 | The poetical works of George Keate |  |
147
THE TWO FLIES.
A FABLE.
'Twas at an ancient rural seat,
A country-gentleman's retreat,
The usual hour when dinner ends,
And people toast their absent friends.
In a large Hall of antique state
The Family assembled sat,
Round which was seen on ev'ry side,
Of Birth and Heraldry the pride;
Old Ancestors in order hung,
And Coats of Arms between them strung,
With branching Horns from space to space,
The spoils of many a weary Chace.—
The cloth was mov'd, the grace was said,
And on the old oak-table spread
Such fruits as Summer-months produce,
With sweetmeats both for show and use;
Or, to describe in terms of Art,
Was cover'd with a nice Dessert:
While all in chat the time beguile,
The 'Squire roars, the Ladies smile,
The joke goes round, the glasses ring
To Liberty, and Church and King.
A country-gentleman's retreat,
The usual hour when dinner ends,
And people toast their absent friends.
In a large Hall of antique state
The Family assembled sat,
Round which was seen on ev'ry side,
Of Birth and Heraldry the pride;
148
And Coats of Arms between them strung,
With branching Horns from space to space,
The spoils of many a weary Chace.—
The cloth was mov'd, the grace was said,
And on the old oak-table spread
Such fruits as Summer-months produce,
With sweetmeats both for show and use;
Or, to describe in terms of Art,
Was cover'd with a nice Dessert:
While all in chat the time beguile,
The 'Squire roars, the Ladies smile,
The joke goes round, the glasses ring
To Liberty, and Church and King.
Two Flies extravagantly gay,
The idle beings of a day,
A false philosophy pursu'd,
That Pleasure was the sov'reign Good,
A doctrine which in days of yore
A certain Greek had taught before.
Each hour their scene of life they chang'd,
New gardens, fields, and meadows rang'd,
Of ev'ry flow'r enjoy'd the bloom,
And wanton'd in the rich perfume.
Luxurious oft they would repose
On the soft foliage of the Rose,
Or in the morn the dew-drops sup
From the sweet Lily's silver cup;
Nay, dar'd the fragrant odour seek
Of Stella's lip, or Stella's cheek:
Nor would one single with restrain
Their Summum Bonum to attain.—
The idle beings of a day,
149
That Pleasure was the sov'reign Good,
A doctrine which in days of yore
A certain Greek had taught before.
Each hour their scene of life they chang'd,
New gardens, fields, and meadows rang'd,
Of ev'ry flow'r enjoy'd the bloom,
And wanton'd in the rich perfume.
Luxurious oft they would repose
On the soft foliage of the Rose,
Or in the morn the dew-drops sup
From the sweet Lily's silver cup;
Nay, dar'd the fragrant odour seek
Of Stella's lip, or Stella's cheek:
Nor would one single with restrain
Their Summum Bonum to attain.—
150
Fortune, or Fate, decreed this way
Our young Adventurers should stray;
Who marking such delicious cheer,
Resolv'd to fix their quarters here;
Down on the table they alight,
Indulge their taste, and feast their sight;
With hasty step they walk about
The scented Melon's rugged coat,
Each glass they sipp'd, each plate they try'd,
Then pierc'd the Peach's velvet side;
Nor Cherry, Fig, or juicy Grape
Could their insatiate touch escape.
At length, upon a little jar
Of floating Sweetmeats, from afar,
Their eyes they threw, and round the rim
In many a circling eddy skim;
Now bolder on the border dance,
And spite of Danger still advance:
“Th'Occasion was not to be lost,”
The foremost cry'd, “whate'er it cost;
And letting ev'ry Passion loose,
He plung'd into the tempting juice.—
The moral Muse must tell the rest,
The tempting juice receiv'd its guest
With glew'd Embraces—such as prove
The force of Falshood—not of Love!—
Our young Adventurers should stray;
Who marking such delicious cheer,
Resolv'd to fix their quarters here;
Down on the table they alight,
Indulge their taste, and feast their sight;
With hasty step they walk about
The scented Melon's rugged coat,
Each glass they sipp'd, each plate they try'd,
Then pierc'd the Peach's velvet side;
Nor Cherry, Fig, or juicy Grape
Could their insatiate touch escape.
At length, upon a little jar
Of floating Sweetmeats, from afar,
Their eyes they threw, and round the rim
In many a circling eddy skim;
Now bolder on the border dance,
And spite of Danger still advance:
151
The foremost cry'd, “whate'er it cost;
And letting ev'ry Passion loose,
He plung'd into the tempting juice.—
The moral Muse must tell the rest,
The tempting juice receiv'd its guest
With glew'd Embraces—such as prove
The force of Falshood—not of Love!—
There is a time when all things cloy!
There's e'en Satiety in Joy!—
Now fully gorg'd with his repast,
He found his feet were fetter'd fast,
He strove the margin to regain,
But ev'ry wish and hope was vain;
With new collected strength he springs,
The clammy matter binds his wings,
Till suffocated, clogg'd, and prest,
His wanton Friend he thus addrest:
There's e'en Satiety in Joy!—
Now fully gorg'd with his repast,
He found his feet were fetter'd fast,
He strove the margin to regain,
But ev'ry wish and hope was vain;
With new collected strength he springs,
The clammy matter binds his wings,
152
His wanton Friend he thus addrest:
“Withdraw, my brother, e'er too late,
“And happier thou, remark my fate;
“Doom'd here, my Error to deplore,
“And from this lake to rise no more.
“Sorrow shall travel at his side,
“Who makes not Temperance his guide!
“Struck with my crime, I here abjure
“The system false of Epicure;
“Go, preach it down, and render wise
“The antient Commonwealth of Flies.”
“And happier thou, remark my fate;
“Doom'd here, my Error to deplore,
“And from this lake to rise no more.
“Sorrow shall travel at his side,
“Who makes not Temperance his guide!
“Struck with my crime, I here abjure
“The system false of Epicure;
“Go, preach it down, and render wise
“The antient Commonwealth of Flies.”
He said;—the Syrup choak'd the rest;
Then swelling with a sigh his breast,
He mutter'd somewhat of a pray'r,
But all was buz, and lost in air;
And sinking, sought those shades below
Where Flies and other Insects go.—
Then swelling with a sigh his breast,
He mutter'd somewhat of a pray'r,
But all was buz, and lost in air;
153
Where Flies and other Insects go.—
So he who rolls on Pleasure's bed,
And with her garland crowns his head,
Slave to her fascinating power,
Still shuns Reflection's sober hour,
Who roams about new Joys to meet,
And greedy tastes of ev'ry sweet;
Past as a dream his life shall find,
Leaving no virtuous trace behind,
And like our dissipated Fly,
The victim of his Folly—die!—
And with her garland crowns his head,
Slave to her fascinating power,
Still shuns Reflection's sober hour,
Who roams about new Joys to meet,
And greedy tastes of ev'ry sweet;
Past as a dream his life shall find,
Leaving no virtuous trace behind,
And like our dissipated Fly,
The victim of his Folly—die!—
| The poetical works of George Keate | |