University of Virginia Library

By all the sages 'tis confest
That hope when moderate is best:
But when indulg'd beyond due measure
It yields a vain deceitful pleasure,
Which cheats the simple, and betrays
To mischief in a thousand ways:
Just hope assists in all our toils,
The wheels of industry it oils;
In great attempts the bosom fires,
And zeal and constancy inspires.
False hope, like a deceitful dream,
Rests on some visionary scheme,
And keeps us idle to our loss,
Inchanted with our hands across.

A Tale an ancient Bard has told
Of two poor Fishermen of old,
Their names were (lest I should forget
And put the reader in a pet,
Lest critics too shou'd make a pother)
The one Asphelio, Gripus t'other.
The men were very poor, their trade
Cou'd scarce afford them daily bread:
Tho' ply'd with industry and care
Thro' the whole season, foul and fair.
Upon a rock their cottage stood,
On all sides bounded by the flood:
It was a miserable seat,
Like cold and hunger's worst retreat:
And yet it serv'd them both for life,
As neither cou'd maintain a wife;
Two walls were rock, and two were sand,
Ramm'd up with stakes and made to stand.
A roof hung threat'ning o'er their heads
Of boards half-rotten, thatch'd with reeds.
And as no thief e'er touch'd their store,
A hurdle serv'd them for a door.
Their beds were leaves; against the wall
A sail hung drying, yard and all.
On one side lay an old patch'd wherry,
Like Charon's on the Stygian ferry:
On t'other, baskets and a net,
With sea-weed foul and always wet.
These sorry instruments of trade
Were all the furniture they had:
For they had neither spit nor pot,
Unless my author has forgot.

Once some few hours ere break of day,
As in their hut our Fishers lay,
The one awak'd and wak'd his neighbour,
That both might ply their daily labour;
For cold and hunger are confest
No friends to indolence or rest.

Friend, quoth the drowsy swain, and swore,
What you have done has hurt me more
Than all your service can repay
For years to come by night and day;
You've broke—the thought on't makes me mad—
The finest dream that e'er I had.

Quoth Gripus: Friend your speech wou'd prove
You mad indeed, or else in love;
For dreams shou'd weigh but light with those
Who feel the want of food and cloths:
I guess, tho' simple and untaught,
You dream'd about a lucky draught,
Or money found by chance: they say,
That “hungry foxes dream of prey.”

You're wond'rous shrewd, upon my troth,
Asphelio cry'd, and right in both:
My dream had gold in't, as you said,
And fishing too, our constant trade;
And since your guess has hit so near,
In short, the whole on't you shall hear.

“Upon the shore I seem'd to stand,
My rod and tackle in my hand;
The baited hook full oft I threw,
But still in vain, I nothing drew:
A fish at last appear'd to bite,
The cork div'd quickly out of sight,
And soon the dipping rod I found
With something weighty bent half round:
Quoth I, Good luck has come at last,
I've surely made a happy cast:
This fish, when in the market sold,
In place of brass will sell for gold:
To bring it safe within my reach,
I drew it softly to the beach:
But long ere it had come so near
The water gleam'd with something clear;
Each passing billow caught the blaze,
And glitt'ring shone with golden rays.
Of hope and expectation full
Impatient, yet afraid to pull,
To shore I slowly brought my prize,
A golden fish of largest size:
'Twas metal all from head to tail,
Quite stiff and glitt'ring ev'ry scale.
Thought I, my fortune now is made;
'Tis time to quit the fishing trade,
And choose some other, where the gains
Are sure, and come for half the pains.
Like creatures of amphibious nature
One hour on land and three in water;
We live 'midst danger, toil and care,
Yet never have a groat to spare:
While others, not expos'd to harm,
Grow rich, tho' always dry and warm;
This treasure will suffice, and more,
To place me handsomly on shore,
In some snug manor; now a swain,
My steers shall turn the furrow'd plain,
While on a mountain's grassy side
My flocks are past'ring far and wide:
Beside all this, I'll have a seat
Convenient, elegant and neat,
A house not over-great nor small,
Three rooms, a kitchen, and a hall.
The offices contriv'd with care
And fitted to complete a square:
A garden well laid out; a wife,
To double all the joys of life;
With children pratt'ling at my knees,
Such trifles as are sure to please.
Those gay designs, and twenty more,
I in my dream was running o'er,
While you, as if you ow'd me spite,
Broke in and put them all to flight,
Blew the whole vision into air,
And left me waking in despair.
Of late we have been poorly fed,
Last night went supperless to bed:
Yet, if I had it in my pow'r
My dream to lengthen for an hour,
The pleasure mounts to such a sum,
I'd fast for fifty yet to come.
Therefore to bid me rise is vain
I'll wink and try to dream again.

If this, quoth Gripus, is the way
You choose, I've nothing more to say;
'Tis plain that dreams of wealth will serve
A person who resolves to starve;
But sure, to hug a fancy'd case,
That never did nor can take place,
And for the pleasures it can give
Neglect the trade by which we live,
Is madness in its greatest height,
Or I mistake the matter quite:
Leave such vain fancies to the great,
For folly suits a large estate:
The rich may safely deal in dreams,
Romantic hopes and airy schemes.
But you and I, upon my word,
Such pastime cannot well afford;
And therefore if you would be wise,
Take my advice, for once, and rise.