Thou blind to fenfe, and vile of mind,

Th' exafperated Shade rejoin'd,

If virtue from the world is flown,
Will others' frauds excuse thy own?

For fickly fouls the priest was made;
Phyficians, for the body's aid;
The foldier guarded liberty;
Man woman, and the lawyer me.
If all are faithlefs to their trust,
They leave not thee the lefs unjust.
Henceforth your pleadings I disclaim,
And bar the fanétion of my name;
Within your courts it shall be read,
That Juftice from the law is fled.

1

She spoke; and hid in fhades her face, Fill HARDWICK footh'd her into grace,

FABLE IX.

THE FARMER, THE SPANIEL, AND THE CAT.

WH

HY knits my dear her angry brow?
What rude offence alarms you now?

I faid, that Delia's fair, 'tis true,
But did I fay the equall'd you?
Can't I another's face commend,
Or to her virtues be a friend,
But inftantly your forehead lours,
As if her merit leffen'd yours?
From female envy never free,
All must be blind, because you fee.

Survey the gardens, fields, and bow'rs,
The buds, the bloffoms, and the flow'rs,
Then tell me where the woodbine grows,
That vies in sweetness with the rofe?
Or where the lily's snowy white,
That throws fuch beauties on the fight?
Yet folly is it to deciare,

That thefe are neither fweet, nor fair.
The crystal shines with fainter rays,
Before the di'mond's brighter blaze;
And fops will fay, the di'mond dies,
Before the luftre of your eyes:
But I, who deal in truth, deny
That neither fhine when you are by.

When zephirs o'er the blossoms stray,
And fweets along the air convey,
Sha'n't I the fragrant breeze inhale,
Because you breathe a fweeter gale?

Sweet are the flow'rs, that deck the field;
Sweet is the smell the bloffoms yield;
Sweet is the fummer gale that blows;
And fweet, tho' fweeter you, the rose.
Shall envy then torment your breast,
If you are lovelier than the reft?
For while I give to each her due,
By praifing them I flatter you;
And praifing moft, I still declare
You faireft, where the reft are fair.

AS at his board a farmer fate, Replenish'd by his homely treat, His fav'rite Spaniel near him ftood, And with his mafter fhar'd the food; The crackling bones his jaws devour'd, His lapping tongue the trenchers fcour'd; 'Till fated now, fupine he lay, And fnor'd the rifing fumes away.

The hungry cat in turn, drew near,
And humbly crav'd a fervant's share;
Her modeft worth the Mafter knew,
And straight the fatt'ning morfel threw :
Enrag'd the fnarling Cur awoke,
And thus, with spiteful envy, fpoke.
They only claim a right to eat,
Who earn by fervices their meat.
Me, zeal and industry inflame

To fcour the fields, and fpring the game;
Or, plunging in the wintry wave,
For man the wounded bird to fave.
With watchful diligence I keep,
From prowling wolves, his fleecy sheep;
At home his midnight hours fecure,
And drive the robber from the door.
For this, his breast with kindness glows;
For this, his hand the food bestows;
And fhall thy indolence impart
A warmer friendship to his heart,
That thus he robs me of my due,
To pamper fuch vile things as you?

I own (with meeknefs Pufs reply'd)
Superior merit on your fide;
Nor does my breast with envy fwell,
To find it recompens'd fo well;
Yet I, in what my nature can,
Contribute to the good of man.
Whose claws deftroy the pilf'ring mouse?
Who drives the vermin from the house?
Or, watchful for the lab'ring fwain,
From lurking rats fecures the grain?
From hence, if he rewards beftow,
Why fhould your heart with gall o'erflow?
Why pine my happiness to fee,
Since there's enough for you and me ?

Thy words are juft, the Farmer cry'd, And fpurn'd the fnarler from his fide.

HE nymph, who walks the public streets, And fets her cap at all the meets,

ΤΗ

May catch the fool who turns to stare,
But men of fenfe avoid the fnare.

As on the margin of the flood,
With filken line, my Lydia ftood,
I fmil'd to fee the pains you took,
To cover o'er the fraudful hook.
Along the foreft as we stray'd

You faw the boy his lime-twigs spread;
Guefs'd you the reafon of his fear,
Left, heedlefs, we approach'd too near?
For as behind the bush we lay,
The linnet flutter'd on the spray.

Needs there fuch caution to delude
The fcaly fry, and feather'd brood?
And think you, with inferior art,
To captivate the human heart?

The maid, who modeftly conceals Her beauties, while fhe hides, reveals. Give but a glimpfe, and fancy draws Whate'er the Grecian Venus was. From Eve's firft fig-leaf to brocade, All drefs was meant for fancy's aid,

7

Which evermore delighted dwells
On what the bashful nymph conceals.
When Cælia ftruts in man's attire,
She fhews too much to raise defire;
But from the hoop's bewitching round,
Her very fhoe has power to wound.

The roving eye, the bofom bare,
The forward laugh, the wanton air,
May catch the fop; for gudgeons strike
At the bare hook, and bait, alike;
While falmon play regardless by,
"Till art, like nature, forms the fly.

BENEATH a peafant's homely thatch,
A Spider long had held her watch;
From morn to night, with restless care,
She fpun her web, and wove her fnare.
Within the limits of her reign,
Lay many a heedlefs captive flain,
Or flutt'ring, struggled in the toils,
To burst the chains, and fhun her wiles.
A ftraying Bee, that perch'd hard by,
Beheld her with disdainful eye,

And thus began. Mean thing, give o'er,
And lay thy flender threads no more;
A thoughtless fly or two, at most,
Is all the conqueft thou canst boast;
For bees of fenfe thy arts evade,
We fee fo plain the nets are laid.

The gaudy tulip, that displays
Her fpreading foliage to the gaze;
That points her charms at all the fees,
And yields to every wanton breeze,
Attracts not me: where blushing grows,
Guarded with thorns, the modest rose,
Enamour'd, round and round I fly,
Or on her fragrant bosom lie;
Reluctant, fhe my ardour meets,
And bashful, renders up her sweets.

To wifer heads attention lend, And learn this leffon from a friend. She, who with modesty retires, Adds fewel to her lover's fires, While fuch incautious jilts as you, By folly your own schemes undo.

FABLE XI.

THE YOUNG LION, AND THE APE.

IS true, I blame your lover's choice,

"Though flatter'd by the public voice,

And peevish grow, and fick, to hear
His exclamations, O how fair!

I liften not to wild delights,
And transports of expected nights:
What is to me your hoard of charms?
The whiteness of your neck and arms?
Needs there no acquifition more,
To keep contention from the door?
Yes; pafs a fortnight, and you'll find,
All beauty cloys, but of the mind.

Senfe and good-humour ever prove
The fureft cords to faften love.
Yet, Phillis, fimpleft of your fex,
You never think but to perplex,

Coquetting it with every ape,
That ftruts abroad in human fhape;
Not that the coxcomb is your taste,
But that it ftings your lover's breast:
To-morrow you refign the fway,
Prepar'd to honour, and obey,
The tyrant-mistress change for life,
To the fubmiffion of a wife.

Your follies, if you can, fufpend,
And learn inftruction from a friend.
Reluctant, hear the first addrefs,
Think often, ere you answer, yes;
But once refolv'd, throw off disguise,
And wear your wishes in your eyes.
With caution every look forbear,
That might create one jealous fear,
A lover's ripening hopes confound,
Or give the gen'rous breaft a wound.
Contemn the girlish arts to teaze,
Nor use your pow'r, unless to please ;
For fools alone with rigour sway,
When foon, or late, they must obey.

THE King of brutes, in life's decline, Refolv'd dominion to refign; The beafts were fummon'd to appear, And bend before the royal heir. They came; a day was fix'd; the crowd Before their future monarch bow'd.

A dapper Monkey, pert and vain, Stepp'd forth, and thus addrefs'd the train. Why cringe my friends with flavish awe, Before this pageant king of ftraw? Shall we anticipate the hour, And ere we feel it, own his pow'r ? The counfels of experience prize, I know the maxims of the wife; Subjection let us caft away, And live the monarchs of to-day; 'Tis ours the vacant hand to spurn, And play the tyrant each in turn. So fhall he right from wrong difcern, And mercy from oppression learn ; At others' woes be taught to melt, And loath the ills himself has felt.

He fpoke; his bofom swell'd with pride. The youthful Lion thus reply'd.

What madness prompts thee to provoke My wrath, and dare th' impending ftroke? Thou wretched fool! can wrongs impart Compaffion to the feeling heart? Or teach the grateful breast to glow, The hand to give, or eye to flow? Learn'd in the practice of their schools, From women thou haft drawn thy rules: To them return; in fuch a cause, From only fuch expe&t applause; The partial fex I not condemn, For liking those, who copy them.

Would't thou the gen'rous Lion bind, By kindness bribe him to be kind; Good offices their likeness get, And payment leffens not the debt; With multiplying hand he gives The good, from others he receives : Or for the bad makes fair return, And pays with int'reft, fcorn for scorn.

FABLE XII.

THE COLT AND THE FARMER.

ELL me, Corinna, if you can,

Did nature, lavish of her care,
From her beft pattern form you fair,
That you, ungrateful to her caufe,
Should mock her gifts, and fpurn her laws?
And mifer-like, with-hold that store,
Which, by imparting, bleffes more?
Beauty's a gift, by heav'n affign'd,
The portion of the female kind;
For this the yielding maid demands
Protection at her lover's hands;
And though by wafting years it fade,
Remembrance tells him, once 'twas paid.
And will you then this wealth conceal,
For age to ruft, or time to fteal?
The fummer of your youth to rove,
A ftranger to the joys of love?
Then, when life's winter haftens on,
And youth's fair heritage is gone,
Dow'rlefs to court fome peafant's arms,
To guard your wither'd age from harms;
No gratitude to warm his breast,
For blooming beauty, once poffefs'd;
How will you curfe that ftubborn pride,
Which drove your bark across the tide,
And failing before folly's wind,
Left fenfe and happiness behind?
Corinna, left thefe whims prevail,
To fuch as you, I write my tale..

A COLT, for blood, and mettled fpeed,

The choiceft of the running breed,

Of youthful strength, and beauty vain,
Refus'd fubjection to the rein.

In vain the groom's officious skill

Oppos'd his pride, and check'd his will;

In vain the mafter's forming care

Reftrain'd with threats, or footh'd with pray'r;
Of freedom proud, and scorning man,
Wild o'er the fpacious plains he ran.
Where-e'er luxuriant nature spread
Her flow'ry carpet o'er the mead,
Or bubbling streams foft-gliding pass,
To cool and freshen up the grafs,
Difdaining bounds, he cropp'd the blade,
And wanton'd in the fpoil he made.
In plenty thus the fummer pass'd,
Revolving winter came at last;
The trees no more a shelter yield,
The verdure withers from the field,
Perpetual fnows inveft the ground,
In icy chains the streams are bound;
Cold, nipping winds, and rattling hail,
His lank, unfhelter'd fides affail.

As round he caft his rueful eyes,
He faw the thatch'd-roof cottage rife;
The profpect touch'd his heart with cheer,
And promis'd kind deliv'rance near.
A ftable, erft his fcorn and hate,
Was now become his wifh'd retreat ;
VOL. VII.

His paffion cool, his pride forgot,
A Farmer's welcome yard he fought.
The Master saw his woeful plight,
His limbs, that totter'd with his weight,
And, friendly, to the ftable led,
And faw him litter'd, drefs'd, and fed.
In flothful ease, all night he lay;
The fervants rofe at break of day';
The market calls. Along the road,
His back must bear the pond'rous load;
In vain he struggles, or complains,
Inceffant blows reward his pains.
To-morrow varies but his toil;
Chain'd to the plough, he breaks the foil;
While fcanty meals, at night repay
The painful labours of the day.

Subdu'd by toil, with anguifh rent,
His felf-upbraidings found a vent.
Wretch that I am! he fighing faid,
By arrogance and folly led,

Had but my reftive youth been brought
To learn the lesson nature taught,
Then had I, like my fires of yore,
The prize from every courfer bore;
While man beftów'd rewards, and praise,
And females crown'd my latter days.
Now lasting fervitude's my lot,
My birth contemn'd, my speed forgot,
Doom'd am I, for my pride, to bear
A living death, from year to year.

FABLE XIII.

THE OWL, AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

T

O know the mistress' humour right,

See if her maids are clean, and tight;

If Betty waits without her stays,

She copies but her lady's ways.

When mifs comes in with boift'rous fhout,
And drops no curtly going out,
Depend upon 't, mamma is one,
Who reads, or drinks too much alone.
If bottled beer her thirst asswage,
She feels enthusiastic rage,
And burns with ardour to inherit
The gifts, and workings of the spirit.
If learning crack her giddy brains,
No remedy, but death, remains. ́
Sum up the various ills of life,
And all are sweet, to such a wife.
At home, fuperior wit fhe vaunts,
And twits her husband with his wants;
Her ragged offspring all around,
Like pigs, are wallowing on the ground;
Impatient ever of controul,

She knows no order, but of foul;
With books her litter'd floor is fpread,
Of nameless authors, never read;
Foul linen, petticoats, and lace
Fill up the intermediate space.

D

Abroad, at vifitings, her tongue Is never ftill and always wrong; All meanings the defines away,

And ftands, with truth and sense, at bay.
If e'er the meets a gentle heart,
Skill'd in the housewife's useful art,
Who makes her family her care,
And builds contentment's temple there,
She starts at fuch mistakes in nature,

And cries, Lord help us! what a creature!
Meliffa, if the moral strike,
You'll find the fable not unlikė.

AN Owl, puff'd up with felf-conceit,
Lov'd learning better than his meat j
Old manufcripts he treafur'd up,
And rummag'd every grocer's fhóp;
At pastry-cooks was known to ply,
And strip, for fcience, every pye.
For modern poetry and wit,
He had read all that Blackmore writ;
So intimate with Curl was grown,
His learned treasures were his own ;
To all his authors had accefs,
And fometimes would correct the prefs.
In logic he acquir'd fuch knowledge,
You'd fwear him fellow of a college;
Alike to every art, and science,
His daring genius bid defiance,

And fwallow'd wisdom, with that hafte,
That cits do custards at á feaft.

Within the shelter of a wood,

One ev'ning, as he mufing stood,
Hard by, upon a leafy fpray,
A Nightingale began his lay."
Sudden he starts, with anger ftung,
And, fcreeching, interrupts the fong.
Pert, bufy thing, thy airs give oʻer,
And let my contemplations foar.
What is the music of thy voice,
But jarring diffonance, and noife?
Be wife. True harmony, thou'lt find,
Not in the throat, But in the mind;
By empty chirping not attain'd,
But by laborious ftudy gain'd.
Go read the authors Pope explodes,
Fathom the depth of Cibber's odes,
With modern plays improve thy wit,
Read all the learning Henley writ;
And, it thou needs muft fing, fing then,
And emulate the ways of men
So fhalt thou grow, like me, fefin'd,
And bring improvement to thy kind.

Thou wretch, the little Warbler cry'd,
Made up of ignorance, and pride,
Afk all the birds, and they'll declare,
A greater blockhead wings not air.
Read o'er thyfelf, thy talents fean,
Science was only meant for man.
No ufelefs authors me maleft,
I mind the duties of my neft ;)
With careful wing protect my young,
And chear their ev'nings with a fong.
Thus, following nature, and her laws,
From men, and birds I claim applaufe;
While, nurs'd in pedantry, and floth,
An Owl is fcorn'd alike by both.

When pleasure, ever on the wing,
Return'd, companion of the spring,
And cheer'd the birds with am'rous heat
Inftructing little hearts to beat ;

A Sparrow, frolic, gay, and young,
Of bold addrefs, and flippant tongue,
Juft left his lady of a night,
Like him, to follow new delight.

The youth, of many a conqueft vain,
Flew off to feek the chirping train;
The chirping train he quickly found,
And with a faucy ease, bow'd round.
For every fhe his bofom burns,
And this, and that he wooes by turns ;
And here a figh, and there a bill,
And here thofe eyes, fo form'd to kill!
And now, with ready tongue, he ftrings
Unmeaning, foft, refiftlefs things;
With vows, and dem-me's skill'd to woo,
As other pretty feHows do.

Not that he thought this short effay
A prologue needful to his play;

No, trust me, fays our learned letter,
He knew the virtuous fex much better;
But these he held as fpecious arts,
To fhew his own fuperior parts,
The form of decency to shield,
And give a just pretence to yield.

Thus finishing his courtly play,
He mark'd the fav'rite of the day;
With carelefs impudence drew near,
And whisper'd Hebrew in her ear;
A hint, which like the mafon's fign,
The confeious can alone divine.

The flutt'ring nymph, expert at feigning, Cry'd, Sir!-pray Sir, explain your meaningGo prate to thofe, that may endure ye To me this rudeness!-I'll affure ye !~ Then off the glided, like a fwallow, As faying-you guess where to follow. To fuch as know the party fet, Tis heedlefs to declare they met ; The parfon's barn, as authors mention, Confefs'd the fair had apprehenfion." Her honour there fecure from stain, She held all farther trifling vain, No more affected to be coy, But rufh'd, licentious, on the joy.

3

Hist, love! the male companion cry'd, Retire a while; I fear we're spy'd. Nor was the caution vain; he faw A Turtle, rustling in the ftraw, While o'er her callow brood the hung, And fondly thus addrefs'd her young." Ye tender objects of my care! Peace, peace, ye little helpiefs pair! Anon he comes; your gentle fire, And brings you all your hearts require. For us, his infants, and his bride, For us with only love to guide,

Curled affumes an eagle's fpeed, And like a bon, dares to bleed. Net by wintry skies confin'd, He mounts upon the rudest wind, Fra danger tears the vital spoil, And with affection fweetens toil.

A cafe, too vent'rous! cease to dare,
In thine, our dearer fafety spare!
From him, ye cruel falcons, ftray,
And turn, ye fowlers, far away!

Should I furvive to fee the day,
That tears me from myself away,
That cancels all that heav'n could give,
The lift, by which alone I live,
Alas, how more than loft were I,
Whe, in the thought, already die!

Ye pow'rs, whom men, and birds obey,
Great rulers of your creatures, say,
Why mourning comes, by blifs convey'd,
And ev'n the fweets of love allay'd?
Where grows enjoyment, tall, and fair,
Around it twines entangling care;
While fear for what our fouls poflefs,
Enervates every pow'r to bless;
Yet friendship forms the blifs above,
And, life! what art thou, without love?
Our hero, who had heard apart,
Feit fomething moving in his heart,
But quickly, with difdain, fupprefs'd
The virtue, rifing in his breast;
And firft he feign'd to laugh aloud,
And next, approaching, fmil'd and bow'd.
Madam, you must not think me rude ;
Good-manners never can intrude;
I vow I come through pure good-nature-
Upon my foul a charming creature!)
Are there the comforts of a wife?
This careful, cloister'd, mopeing life?
No doubt, that odious thing call'd duty,
ha fweet province for a beauty.
Thou pretty ignorance! thy will
Is meafur'd to thy want of skill;

That good old-fafhion'd dame, thy mother,
Has taught thy infant years no other.

The greatest ill in the creation,
Is fure the want of education.

But think ye?tell me without feigning,
Have all thefe charms no farther meaning?
Dame nature, if you don't forget her,
Might teach your ladyship much better.
For fhame, reject this mean employment,
Enter the world, and tafte enjoyment;
Where time by circling blifs we measure ;
Beauty was form'd alone for pleasure:
Come, prove the bleffing, follow me,
Be wife, be happy, and be free.
Kind Sir, reply'd our matron chaste,
Tour zeal feems pretty much in hafte;
n, the fondness to be blefs'd

ba deep thirst in every breast ;

O bleffings too I have my ftore,

Yet quarrel not, fhould heav'n give' more;

Then prove the change to be expedient,

And think me, Sir, your most obedient.

Here turning, as to one inferior, Our gallant fpoke, and fmil'd fuperior, Methinks to quit your boasted station Requires a world of hesitation ;

i

Where brats, and bonds are held a blessing,
The cafe, I doubt, is past redressing.
Why, child, fuppofe the joys I mention,
Were the mere fruits of my invention,
You've cause fufficient for your carriage,
In flying from the curfe of marriage;
That fly decoy, with vary'd snares,
That takes your widgeon in by pairs;
Alike to hafband, and to wife,
The cure of love, and bane of life;
The only method of forecafting,
To make misfortune firm, and lasting;
The fin, by heav'n's peculiar fentence,
Unpardon'd through a life's repentance.
It is the double snake, that weds
A common tail to diff'rent heads,
That lead the carcafs ftill aftray,
By dragging each a diff'rent way.
Of all the ills, that may attend me,
From marriage, mighty gods, defend me!
Give Me frank nature's wild demesne,
And boundless tract of air ferene,
Where fancy, ever wing'd for change,
Delights to fport, delights to range;
There, Liberty! to thee is owing
Whate'er of blifs is worth bestowing;
Delights, ftill vary'd, and divine,
Sweet goddess of the hills! are thine.

What fay you now, you pretty pink you?
Have I, for once, spoke reason, think you?
You take me now for no romancer-
Come, never study for an answer;
Away, caft every care behind ye,
And fly where joy alone fhall find ye.

Soft yet, return'd our female fencer,
A queftion more, or fo-and then, Sir.
You've rally'd me with fenfe exceeding,
With much fine wit, and better breeding;
But pray, Sir, how do you contrive it?
Do thofe of your world never wive it?
"No, no. How then? "Why, dare I tell,

"What does the business full as well."
Do you ne'er love? "An hour at leifure."
Have you no friendships?" Yes, for pleasure."
No care for little ones? "We get 'em,
"The reft the mothers mind, and let 'em."
Thou wretch, rejoin'd the kindling Dove,
Quite loft to life, as loft to love!
Whene'er misfortune comes, how just!
And come misfortune surely must;
In the dread season of difmay,

In that, your hour of trial, say,
Who then thall prop your finking heart?
Who bear affliction's weightier part?

Say, when the black-brow'd welkin bends,
And winter's gloomy form impends,
To mourning turns all tranfient cheer,

And blafts the melancholy year;

For times, at no persuasion, stay,
Nor vice can find perpetual May;

Then where's that tongue, by folly fed,
That foul of pertnefs, whither filed?
All fhrunk within thy lonely neft,
Forlorn, abandon'd, and unblefs'd;
No friend, by cordial bonds ally'd,
Shall feek thy cold, unfucial fide;
No chirping prattlers, to delight
Shall turn the long-enduring night;