook the breast,
  Sleep gently clos’d each eye to rest,
  Cynthia her brightest aspect wore,
  And Heav’n’s expanse was studded o’er,
  A sage, by meditation drawn,
  Forsook his cot, and sought the lawn;
  In contemplation deep he stray’d,
  And nature’s dozing charms survey’d;
  On either hand new beauties view’d,
  As he his tranquil walk pursu’d.
  By chance, a Glow-Worm, in his way,
  Shone forth his little glitt’ring ray,
  Proudly unfolding ev’ry grace,
  As trailing round from place to place;
  Illumining the moss-fring’d plain.
  On other worms he look’d disdain.
  The sage, with philosophic eye,
  Survey’d the wand’rer crawling by;
  Then stooping low, with gentle hand,
  High lifts him from the dew-fraught land.
  The grub, tho’ not dismay’d thro’ fear,
  Conscious he was not in his sphere,
  Withdrew his beam of light away,
  To hear what man—vain man—would say.
  The learn’d Philosopher, amaz’d,
  Paus’d for some time, and anxious gaz’d;
  Astonish’d that the worm should die
  So soon, then careless threw it by;
  But first, this application made:—
  “This creeping reptile, lo! is dead,
  And with his life, his glory’s fled.
  So is’t with all _ambition’s_ race,
  Who fill up each exalted place:
  Brilliant they shine with borrow’d ray,
  And wanton in the blaze of day,
  ’Till fortune’s second wheel turns round,
  And leaves them where they first were found.”

    The Glow-Worm with attention heard,
  And weigh’d with prudence ev’ry word,
  Trim’d bright his little lamp again.
  And shone more beauteous o’er the plain
  Then thus address’d the wond’ring sage,
  The known Philos’pher of the age:
  “Know thou, the happy pow’r to shine
  Is truly man’s as well as mine;
  I know my sphere, did he the same,
  He’d tread _that_ path that leads to fame;
  Did he in dang’rous times retire,
  And check with care _ambition’s_ fire,
  Like me he might new lustre spread.
  And deck with laurels fresh his head.
  But, coxcomb like, he’s led astray
  To shine, and shines but for a day.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XVIII._

The Angler and the Philosopher.

  Beside a gentle murm’ring brook
    An Angler took his patient stand;
  He ey’d the stream with anxious look,
    And wav’d his rod with cautious hand.

  The bait with nicest art was drest,
    The fishes left their safe retreat;
  And one more eager than the rest,
    Look’d, long’d, and swallow’d the deceit.

  Too late she felt the poignant smart,
    Her pitying friends her fate deplore;
  The Angler with well-practis’d art,
    Play’d, hook’d, and drew her to the shore.

  Lur’d by the beauty of the day,
    The sun now sinking in the sky,
  A sage pursu’d his walk that way,
    And saw the bleeding victim lie.

  Far in the vale of years declin’d,
    He watch’d the course of nature’s law;
  And thus with philosophic mind,
    He moralis’d on what he saw:

  “Indulge, awhile, the pensive vein,
    And fix this image in your mind;
  You’ve hook’d a fish; observe its pain,
    And view the state of human kind.

  “Fate gives us line, we shift the scene,
    And jocund traverse to and fro;
  Pain, sickness, still will intervene,
    We feel the hook where’er we go.

  “If, proudly, we our schemes extend,
    And look beyond the present hour,
  We find our straiten’d prospects end,
    And own an over-ruling pow’r.

  “Awhile we sport, awhile lament,
    Fate checks the line, and we are gone;
  Dragg’d from our wonted element,
    To distant climes, untry’d, unknown.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XIX._

The Lion and other Beasts in Council.

  The kingly ruler of the plain,[10]
  Just ent’ring on his savage reign,
  To grace his coronation feast,
  Sent and invited every beast;
  And soon the royal cave beheld
  With all his various subjects fill’d:
  For leagues of peace were lately made,
  And lambs and wolves together play’d;
  Foxes and tim’rous hares agree
  With dogs, their common enemy:
  And now a sumptuous table spread,
  Friendly they altogether fed;
  And having din’d, sit still and prate
  Familiarly of this and that:
  Till with a kind, yet serious look,
  The King, desiring audience, spoke.

    “My friends, and loving subjects all,
  Who’ve kindly thus obey’d my call,
  I give you thanks, and now I crave
  Your further kindness to receive:
  I’m seated on the throne, you see,
  In peaceable tranquillity;
  No cares of war disturb my breast;
  With taxes you are not opprest;
  This life I’ll therefore spend in joy;
  None shall be happier than I.
  But lest I should pursue false bliss,
  What I would ask of you is this,
  To tell me—what true pleasure is?”

    The beasts seem’d pleas’d with this request;
  Each thought he could advise him best,
  And striving who should silence break,
  They all at once rose up to speak:
  Till by his majesty’s command,
  Their forward zeal was soon restrain’d;
  Who calmly bidding them sit down,
  And let him hear them one by one,
  Th’ impatient Monkey thus began:

    “Pleasure, my liege, is free from strife,
  To lead a thoughtless, easy life;
  Airy, and wild, and brisk, and gay,
  To sing, and dance, and laugh, and play;
  Now following this, now that, and that,
  And so’t be new, no matter what;
  Free from all rules of just and fit,
  Do mischief first, then laugh at it:
  This is diversion, pleasure, wit.”

    The Ass was here provok’d to rise,
  And gravely thus bray’d his advice:
  “If,” said he, “real pleasure is
  In such buffoonery as this,
  Then beaux and smarts, amongst mankind,
  Are in their notions most refin’d;
  But well we know, by men of sense,
  They’re tax’d with vain impertinence.
  I therefore think true pleasure lies
  (If I may be thought fit t’advise)
  In careless indolence and ease,
  Not suff’ring anything to tease,
  Regardless what th’ ambitious fly at,
  So we’re but undisturb’d and quiet;
  Well knowing ’tis but to attain
  More ease, that they’re at so much pain.
  And he’s more happy, none can doubt it,
  Who’s easy without taking pains about it.”

  Now rose the Hog, and with a grunt,
  “Pleasure,” cry’d he, “they know nought on’t.
  A life trail’d on in laziness
  Can only suit a stupid Ass,
  And fool’d away in Monkey mirth,
  It’s really full as little worth;
  For doing nothing worthy fame
  And doing nothing’s much the same.
  But if you’d real pleasure know,
  Let generous liquor smiling flow;
  In jovial crews spend every hour,
  And drink, and sing, and rant, and roar:
  Thus every care will sink and drown,
  Whilst mirth and joy run laughing round.
  I seem a monarch while I drink so,
  And you’ll be a god do you but think so.”

    Here bursts the Goat into a laugh,
  And thus beginning with a scoff:
  “Doubtless,” said he, “it must be fine
  T’exalt a nasty, dirty swine,
  To such a height in fancying,
  As to believe himself a King.
  But that which thus perverts our senses
  Can have, I think, but small pretences
  To recommend it to our favour,
  As pleasure of the truest flavour.
  Nature, methinks, should guide in this,
  Who seems t’have shewn the highest bliss,
  In having plac’d the sweetest gust,
  In gratifying natural lust.
  And that ’tis the sublimest joy,
  I think ’s so plain none can deny.
  Witness the mad tormenting pain,
  When disappointed, we sustain.
  Witness how eagerly we press on,
  Witness our raptures in possession.”

    But here the Leopard, rising slow,
  Expos’d his beauteous spots to show,
  And with a grave majestic face,
  Thus gave his verdict in the case:
  “Pleasure consists not in such short
  Imperfect transitory sport,
  Of which the pains we’re at to get it,
  O’erpays the bliss when we come at it;
  Nor can it e’er be call’d true joy,
  With such a mixture of alloy.
  No, that must be the most refin’d
  Which most exalts and charms the mind;
  And nothing sure more charming is,
  Than honour, pomp, and dignities,
  Than grandeur and magnificence,
  Than sumptuous trains and vast expense,
  Than place, distinction, and preferment,
  And when we die, a grand interment.”

    At this the Horse, with noble look,
  Raising his crested neck, thus spoke:
  “That merit should be rais’d on high,
  I think ’s so just none can deny;
  But he who places all his bliss
  In the external pomp of this,
  Knows not what greatness, nor what pleasure is;
  His judgment errs as much at least
  As his who thinks that painting best
  Which is in gaudiest colours drest.
  Of both we may affirm the same,
  Their taste lies only in the gilded frame.
  I grant preferment, honour, place,
  Are rising steps to happiness;
  But whilst we’re upwards thus aspiring,
  We’re anxious still, and still desiring.
  To act with an unbounded will,
  Can only our desires fulfil;
  Whence, the highest bliss, in my opinion,
  Must be in power and dominion.”

    Thus all their various sense exprest,
  And each advis’d what he thought best:
  But still what each as best esteem’d
  Was by the next that spoke condemn’d:
  Meanwhile the savage monarch sate,
  Attentive to the warm debate;
  The nature saw, without disguise,
  Of every beast in his advice.
  But soon the disputants grew rude,
  Confusion, noise, tumultuous feud
  Enrage the jarring multitude.
  Till weary’d out, the royal beast
  Thus spoke, and silenc’d all the rest:

    “Cease, cease your vain contention, cease
  Your shallow schemes of happiness;
  Which only have confirm’d me more,
  ’Tis where I thought it was before.
  Greatness is no establishment
  Of real bliss, or true content;
  Luxurious banquets soon disgust;
  We’re quickly pall’d with sensual lust:
  Virtue alone can give true joy;
  The sweets of virtue never cloy.
  To take delight in doing good,
  In justice, truth, and gratitude,
  In aiding those whom cares oppress,
  Administ’ring comfort to distress:
  These, these are joys which all who prove
  Anticipate the bliss above.
  These are the joys, and these alone
  We ne’er repent or wish undone.”
  He spoke; the beasts without delay
  Rose from their seats, and sneak’d away.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XX._

The Goat and Fox.

  Studious from diff’ring tales to show
  That virtue makes our bliss below,
  My warning voice to ev’ry heart,
  May ev’ry faithful ear impart;
  This one important truth believ’d,
  Who can by vice be still deceiv’d?
  Bliss is our aim, and bliss our end,
  And he who points the path, a friend.
    A Goat and Fox, by joint consent,
  Together once a journey went;
  With patient steps from morning’s dawn,
  They measur’d hill, and vale, and lawn;
  When Phœbus in the zenith rode,
  A cheerless, pathless waste they trod;
  The fainting wand’rers wide around,
  With sighs survey’d the burning ground;
  Again, and yet again they look,
  To find the welcome cooling brook;
  The welcome cooling brook in vain
  They sought around the sun-burnt plain.
  Onward they slowly pass, when lo!
  A pit—and water—deep below;
  Urg’d by a strong desire to drink,
  They both leap headlong from the brink.
  For appetite still foremost goes,
  Quite blind to all beyond its nose;
  And reason, impotently kind,
  A tardy friend, limps far behind.

    Now when our pair had drank amain,
  They thought of getting out again;
  And long with aching hearts they try’d,
  But this the steep ascent denied.
  Reynard at length the goat addrest,
  And thus his wily thought exprest:

    “Courage, my friend,—be rul’d by me,
  We’ll soon from this mischance be free;
  Here—of the pit the shallowest place,
  On your hind legs your body raise,
  And while thy horns my weight sustain,
  At one light bound the shore I’ll gain;
  And thence effectual aid can lend
  To save thee, too, my dearest friend?”—

    The Goat consents—and by his aid
  The Fox his leap successful made;
  His friend look’d up, well pleased no doubt,
  And deem’d himself as good as out;
  But the false Fox with barb’rous sneer,
  Cry’d, “Pox! how came you scrambling here?”
  The Goat reply’d, “Forbear to flout,
  Lest I should ask how you got out.”
  Said he, “Of that no doubt remains,
  You’d horns, my friend,—and I had brains,
  You wear that wisdom on your chin,
  Which I, more modest, hide within.
  We beasts of sprightly thought despise
  All who like thee look gravely wise—
  Improve these useful hints aright,
  You’ll profit much—and so good night.”

    This said, he titt’ring slunk away,
  The Goat remain’d to death a prey.
  In wonder lost, with horror chill’d,
  With anguish, indignation fill’d,
  The traitor-friend’s enormous guile,
  Engross’d his shudd’ring soul awhile;
  Awhile the wretched beast forgot
  His pity’d, helpless, hopeless lot;
  But after short suspense his woes
  Return’d—as the stem’d torrent flows,
  With trebled force—he scarce sustain’d
  The shock—and thus at length profan’d:
  “For ever let that maxim cease,
  ‘That virtue’s paths are paths of peace.’
  Where’s that reward which learned pride
  Boasts none from virtue can divide?
  Where the sure woes of various kinds,
  Which fate to vice for ever binds?
  Life, joy (or what could make him smile).
  The Fox obtains thro’ horrid guile;
  My life, my humble guiltless joys,
  At once a gen’rous trust destroys;
  Jove’s slumb’ring vengeance lets him fly,
  His goodness slumbers while I die.”

    A sylvan god who pass’d that way
  (Of old none wander’d more than they),
  By chance the rash impeachment heard,
  And instant on the brink appear’d.
  “Look up,” he cries, “no more despair,
  The help you wish prevents your prayer;
  Safe on the wish’d substantial plain,
  I’ll set thy dying feet again.
  The Fox with envy didst thou see?
  Henceforth thyself a Fox shalt be.—
  Thou shalt his prosp’rous vice possess,
  And taste a Fox’s happiness.”

    The thing was done as soon as said,
  A Fox, the Goat enfranchis’d, fled;
  But feels within his alter’d mind,
  His narrow’d love to self confin’d.
  No more from others good his breast
  The social joy serene possess’d;
  No more by kind compassion mov’d,
  His mercy is by foes approv’d.
  Now mutual wants, love’s band below,
  No means to fix a friend bestow;
  Unlov’d, unloving, deep in earth
  He gives his schemes of plunder birth.
  From injur’d man, his friend so late,
  He fears the stroke of potent hate;
  With grief looks back on periods past,
  His bloodless food, a blest repast!
  Which late he cropt in peace profound,
  With flocks, and herds, and men around;
  Yet now abhors that guiltless food,
  To rapine doom’d, and thirst of blood;
  And mourns the days (to this a slave)
  When heav’n a happier nature gave:
  “By dear experience now I know,
  That virtue’s only bliss below,”
  He, sighing, said, in sad despair,
  And thus prefers a falt’ring pray’r:
  “Ye gracious pow’rs who rule above!
  Who virtue and it’s vot’ries love!
  I see my fault, my fault repent,
  And own I ask’d the pains you sent.
  I now th’ unrighteous thought forego.
  That vice is bliss, and virtue woe:
  Oh! make me what I was again,
  Tho’ faint I tread the scorching plain;
  Tho’ with a faithless Fox I stray,
  Me tho’ again his wiles betray,
  Make me a goat, tho’ void of wit,
  You leave me dying in the pit:
  ’Tis better far than thus alone
  To live without one joy my own;
  For while the past my mind retains,
  My present pleasures are but pains.”

    He pray’d, to Jove the pray’r ascends;
  His ear to pray’rs like these He lends.
  “I (said the god) thy wish fulfil,
  Henceforth, be virtuous—if you will
  Be man—to him that pow’r I give;
  Go, and by past experience live.”
  Transform’d again with lifted eyes,
  The man his story thus applies:—

  “From what appears, how little do we know
  What others feel of happiness or woe!
  Is vice your envy when of health possess’d,
  With power, and pelf, and all externals blest?
  Know that amidst that health, and power and pelf,
  The thriving villain must abhor himself;
  For who can bear, tho’ desperately brave,
  The voice of conscience when it calls him knave?
  Or who so dull, without regret to miss
  Of conscious goodness the substantial bliss?
  Ask your own heart, and search thro’ all you know,
  Consult each various scene of life below,
  All, all this universal truth attest,
  The virtuous are, and can alone be blest.”

[Illustration]


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXI._

The Kite and Nightingale.

  I’ll try to mimic honest _Gay_,
  Who had a very decent way;
  A pleasant wight of simple sort,
  For ever filliping the court.
  Let courts be quiet, if they know
  The happy knack of being so.
  The pestilence flies everywhere,
  Almost indefinite as air:
  All places need the fanning breeze,
  To dissipate the rank disease.
  Vice—(not like beasts for show—confin’d)
  Runs mad at large, and bites mankind:
  Alike the taint infects the brain
  Of those that dwell in court and plain:
  The same wild fury acts the will
  In different ways, with different skill.

    A starving Kite, upon a bar
  (Worn out with long fatigues of war),
  Whose pointed claws, and hooked bill,
  Shew’d his profession was to kill,
  Thus grieving spoke in doleful strain:
  (Your heart will pity and disdain)—

    “How blind is everything on earth!
  And how injurious to my worth!
  Tho’ all the cote my sorrow see,
  No dove will help me with a pea:
  _Hob’s_ field they robb’d a month together,
  I never hurt a single feather;
  The lark, whom I secure to rest
  (I slew the snake that robb’d her nest),
  Will not a little worm supply;
  But would rejoice to see me die.
  No crow invites me to a treat,
  Tho’ what I kill’d he often eat.
  Man, were he grateful, would determine
  My merit in destroying vermin;
  And make me happy to the last,
  In justice to my service past.
  But man, that thankless wretch is he,
  Prefers yon Nightingale to me.”

    “Alas! (the Nightingale replies)
  I own my little merit lies
  In innocence and tender cares
  About my family affairs;
  Or chaunting soft a pretty tale,
  To please my neighbours of the vale;
  Perhaps we gratitude may want,
  Because you are too arrogant:
  Your worth, display’d with all your skill,
  Lies chiefly in omitting ill;
  And only then for want of power
  To seize the dove you would devour.
  There’s not a lark that flies, but knows
  You long to grasp her in your claws.
  The crow you never meant to treat;
  You left him what you could not eat;
  And man, who most a villain needs,
  Detests you for your wicked deeds.
  You pilfer duckling, game, and chicken,
  Which furnish man with dainty picking.
  There’s not a poacher roams the wood,
  But who would shoot you, if he could.”

    Just had he said; forth pops a spark,
  With gun and spaniel from the park;
  The Kite he kens, with levell’d gun,
  And brings the bloody boaster down.

    Thus justly villains are repaid,
  Who follow mischief as a trade:
  Who merit can pretend alone,
  When cruel work is to be done,
  To crush their kindred sort of men
  With sword, with halter, or with pen;
  Whose hollow merit is, at best,
  To seem the most, and be the least;
  Who own no right, pursue no guide,
  But only interest or pride;
  Or both together do prefer,
  To run most certainly to err.
  Such always claim beyond their due,
  And always think you wrong them too;
  Do all the wrong, yet most complain,
  Whene’er they spread the net in vain;
  Or bait a hook that fails to catch
  The simple trout for which they watch
  And innocence, with squint and frown,
  Condemn _for vices all their own_.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXII._

The Four Bulls.

  Friendship! source of bliss sedate,
  Best balm for all the wounds of fate!
  ’Tis thine the sinking heart to raise,
  When love retires, and health decays;
  Unmix’d with thy sublimer fire,
  Love’s but a fev’rish low desire,
  And ill the self-destroying flame
  Deserves that soft angelic name.

    Oh! could this verse, this fabling lay,
  Extend or but confirm thy sway!
  Or, warn’d by this, if only one
  Thy foes’ destructive arts shall shun!

    Since dangers rise with every sun,
  With ev’ry sand united run;
  Four Bulls, by mutual vows ally’d,
  The morrow’s unknown ills defy’d;
  As one they mov’d, they fought, they fed,
  And safety rose by union bred,
  Nor this alone the good they found,
  The private bliss of each went round;
  Hence doubly bless’d the gen’rous heart,
  Which scorns the bliss it can’t impart.
  From day to day the Lion came,
  But matters still appear’d the same:
  This smote his inmost soul with grief,
  For much he long’d for fav’rite beef;
  What can he do? he fears to wage
  Unequal war, and four engage.
  Thought follows thought—he finds in vain:
  Yet thought to thought succeeds again.
  Half-form’d resolves, and embryo schemes,
  And all the train of statesmen’s dreams,
  With conflict rude disturb his mind,
  To this nor that success inclin’d.
  Suspense presides with fluttering wings,
  From which she shakes a thousand stings.

    In this disastrous doubting case,
  The Fox appears—with thinking face;
  On him his royal master laid
  His load of care, secure of aid;
  Who paus’d a while with sober grace,
  Then thus refin’d upon the case:—

    Not things of moment most, I find,
  Have broke the union of the mind;
  Ev’n mere mistakes, that pet or pride
  Have made, the sacred band divide,
  And deepest enmities arise.
  From trifling things among the wise.
  In friendship, slight’s the deepest wound,
  And that is fancy’d more than found.
  These hints improv’d, our ends may gain,
  The Bulls divided, count ’em slain;
  The Lion, pleas’d, reply’d, he knew
  The Fox could forge a lie—or two;
  Which he opin’d, in points like this,
  Would not be very much amiss.

    Here wiser Reynard shook his head,
  And this would never do, he said:
  ’Tis ours to make these foolish elves,
  My lord, be liars to themselves:
  Suspicion rais’d, the very eye
  Will unsuspected gravely lie,
  And, when a friend it shall survey,
  Th’ idea of a foe display,
  As you shall see—— Away he flew,
  And, to the friends as near he drew,
  He smooth’d his brow, he coin’d a smile,
  And put on all the masks of guile.
  Then whispers one with friendly nod,
  “Mark, is not yon behaviour odd?
  The Bull must surely mean affront,
  His tail is next you—fie upon’t!
  How slighting that! and there’s another
  Can scarce some high resentment smother;
  He snorts, he paws, and fain would shew
  By vengeance whence his troubles flow.
  The third, how dull! regardless still,
  What fate you prove, or good or ill.”
  Appearance (treach’rous witness) here
  Confirms the sounds that cheat his ear;
  Suspicion soon alarm’d, and pride,
  At once, to self the whole apply’d.
  The Bull withdraws, resolv’d as due,
  They first for his return should sue.

    The Fox returns, and boasts his arts,
  And to his liege the truth imparts:
  “The Bull who turn’d his tail so rude,
  Meant only not his ear t’ intrude;
  And he that spurn’d so fierce the ground
  With anguish felt a hornet wound.
  The third, the downy turf who prest,
  Sought but the sweets of peaceful rest.
  But come, to his remote retreat
  I’ll guide my royal master’s feet.”
  They go; the victim mourns too late
  His absent friends and helpless state.
  And slain, the Fox exulting cries,
  “Not one but all shall be our prize.”

    Away he goes, and thus again
  Infus’d soft flatt’ry, deadly bane!
  “Great sir (says he to one), I swear
  Your friends are rude, indeed they are;
  Friendship a decent due respect
  Should, rather than destroy, protect.
  Superior far to these you rise,
  The wise affirm: we trust the wise;
  Your nobler port, your finer wit,
  All with united voice admit;
  And yet no just distinction’s made
  No deference shewn, no homage paid.
  I wonder at your choice, but here
  ’Tis silence best becomes my sphere,
  Tho’ might your slave presume to tell
  What all the forest thinks as well,
  These are perhaps the only Two
  With whom your worth would lose its due.”

    The Bull (how easy praise deceives!)
  With pleasure hears, with pride believes;
  Puts on the lofty looks and airs
  Which humble merit never wears.
  To treat him as an equal now
  Inflames his heart, contracts his brow
  ’Tis envy, or, ’tis worse, ’tis hate,
  Denies due honour to his state;
  He could not bear th’ affronts they gave,
  They break his peace, they make him rave;
  They lov’d and they rever’d, he thought,
  Less than the wretches knew they ought;
  And (as is usual) storm’d and swore
  That they might love and rev’rence more.
  His friends, alarm’d, in deep amaze
  On him, and on each other, gaze,
  Disgust, in either’s bosom bred,
  Was shewn as diff’ring tempers led,
  One bold and warm the taunts returns,
  And with contagious anger burns,
  Than this, not plagues are sooner caught,
  Nor with more dreadful evils fraught,
  The other, meek, in secret pines,
  And friends he could not keep resigns;
  Resigns, tho’ late, with yearning heart,
  And mourns persuasion’s useless art.
  Retiring now he leaves the fray,
  The Fox still mark’d his pensive way,
  The Lion found and seiz’d his prize,
  And, like the first, the second dies.

    The two who yet alive remain,
  In dreadful conflict shake the plain;
  The Fox observes the doubtful fight,
  One drops—he smiles with fell delight;
  Flies with the joyful news, and brings
  The King to take what’s now the King’s.
  Faint, breathless, bleeding on the ground,
  The hapless victor soon they found;
  He falls an unresisting prey,
  And crowns the triumphs of the day.

    This tale a sage once told his son,
  And thus apply’d it when he’d done:—

    “Do you, my child, with unsuspecting eye,
  O’erlook what others labour to descry;
  Kind to all faults, and to all failings blind,
  Be you the last to think affronts design’d.
  Cold seems thy friend?—by the severest laws
  Thy conduct try, to find the latent cause.
  Let thy heart pant for universal praise,
  Such as, unbrib’d, to virtue, virtue pays.
  Is this withheld? try ev’ry winning art
  To melt the hard, to soothe the froward heart.
  Sue for esteem—to all but fawning bend,
  Whom this will purchase is a worthless friend;
  But scorn the thought as vainest of the vain,
  That what good-nature loses, pride will gain.
  Less than your merit does your friend approve?
  Still merit more—his love constrain with love.
  This conduct try’d remains he still the same?
  Learn you to pity what the world will blame.
  The gen’ral censure, his neglect ensures,
  Thy honour brightens and thy praise secures.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIII._

The Pepper-Box and Salt-Cellar.

  The ’squire had din’d alone one day,
  And _Tom_ was call’d to _take away_:
  _Tom_ clear’d the board with dextrous art:
  But, willing to secure a tart,
  The liquorish youth had made an halt,
  And left the pepper-box and salt
  Alone upon the marble table:
  Who thus, like men, were heard to squabble.

    Pepper began, “Pray, sir,” says he,
  “What business have you here with me?
  Is’t fit that spices of my birth
  Should rank with thee, thou scum of earth?
  I’d have you know, sir, I’ve a spirit
  Suited to my superior merit—
  Tho’ now, confin’d within this caster,
  I serve a Northern Gothic master;
  Yet born in _Java’s_ fragrant wood,
  To warm an Eastern monarch’s blood,
  The sun those rich perfections gave me,
  Which tempted _Dutchmen_ to enslave me.

    “Nor are my virtues here unknown,
  Tho’ old and wrinkled now I’m grown.
  Black as I am, the fairest maid
  Invokes my stimulating aid,
  To give her food the poignant flavour,
  And, to each sauce, its proper savour.
  Pasties, ragouts, and fricassees,
  Without my seasoning, fail to please:
  ’Tis I, like wit, must give a zest,
  And sprightliness to ev’ry feast.

    “Physicians too my use confess;
  My influence sagest matrons bless;
  When drams prove vain, and cholics teaze,
  To me they fly for certain ease.
  Nay, I fresh vigour can dispense,
  And cure ev’n age and impotence:
  And when of dulness wits complain,
  I brace the nerves, and clear the brain.

    “But to the ’squire here, I appeal—
  He knows my real value well:
  Who, with one pepper-corn content,
  Remits the vassal’s annual rent—
  Hence then, Sir Brine, and keep your distance,
  Go lend the scullion your assistance;
  For culinary uses fit,
  To salt the meat upon the spit;
  Or just to keep our meat from stinking—
  And then—a special friend to drinking!”

  “Your folly moves me with surprise,”
  The silver tripod thus replies,
  “Pray, Master Pepper, why so hot?
  First cousin to the mustard-pot!
  What boots it how our life began?
  ’Tis breeding makes the Gentleman;
  Yet would you search my pedigree,
  I rose like Venus from the sea:
  The sun, whose influence you boast,
  Nurs’d me upon the British coast.

    “The chymists know my rank and place,
  When nature’s principles they trace:
  And wisest moderns yield to me
  The elemental monarchy.
  By me all nature is supply’d
  With all her beauty, all her pride!
  In vegetation I ascend;
  To animals their vigour lend;
  Corruption’s foe, I life preserve,
  And stimulate each slacken’d nerve.
  I give jonquils their high perfume;
  The peach its flavour, rose its bloom:
  Nay, I’m the cause, when rightly trac’d,
  Of Pepper’s aromatic taste.

    “Such claims you teach me to produce;
  But need I plead my obvious use,
  In seasoning all terrestrial food;
  When heaven declares, that Salt is good.

    “Grant then, some few thy virtues find;
  Yet Salt gives health to all mankind:
  Physicians sure will side with me,
  While cooks alone shall plead for thee:
  In short, with all thine airs about thee,
  The world were happier far without thee.”

    The ’squire, who all this time sat mute,
  Now put an end to their dispute:
  He rung the bell—bade Tom convey
  The doughty disputants away—

    The Salt, refresh’d by shaking up,
  At night did with his master sup:
  The Pepper, Tom assign’d his lot
  With vinegar, and mustard pot:
  A fop with bites and sharpers join’d,
  And, to the side-board, well confin’d.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXIV._

The Sheep and the Bramble-Bush.

  A thick-twisted brake in the time of a storm,
    Seem’d kindly to cover a sheep:
  So snug, for a while, he lay shelter’d and warm.
    It quietly sooth’d him asleep.

  The clouds are now scatter’d—the winds are at peace,
    The sheep’s to his pasture inclin’d;
  But ah! the fell thicket lays hold of his fleece,
    His coat is left forfeit behind.

  My friend, who the thicket of law never tried,
    Consider before you get in;
  Tho’ judgment and sentence are pass’d on your side,
    By Jove, you’ll be fleec’d to your skin.


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXV._

The Blackbird and Bullfinch.

  Perch’d on a poplar’s verdant spray,
  A Blackbird sung the hours away;
  Charm’d all around, and seem’d to call
  On echo from his Lordship’s hall.
  Confin’d in state a Bullfinch there,
  The melting music chanc’d to hear—
  Bursting with envy, silence broke,
  And thus from gilded cage he spoke:—

    “Cease, bungler, thy discordant noise,
  Untun’d thy throat, and harsh thy voice;
  How dar’st thou, vagrant, as thou art,
  To me thy dissonance impart?
  Know’st thou I sing by studied rules,
  And brag the learning of the schools?
  Soft rapture to the heart convey,
  And charm the list’ning soul away?
  To please my Lord, and soothe his cares,
  I warble soft Italian airs;
  Which he in gratitude repays
  With costly food, and gen’rous praise:
  Whilst thou, condemn’d through air to rove,
  Or hide thee in the gloomy grove,
  To feebly suck thy beverage scant,
  And pine in endless care and want;
  To rocks and woods thy tale belongs,
  Fit audience for thy stupid songs!
  Away! no more my palace dun,
  Or Dick, or Tom, shall fetch the gun.”

    He ceas’d—The fable bird returns
  (With rising scorn his bosom burns),
  “Thou little lordling, void of sense,
  Dar’st thou, imperious, warn me hence?
  Know, parasite, thy threats are nought,
  Nor boast thy cage too dearly bought:
  Above the frigid rules of art,
  ’Tis nature’s dictates I impart;
  Nor ever prostitute my lays,
  But grateful sing my Maker’s praise;
  Whilst echoing o’er the hills and plains,
  I cheer the nymphs and lab’ring swains;
  Whether the rising notes I swell,
  Or lightly load the passing gale;
  With bolder music fill the grove,
  Or gently call my mate to love:
  Whether the joys of summer sing,
  Or chant the beauties of the spring;
  The varied notes still new appear,
  And sweet transition charms the ear:
  Whilst thou, puff’d up with self-conceit,
  And idle thoughts of being great,
  Nor freedom canst thyself allow,
  Nor give to others what is due;
  But pedant-like, in pride, elate
  (With notions, as thy prison, strait),
  Think’st thou alone can urge the strain,
  Thy boasted learning then, how vain!
  Attend this truth, and know for once,
  That _learning ne’er unmade the dunce_.”


[Illustration]

_FABLE XXVI._

The Conceited Fly.

  ’Twas in the charming month of May
  (No matter, critics, for the day),
  When PHŒBUS had his noon attain’d,
  And in his blaze of glory reign’d;
  A FLY as gay as e’er was seen,
  Clad o’er in azure, jet, and green;
  Gay, for his part, as birthday beau,
  Whose soul is vanish’d into show;
  On PAUL’S famed temple chanc’d to light,
  To ease his long laborious flight:
  There, as his optics gaz’d around
  (An inch or two their utmost bound),
  He thus began:—“Men vainly tell
  How they in works of skill excel:
  This edifice they proudly show
  To prove what human art can do;
  ’Tis all a cheat—before my eyes
  What infinite disorders rise!
  HERE hideous cavities appear,
  And broken precipices THERE:
  They never us’d the plane or line,
  But jumbled heaps without design.”

    He ceas’d contemptuous;—and as FLIES
  Discern with microscopic eyes,
  From what he saw he reason’d right,
  But how inadequate the sight!
  To mark the building from its base,
  The pillar’d pomp, the sculptur’d grace,
  The dome, the cross, the golden ball,
  Much less the grand result of all!

    So impious WITS, with proud disdain,
  REDEMPTION’S hidden ways arraign,
  Deem it beneath a BEING wise,
  And, judging with their insect eyes,
  View but a part, and then deny
  Th’ ETERNAL WISDOM of the sky.
  But can thy ken, presumptuous man,
  Unfold this deep and wondrous plan?
  As well might insect organs see
  Th’ harmonious structure rais’d by thee,
  As thine imperfect tube explore
  This wise and gracious system o’er.


_FINIS._

[Illustration]




FOOTNOTES


[1] An impression is given in “Jackson,” at page 477 (Edition 1861,
Bohn). See also next page.

[2] Suidas.

[3] Alsop.

[4] Philostratus.

[5] Pliny.

[6] Priscian.

[7] Institut. Orat. i. c. 9.

[8] De Repub. Lib. ii.

[9] This alludes to the well-known Fable of _The Fox and the Grapes_,
which, however absurd it may appear in this part of the world, is not so
in the East, for Dr Hasselquist, in his Travels, p. 184, observes, that
“the Fox is an animal common in _Palestine_, and that there is plenty
of them near the convent of St John in the Desert about vintage time;
and they destroy all the vines unless they are strictly watched.” To the
same effect _Solomon_ saith in the _Canticles_, ii. 15, “_Take us the
Foxes, the little Foxes that spoil the vines: for our vines have tender
grapes._” Therefore this ancient Apologue is very properly restored,
without prejudice to nature or common sense.

[10] The Lion.




THE INDEX.

                                              PAGE

                     PART I.

    _Ass and his Master_                        25
    _Ant and Caterpillar_                       52
    _Bee and the Fly_                           11
    _Bear and the Bees_                         31
    _Bear and Two Friends_                      33
    _Belly and the Limbs_                       37
    _Beggar and his Dog_                        61
    _Blind Man and Lame_                        47
    _Boy and the Nettle_                        60
    _Butterfly and the Rose_                     4
    _Clock and the Dial_                         5
    _Country Maid and the Milk-Pail_             8
    _Daw with borrowed Feathers_                40
    _Dog and the Crocodile_                     23
    _Eagle and the Crow_                        27
    _Eagle and the Owl_                         43
    _Fortune and School-boy_                    36
    _Fox and the Bramble_                        3
    _Fox and the Stork_                         63
    _Genius, Virtue, and Reputation_            15
    _Hermit and the Bear_                       18
    _Huron and Frenchman_                       12
    _Industry and Sloth_                        16
    _Jupiter’s Lottery_                         54
    _Lion and the Gnat_                         22
    _Lion, Bear, Monkey, and Fox_               48
    _Lion and the Ass_                          29
    _Lion, Tiger, and Fox_                      28
    _Miller, his Son, and Ass_                   1
    _Mock-bird_                                 51
    _Oak and the Willow_                        32
    _Partial Judge_                             20
    _Passenger and Pilot_                       19
    _Sick Lion, Fox, and Wolf_                  45
    _Snipe Shooter_                             56
    _Spider and Silkworm_                       10
    _Sun and the Wind_                          59
    _Tortoise and Two Crows_                     7
    _Trees and the Bramble_                     65
    _Trumpeter_                                 30
    _Two Horses_                                49
    _Two Dogs_                                  57
    _Trouts and Gudgeon_                        58
    _Two Lizards_                               53
    _Wasps and the Bees_                        35
    _Wolf in Disguise_                          24
    _Wolf and the Lamb_                         39
    _Wolf and Shepherds_                        42

                    PART II.

    _Age to be Honoured_                       164
    _Ant and Fly_                               79
    _Ants and Grasshopper_                     130
    _Ass, Ape, and Mole_                        76
    _Bald Cavalier_                            132
    _Boar and Fox_                             140
    _Boy and False Alarms_                      91
    _Boy and his Mother_                       218
    _Brother and Sister_                       172
    _Cat and Fox_                              201
    _City Mouse and Country Mouse_              69
    _Cock and the Jewel_                        67
    _Cock and Fox_                             161
    _Collier and Fuller_                       216
    _Countryman and Snake_                     100
    _Countryman and Ass_                       148
    _Crow and Pitcher_                         180
    _Discontented Ass_                         142
    _Dog and the Shadow_                        87
    _Dog, Cock, and Fox_                       128
    _Dog and Cat_                              134
    _Dog and Sheep_                            209
    _Dog and Bee_                              214
    _Eagle, Cat, and Sow_                      158
    _Father and his Sons_                       93
    _Fir and Bramble_                          106
    _Fox and the Crow_                          73
    _Fox and Countryman_                       109
    _Fox and Ass_                              138
    _Fox and Ape_                              153
    _Fox and Grapes_                           182
    _Fox that had lost his Tail_               117
    _Gnat and Bee_                             102
    _Hares and the Frogs_                       76
    _Hercules and Carter_                      192
    _Horse and Ass_                             82
    _Husbandman and Stork_                      85
    _Impertinent and Philosopher_              136
    _Joy and Sorrow_                           150
    _Jupiter and Herdsman_                     224
    _Mercury and Woodman_                      104
    _Mice in Council_                          175
    _Mountains in Labour_                      186
    _Old Man and Death_                        177
    _Old Hound_                                204
    _One-eyed Stag_                            111
    _Peacock and Crane_                         89
    _Proud Frog_                               211
    _Satyr and Traveller_                      155
    _Seamen Praying to Saints_                 115
    _Sick Father and Children_                  95
    _Sick Kite_                                195
    _Scoffer Punished_                         120
    _Shepherd and Young Wolf_                  119
    _Sparrow and Hare_                         199
    _Splenetic Traveller_                      166
    _Stag looking into the Water_               97
    _Swan and Stork_                           123
    _Swallow and Spider_                       126
    _Thief and Dog_                            190
    _There’s no To-morrow_                     226
    _Two Frogs_                                188
    _Two Pots_                                 197
    _Two Young Men and Cook_                   206
    _Undutiful Young Lion_                     146
    _Viper and File_                           184
    _Wanton Calf_                              221
    _Young Man and Swallow_                    169

                    PART III.

    _Angler and Philosopher_                   276
    _Ant and Grasshopper_                      231
    _Bears and Bees_                           269
    _Beau and Butterfly_                       267
    _Blackbird and Bullfinch_                  304
    _Butterfly and Boy_                        239
    _Camelion_                                 250
    _Caterpillar and Butterfly_                257
    _Cuckoo Traveller_                         229
    _Four Bulls_                               293
    _Conceited Fly_                            306
    _Goat and Fox_                             284
    _Hounds in Couples_                        241
    _King-Dove_                                247
    _Kite and Nightingale_                     290
    _Lion and other Beasts in Council_         278
    _Pepper-box and Salt-cellar_               299
    _Philosopher and Glow-worm_                274
    _Sheep and Bramble-bush_                   303
    _Sow and Peacock_                          244
    _The Nightingale_                          235
    _Two Foxes_                                237
    _Three Warnings_                           253
    _Trees_                                    271
    _Two Doves_                                263
    _Wolf and Dog_                             233

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