Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
 | I. |
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| The Spider and the Gout.
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| II. |
| III. |
 | Streams from Helicon |  |
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The Spider and the Gout.
A FABLE.
We read in prophane and sacred Records,
Of Beasts that have utter'd articulate Words;
And Statues without either Wind-Pipe or Lungs,
Have spoken as plainly as Men do with Tongues:
At Delphes, and Rome, Stocks and Stones, now and then Sirs,
Have to Questions return'd articulate Answers.
State Poems,
Of Beasts that have utter'd articulate Words;
And Statues without either Wind-Pipe or Lungs,
Have spoken as plainly as Men do with Tongues:
At Delphes, and Rome, Stocks and Stones, now and then Sirs,
Have to Questions return'd articulate Answers.
State Poems,
Last Morning half sleeping, there came in my Thought,
A pleasant Dialogue which Æsop forgot:
The
Spider, a Master of the Webster Trade,
(He was a Burgess born, a Burgess bred,)
Declining with Age, lov'd a Countrey Life;
And therefore transported himself to Fife:
Travelling he met on the Road with the Gout,
(Both of the Pilgrims were walking on Foot)
Good-Day, says the Gout, pray where are you going,
In stormy Weather when the Wind is blowing;
The City Weavers have plenty of Wealth,
And all Folk that's Rich, take Care of their Health.
The Spider replies, you're quite mistaken,
I'm a Beggar for all the Pains I've taken;
When e'er I offer to set up my Loom
On a Cabinet Head, or the Roof of a Room,
An ill natur'd Jad, with Besom of Hairs,
Sweeps me and my Plenishing down the Stairs:
If you knew my Case, you'd be mov'd with Pity,
I'll ne'er return in my Life to the City.
(He was a Burgess born, a Burgess bred,)
Declining with Age, lov'd a Countrey Life;
And therefore transported himself to Fife:
Travelling he met on the Road with the Gout,
(Both of the Pilgrims were walking on Foot)
Good-Day, says the Gout, pray where are you going,
In stormy Weather when the Wind is blowing;
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And all Folk that's Rich, take Care of their Health.
The Spider replies, you're quite mistaken,
I'm a Beggar for all the Pains I've taken;
When e'er I offer to set up my Loom
On a Cabinet Head, or the Roof of a Room,
An ill natur'd Jad, with Besom of Hairs,
Sweeps me and my Plenishing down the Stairs:
If you knew my Case, you'd be mov'd with Pity,
I'll ne'er return in my Life to the City.
If this be the Treatment you get, says the Gout,
Truly I cannot but commend your Wit;
Go you and lodge in a Country Sted,
You may fix your Loom in a Farmer's Bed;
There all your Days live Safe and Content,
He'll no cause you flit, tho' you pay no Rent.
Truly I cannot but commend your Wit;
Go you and lodge in a Country Sted,
You may fix your Loom in a Farmer's Bed;
There all your Days live Safe and Content,
He'll no cause you flit, tho' you pay no Rent.
But for me, I cannot get Bread tho' I beg,
I dare not come near a Country-man's Leg;
He'll no keep me an Hour in a Year at the Fire,
Trails me all the Day thro' Dub, and thro' Mire;
The Lairds and the Trades-men, have as little Pity,
So I'll try my Fate and visit the City.
I dare not come near a Country-man's Leg;
He'll no keep me an Hour in a Year at the Fire,
Trails me all the Day thro' Dub, and thro' Mire;
The Lairds and the Trades-men, have as little Pity,
So I'll try my Fate and visit the City.
Indeed, says the Spider, I approve of the Thing,
In Edinburgh Town you'll live like a King;
But be sure to go to an honest Sinner,
Who begins in the Morning and drinks till Dinner;
Takes a lusty Mail, a Dram, and a Sleep,
Rises and Coughs like a rotten Sheep;
Then away to a Cellar, as dark as Hell,
There he Smoaks and Drinks, till the ten Hour Bell:
Take my Advice, for the Burgess hath Gear,
Keep him close in the House, four Months o' the Year
Remember the more Mischief that ye do,
He'll be the kinder and kinder to you;
He'll roll you in Blankets, and Pillows of Down,
(Well lives the Gout in a graceless Town:)
In Sack he'll drink your Health, tho' it slay him;
Till his Breath be out, never gae frae him.
Farewell, says the Gout, I return you Thanks;
In Edinburgh Town you'll live like a King;
But be sure to go to an honest Sinner,
Who begins in the Morning and drinks till Dinner;
Takes a lusty Mail, a Dram, and a Sleep,
Rises and Coughs like a rotten Sheep;
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There he Smoaks and Drinks, till the ten Hour Bell:
Take my Advice, for the Burgess hath Gear,
Keep him close in the House, four Months o' the Year
Remember the more Mischief that ye do,
He'll be the kinder and kinder to you;
He'll roll you in Blankets, and Pillows of Down,
(Well lives the Gout in a graceless Town:)
In Sack he'll drink your Health, tho' it slay him;
Till his Breath be out, never gae frae him.
I shall not be long from a Burgesses Shanks.
MORAL.
The Flame of Life's sustain'd with little Food;We're very healthful when we're very Good:
But such is the Corruption of our Natures,
We will be very wicked, goutish Creatures.
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