Poems on Affairs of State

An aged Fox that ravag'd Woods and Plains,
Dread Fox to Cocks and Hens, and Country Swains;
The most Tyrannick Reynard e'er was known,
Since Beasts bore rule, and hector'd on a Throne.
He neither young nor old, when hungry, spar'd;
Alike the Lamkins and the Henroost far'd.
But Age retards at last his hasty flight,
He plunders not so much by day, nor ravages by night;
Grown weak and feeble, Wit must now supply
His want of Strength—
No kind good natur'd Fox will bring him Food,
He still must share the Fortune of the Wood.
One day as hungry Reynard sat alone,
His empty Guts and Fortune did bemoan;
Said he, I'll try what aged Craft can do,
New Methods find, a new Device pursue:
Hard by a Tarbox lay, some careless Swain
Had left when he kept Sheep upon the Plain.
Projecting Reynard will a diligent care
Bedawbs his Belly, Sides and Back with Tar:
Then to a Ditch he goes, where t'other day
He did a Hen and all her Chickens slay;
Their Feathers still lay scatter'd on the Ground,
In which the Fox did wallow, tumble round;
The Feathers sticking still as he did rowl,
Made him resemble much a larger Fowl.
And thus transform'd into a new disguise,
Into a neighbouring Henroost strait he hies:
And just beneath the Roost his station took,
And looking on the Perch, the Poultry thus bespoke.

Kind gentle Cocks and Hens, I am
No more your Foe:
What once I did, is now my shame,
And for the future I the same
No more will do.
I come not as an Enemy
Your Lives to take,
But would with you in Friendship be,
As you may judge if you but see
The Clothes upon my Back.
Come down then Friends, a lasting Truce
'Twixt you and I;
I'll neither Cocks nor Hens abuse,
Let us shake hands as Lovers use,
Be Friends until we die.
No, quoth the Cock, you will as much devour
As e'er you did, were but it in your power:
Your vain pretence of Kindness we abhor,
And from our Perch we will not downward stir:
You've chang'd your Coat, but have not chang'd your Name;
If that were alter'd too, your Nature is the same.

In vain do those, who heretofore
Our Liberties betray'd
Unto a wild Despotick Pow'r,
And level all our Fences laid:
In vain they talk of Property,
Or think to be believ'd;
Their Actions give their Tongue the lie:
Who can be thus deceiv'd?
Their vain pretence of publick Good
Is for sinister Ends;
And who the Dee'l, when understood,
Wou'd be such Villains friends?

They'd feed the Flock only to steal the Fleece;
When the Fox preaches, then beware the Geese.

Fab. II. The Poor Man and the Devil.

A lab'ring Swain had been at work,
And all his Limbs had tir'd,
By using Shovel, and the Fork,
To rest at Night retir'd.
So sweet's the sleep of Country Swains,
Such undisturb'd Repose
Accompanies their daily pains,
That Peace about them flows.
No dismal Visions do afright,
No Dreams do e'er approach;
Within the Curtains of the Night
They sleep as sound as any Roach.
But now the Swain, in dead of night,
An airy Phantom saw;
A cloven-footed hideous Spright
Him out of Bed did draw:
And led him to an Orchard fair,
Where pointing to a Tree,
Beneath that Stock, he said, is there
A fund of Gold for thee.
But how, reply'd the sleeping Swain,
Shall I this Treasure find,
Or know that self-same Tree again,
No mark being left behind?
Then quoth the Dee'l, shit near the place;
And thus, upon my word,
To morrow when thou view'st the Grass,
Thou't know it by the T---
Thus did the Swain; when he awoke,
And rais'd his drozy Head,
He found not as the Devil spoke,
But found a T--- in Bed.

Thus sleeping Jacks do dream and snore,
And please their foolish mind,
In thinking what they were before,
And what henceforth they'll find.
But if they would right measures take,
And govern'd be by Wit;
When once their Reason do's awake,
They'll find their Cause beshit.

Fab. III. The Farmer and the Badger.

A Badger once did ravage all the Fields
Belonging to a Farm;
Dug up the Earth, and spoil'd all that it yields,
And did a wond'rous harm.
The Farmer haloo'd on his Dog,
Thinking thereby to quell her;
But being bred to hunt the Hog,
He knew not how to kill her.
The Farmer sends for a young Squire
To come with all his Hounds;
His and their Aid he does require,
To beat her from her Mounds.
The Squire came, with all his Hounds
The Badger did pursue.
He ravag'd all the Farmer's Grounds,
And kill'd the Badger too.
Some little mischief true he did,
In beating down the Corn,
And breaking Hedges as he rid:
So small a Loss was born.
For, says the Farmer, now my Sheep
May more securely graze;
My Poultry may the Henroost keep,
I'm better than I was.

If our Deliverance from our Foes,
And Popish Tyranny,
Ben't worth the Mony has been rose,
'Tis pity we are free.
'Tis certain wisely we have done,
To keep the Nation safe,
In giving part as we have done,
To save the better half.

Fab. IV. The Ravens and Crows.

A lusty Horse, not long ago,
Would snuffle, snort and kick,
Curvet and prance, as others do,
Was fallen wondrous sick.
'Twas far from any House or Town,
No Doctor cou'd be got;
So the poor Beast must die alone,
And without burial rot.
He restless lay upon the Ground,
And turn'd from side to side;
His Groans the neighb'ring Woods resound,
Where Birds of Prey reside.
No sooner did they hear the noise.
But from the Woods they flew,
Whole Troops of Ravens, and the Crows,
And round the Horse they drew.
At length a Raven of renown,
Strutting like Prince of Conde,
As black as any Parson's Gown
He wears upon a Sunday;
Gets on a Mole-hill, look'd around,
And thus bespoke the Crows;
We're antient Friends, and without ground
We will not now be Foes.

You know, by Contract, we're to have
The Carrion of this place;
And you the other side did crave,
Such our Agreement was.
No, quoth the Crows, this very place
To us is free as Air;
And how dare you with such a face,
Oppose such Numbers here?
Ay, quoth the Raven, then we'l try
To whom it doth belong:
But first let the poor Creature die,
Then see who's right or wrong.
Both sides resolv'd to fight it out,
Each do's advantage take;
They march, and march, and march about,
And each one whets his Beak.
They view the Ground, and mark the Camp,
And the Approaches form;
Contrive the easiest Methods how
They may the Carcase storm.
Mean time the Horse lies dangerous ill,
Yet shites, and farts, and groans;
Good signs, they say, in Physick skill,
And stretching of the Bones.
The Horse (tho helpless) by degrees
Began to gather strength;
At first he rises on his Knees,
And on his Legs at length.
The Birds of Prey were all surpris'd,
And all away they flew;
The Battel's thus on both sides lost,
And all the Carrion too.

Thus some, whom neither Peace nor Wars
Can satisfy, still hope for Jars;
That by great Princes falling out,
They may their Business bring about.
And Wonders must be done and said,
When once the King of Spain is dead;

But he, like Horse, prevents the Fight,
And is resolv'd to live in spite.

Fab. V. The Summons.

The mighty Puss, not long since rul'd the State,
Beneath a loneson Furzbush purring sat;
Strok'd her long Smellers, and rejoic'd to see
Her awful Picture in her Progeny:
Mean while her Kitlings dance before her face,
And toss, like trembling Mice, the Roots of Grass.
Not one amongst 'em but a Claw dos wear,
Fit a Monarchic Tyrant Rat to tear.
The Good Old Cause inform'd the Mother's Breast,
Darts through their Eyes, is by their Mein exprest.
Such, such the antient Race of Heroes were,
Who did their Rights before their Lives prefer.
She calls one to her of the eldest-brood:
Dost know, said she, how drown'd in native Blood
My Country lies; how the wild Boars invade
The Land, and desert have my Country laid?
'Tis true, I once did ease 'em of their Pain;
But they, like Fools, embrac'd again the Chain;
Wear those dull Fetters I so kindly broke,
And halt like Slaves beneath the servile Yoke.
Once more I'll try, if my Advice may prove
Successful, once exert my antient Love;
Summon the Slaves to meet at W---l Gate,
Beneath the Scaffold where I whileom sate,
And punish'd Tyranny, the worst of Crimes;
A just example unto future Times.
Young Puss the Message takes, and bids fair Warning
To all the Slaves t'appear on the next morning.

Fab. VI. The Interview.

The Morning come, the Slaves await,
And flock like Bees 'bout W---l Gate.
Some yok'd, like Country Hogs appear;
Others confounded Fetters wear,
And some most horrid Burdens bear.
Thus loaded, thus enslav'd, opprest;
Nature, 'tis strange, don't call for rest:
Tho Legs are gall'd, and Shoulders sore,
The bulky Slaves still crave for more:
And not an Ideot of the Town
Has Sense to lay his Burden down.
Strait Puss in Majesty appears,
Mounting the Scaffold, pricks her Ears,
Shakes her Majestick Head, aloud
She thus bespoke the num'rous Crowd.

I have deserted long the nauseous Town,
Mourning my Country's Ruin, and my own,
Expos'd to Tyranny, whilst Beasts of prey
Ravage my Fields, and steal my Lambs away.
My Free-born Subjects now are forc'd to bear
Loads, which more fit for backs of Camels are;
You well deserve the Fetters you do wear.
You under heavy Iron Shackles pine,
Whose Fathers did in glorious Armor shine,
Thro' fields of Blood to Freedom cut their way,
And taught the proudest Tyrants to obey;
By me supported, potent Tyrants sell
A Sacrifice to their just Cause and Hell.
No more, no more their sacred Lineage stain,
No more their Names in your curst Race profane.
Let not their Off-spring such Alliance have,
Shackles were ne'er the Trophies of the Brave;

They could wide Conquests, and just Honors boast,
But you, dull Slaves! have all your Freedom lost.
Where 'ere a Tyrant rais'd his impious Head,
Strait their bold Hands strook the damn'd Monster dead.
Had you a spark of antient Honor left,
You should not long be of my Aid bereft;
My Claws are hard and sharp as e'er they were,
As fit a Tyrant and his Rats to tear.
The Villains that support a Tyrant Crown,
This angry Tail will horridly sweep down;
Shake off your Fetters once, and you shall see,
I'll once more save you from curst Slavery.

She said, and away she gallop'd amain,
But in hopes they their Sense would recover again;
For a Doctor will never the Fatigue endure,
To heal such dull Blockheads, that don't love the Cure.

Fab. VII. The Frogs Concern.

A generous Race of croking Frogs,
Which lay intrench't betwixt two Bogs,
Who as the Morning Sun did shine,
Daily encreas'd their Stock Divine;
Just as the Solar Influence burn'd,
Prolifick Spawn to Life was turn'd,
Until the young ones had at length
An equal Vigor, equal Strength.
So numerous at length they prove,
They supplicate to mighty Jove;
A King and Governour they crave,
As other Beasts and Insects have;
But Jove allow'd all Mortal Elves,
To chuse a Monarch for themselves
The Croking Elders now consult
About a King, and the Result

Was, that a neighb'ring Log should be
Executor of Monarchy.
About the Log their Heads they raise,
In sounds uncouth they croke his Praise:
At length some crawl upon his Top,
And frisk about, and croke and hop:
Says one Frog, Here's fine business done,
Was e'er a King thus trampl'd on?
Troth, says another antient Frog,
We'll ne'er be govern'd by a Log.
The Heat at length so far arose,
They did the Loggerhead depose.
To new Election they proceed,
And to their Hearts content succeed:
A neighb'ring Stork at length they chose,
Which shou'd their Heats and Feuds compose;
He took upon him the Command
Of all the People in Frogland;
But he, as t'other 'fore had done,
Made it an Arbitrary Throne;
Up from the Mud the Frogs would pick,
And squeeze their Corps within his Beak.
One Frog much wiser than the rest,
To those about him thus addrest:
Good Friends this is confounded work,
Shall we be govern'd by a Stork;
To have our Bones in pieces torn,
Our young ones eat just as they're born?
As if Kings only had a Power
To ruin Subjects and devour;
I think 'tis just to chuse agen:
The Brood of Frogs all crok'd, Amen.
The next they chose was a dull Ass,
Which prov'd as bad as t'other was;
For tho he was not so malicious,
His Folly made him as pernicious;
Stumbling on Empire, oft he stood
Upon his Subjects chokd in Mud:

Whole beds of Spawn he did destroy,
At every flounce did Frogs annoy.
The Devil's in't, said one, for we
In chusing Kings still wretched be,

Thus often we have chose a K---,
And still have found it the same thing.

Fab. VIII. The Lion and Fox.

A youthful Lion in the Wood,
Of Bulk and Nature strong;
Still us'd to Rav'ning and to Blood,
And came to Empire young:
He too, as other Monarchs use,
New Methods did pursue:
His Father's Fav'rites did refuse,
And chose a set of new.
He having lov'd, and us'd to gore;
An arbitrary Sway,
A base, a wild Despotick Pow'r
His Subjects must obey.
But want of Brains do's still attend
Unlimited Command,
And therefore he would have some Friend
Might Business understand.
There was a cunning Fox liv'd near,
For many years had kill'd
The neighb'ring Lambs and Poultry there,
With Bones his Kennel fill'd.
He summon'd Reynard to appear,
Next Night, at Council Board;
Which Reynard did, and when was there,
Look'd grave as any Lord.
The Lion told him, he must be
The chief Support of State;

At which kind Reynard bow'd his Knee,
And wish'd him better Fate.
O, says the Lion, thou art skill'd
In Arbitrary Sway:
Thou many Beasts and Fowls hast kill'd,
To govern know'st the way.
Ask, and I'll give Thee any thing,
Is in my Pow'r to give,
Thou shalt be next unto the King
As long as I do live.
Quoth Reynard, make me then the Priest,
I'll make all Beasts your Slaves:
The Body You, I Soul at least,
We'll tyrannize by halves.

Thus Fate did Men to Thraldom bring,
Opprest just like a Beast;
Rode, spur'd, and whip'd by such a King,
And eke so lewd a Priest.

Fab. IX. The Weesil, Rats and Mice.

A mighty Weesil of renown,
Well vers'd in things of State,
Was chosen King all o'er the Town,
Of all the Mice and Rats.
His Coronation Day was come,
And all the Grandees meet
The Weesil in a gaudy Room,
And bow beneath his Feet.
His Chair of State was Rind of Cheese,
And o'er his Royal Head
Some Bacon swerd in goodly guise,
Like Canopy was spread.
At length he walks and struts about,
Like any Lord or Duke;

Sometimes he does one Subject flout,
And sometimes one rebuke.
He calls an aged Rat aside,
And ask'd him his advice,
Whether a Project mayn't be try'd
To eat up all the Mice.
Ay quoth the Rat, your Majesty
May be well satisfy'd,
Mice haters are of Monarchy,
And Regal State deride.
The Rats and Weesils now devour
The Mice in piteous sort.
They dye the Cellars with their Gore,
And with their Bones they sport.
At length the Mice are all destroy'd,
The Weesils and the Rats
Would other Food find out abroad,
But that they fear'd the Cats.
The Weesils now together plot,
How they the Rats may eat;
Provision must be daily got,
Kings must have sumptuous Meat.
The Rats now all do go to pot:
Some bak'd, some boil'd, some roasted;
'Tis hop'd they had not then forgot
How they the Mice accosted.

Thus some Men oft by Tyrant Power,
Their Kindred Subject-Slaves devour,
Do all the Villanies are done
To prop a beastly Tyrant Throne;
Tho others Blood the Tyrant fill'd,
They must at length to's Fury yield;
Nought stops a Tyrant's Course but Decollation,
Or else a modern Abdication.

Fab. X. Lubberland.

A land there is, as Maps do tell,
(Tho they describe it not right well)
Nor near the Hot nor Frigid Zone,
But Latitude of fifty one;
In Nature's Plenty do's abound,
With Fruits and Flocks is amply crown'd:
The Natives never are content
But with Tyrannick Government;
They Men resemble by their Faces,
But by their Backs resemble Asses:
For each is born with a great Pack,
A warlike Saddle on his Back,
Which do's adorn the Parts are upper,
On nether Parts they wear a Crupper.
Their Kings, as 'tis decreed by Jove,
Do always jump down from above:
Arm'd Cap-a-pee with Boots and Spurs,
Just fit to mount such servile Curs:
With Hunting-whips they daily maul 'em,
And with long rowled Spurs do gall 'em.
He only is the great Bravado,
Has most the Regal Bastinado.
They leap and jump, and frisk and skip,
And sing the Praises of the Whip:
They bear the Lash without once bogging,
Extol the Royal Art of flogging.
With Blanket-Coat and Wooden-Shoes,
The Man the Camel scarce outdoes.
Whilst Freemen feed on Dainties fine,
These do on Bread and Garlick dine;
And if they spend a Soulx in Wine,

The Health drank round must always be,
Their King's applauded Tyranny:
Still let 'em be curs'd Slaves for me.

Fab. XI. The Hawk and Birds.

I

A Hawk, that of Yore
Had long welter'd in Gore,
And many a Sparrow had kill'd;
By the Birds he was told,
Now he was grown old,
He his number of Sins had fulfill'd.

II

Now said the old Hawk,
My Actions to balk,
If you shall but once thus combino,
The Gods will me avenge,
My Cause will revenge,
I may murder ye Jure Divino.

III

The Gods, said the Birds,
We'll not take their words;
If they've gi'n you an Absolute Power,
They've gi'n us a part
Is not worth a Fart,
While you have a Right to devour.

IV

The Birds all agreed,
And thus 'twas decreed,
That Slaves they no longer would be;
They throttl'd their King,
Then sweetly did sing
The Praises of free Liberty.

Fab. XII. The Asylum.

The Princes once did all combine,
The Peoples Liberty to mine;
Would make them right or wrong obey
An absolute Despotick Sway.
One Method, was to make us poor,
By loading Taxes more and more;
For when to Poverty Men fall,
They easily are brought to thrall:
And when their Spirit's sunk and gone,
Tyrants may lay vast Burdens on.
This did in some, in all it cou'd
Not do: Some Men had better Blood,
And tho they could not mend their Fate,
They murmur'd at the Tyrant's hate;
Which so incens'd the Tyrant's Ire,
Some were condemn'd to rav'nous Fire;
Some were to slavish Gallies sent,
Others in Fetters did lament.
Some Men were strangl'd in their Beds,
Others were hang'd, some lost their Heads;
Some whipt, till bleeding Backs were kill'd,
The Lands with Tyranny were fill'd.
But those whom better luck and hap
Did favour with a wish'd escape,
A City on Batavian Shoar
Did shelter from the Isles before;
Where native Liberty do's thrive,
And no curst Tyranny can live.
Long live great City, Favorite of Heav'n,
And never want those Blessings thou hast giv'n.

Fab. XIII. Of the other Members conspiring against the Belly.

Once on a Time the Hands and Feet
With Back, and Loins, and Bum, did meet
In a Rebellious Consult, where
The B---ch as Speaker took the Chair,
And with an uncouth hollow sound
The following Treason did propound:
Brethren, quoth he, you know the Head
Makes us to toil and sweat for Bread,
Yet nothing to our Lot doth fall,
But idle Gut consumes it all.
My Friends, if you'l be rul'd by me,
We will shake off this Tyranny.
If Head and Belly will have Meat,
Let them toil for't with Hands and Feet.
Agreed, says Back, I vow and swear,
For them I'll no more Burdens bear.
Content, says Bum, if't be your Will;
For I love dearly to sit still.
Says Feet, I'll no more Errands run.
The Loins say, Brethren, it is done.
The Hands vow they would work no more,
And wish they'd been as wise before.
The Members thus in Holy League,
Did bless themselves for this Intrigue.
But suddenly the Hands grew weak,
The Feet grew numb, the Loins did shake,
The Back was feeble, the Bum grew poor,
And Breech the Chair-man loud did roar,
Pray cram the Gut, and we'll rebel no more.

It's hop'd this will not be forgot
By those who form'd the Tunbridge Plot.
Old Æsop was a man of Sense,
Such Doctrines never did dispense,
That People should refuse Support,
And pine themselves to starve the Court.

Fab. XIV. The Fable of the Spunge.

A certain Brewer, whose Liquor of Life
Did frequently amongst his Servants raise strife,
Resolv'd to abridg them, giving each Man his share,
Enough to suffice, but nothing to spare:
But the Servants resolving they would not be stinted,
Put their Wits on the Rack, and this Device minted.
They got Gloves of Spunge which they thrust in the Liquor,
And squeezing them often spent their Masters Stock quicker:
Which the Brewer understanding, he seiz'd on the Spunges;
Made his Servants repay him, and with Actions them swinges;
Till he squeez'd back his own, and taught them to be true,
To leave off their sly Cheats, and be content with their Due.

Those that misapply the Treasure of the Nation,
Ought thus to be squeez'd till they make reparation:
We may Tax, and pay on, and the King still be poor,
If the Hands of his Servants be pitch'd as before.
It's the Interest of the Nation, our Senate understands,
That those who touch Cash should have clean washen hands.

Fab. XV. Esop sent to Bedlam.

Æsop o'ercome with Wind and Spleen,
At Tunbridge sought relief;
In hopes that change of Air, and Scene,
Might ease him of his Grief.
But there such Shoals of Fools he met,
And Knaves twice dipt in Grain;
Not the fam'd Waters they were at,
Cou'd e'er take out the Stain.
In vain a Friend among the Youth
He sought all Tunbridge round;
Till sneaking Solitary Truth
He in a Corner found.
Thus met, they readily agree,
And did strange Tales devise
Lab'ring to make those Coxcombs see,
That would put out their Eyes.
Till nettled at their just Reproof,
The Knaves and Fools combine;
And him and his Companion both
To a dark room confine.
Next Stage, they knew not why or how,
For London they were bound;
Where both of 'em together now,
In Bedlam may be found.

In vain we strive Mens Errors to correct,
Or point out Follies which themselves neglect.
Fools are a stubborn Race and hard to break,
Wisdom's the only Gift they scorn to take;
And he that shews his Brains to such a Rout,
Takes a fair way to have 'em beaten out.
Wise Men in them alone mistake their Tools,
Knaves only have the Skill to manage Fools.

Let empty Fops be proud of their Mishap,
For he that takes it off, deserves the Cap.

Fab. XVI. The Priest and Pears.

A wanton Sloven of a Priest,
Invited to a Bridal Feast,
Under a Hedg upon the Ground,
A Hoard of Mellow Pears had found.
These were, quoth he, to hungry Sinner,
That had no hopes of Wedding-Dinner,
Brave tempting Morsels, a rich Prize,
Which at this juncture I despise,
Now to more Rarities engag'd,
Than e'er in Noah's Ark were cag'd,
Fish, Fowl, Fruit, Sweet-meats, to excite
And rouse a founder'd Appetite;
Therefore sweet Pears this time adieu,
My Stomach will not stoop to you.
Yet e'er we part, we'll have a Jest,
Then scornfully he on 'em pist,
And cry'd, Who e'er these Pears shall eat,
He shall have Sauce as well as Meat.
This done, impatient of delay,
He jocundly persu'd his Way,
Most happy in Imagination,
Chewing the Cud of Expectation.
Till to a Brook approaching nigh,
By Rains late fallen swell'd so high,
That 'twas impossible to pass;
His grumbling Stomach call'd him Ass,
And bid him ford, or swim the Flood,
And make his vap'ring Promise good,
Or, spite of all his Scoffs and Jeers,
He, Sauce and all, should eat the Pears.

The Priest, who Belly dearly lov'd,
At this Reproach was strangely mov'd;
Yet his unhappy case was such,
He hated Danger full as much.
At Disappointment sore dejected,
He sadly on the Pears reflected:
He was by Word and Honour bound
To stand to't, and maintain his Ground.
And now the Pears so lovely grew,
That Water from both ends they drew.
He therefore all his cunning bent
To find out some Expedient,
To prove himself this once mistaken,
And save his Credit and his Bacon.
Inward he turn'd his sullen Looks,
And romaging o'er all his Books,
He met an antient Convocation,
That furnish'd him with an Evasion.
Quoth he, they cou'd not be my due,
Nor might I seize 'em till I knew,
And Providence had time to prove,
This heap of Pears was Treasure trouve:
But now I plainly understand,
They truly are a Deodand;
And he that Abdicates 'em here,
Has lost all Title to one Pear.
And I should be a Fool no Doubt,
Shou'd I stand any longer out.
As for the Stain I cast on these,
My self can wipe it off with ease.

Fab. XVII. The Owl and the Bat.

A fierce Dispute 'twixt Birds of Night
Arose about their Gifts, and Light;

The Owl and Bat aloud contended,
Which was by Nature best befriended,
Wrangling with clamorous Contest
Which saw the clearest, and the best;
Till from high Words, and angry Speeches,
They came to Personal Reproaches.

Quoth Madge, insulting o'er the Bat,
What wou'd this Flitter-Mouse be at?
Thou Mungrel Vermine art at most,
And but half Bird thy self canst boast.

The Bat reply'd with Indignation,
Make to your self the Application;
You're some Beast's Bastard it appears,
As I'll demonstrate by your Ears.
But what this is to our Dispute;
If I am Vermine, you're a Brute.

Then let's agree, the Owl reply'd,
And by the Sun our Cause be try'd.
A Nightingale that hard by sate,
Thus undertook to Arbitrate:
How shall the Sun decide your Case,
When neither can endure his Face?
You've said enough of Bats and Owls,
To prove both purblind Knaves and Fools.

The Bats, and Owls of Pinners-Hall,
This Fable may apply;
These Night-Birds representing all
The Pastors and their Fry.
If any wou'd know whom they fit,
Their Controversies read;
And see how oft the Sticks are split,
To break each other's Head.
But let 'em not the Truth come near,
Nor venture into Light;
For he that does bare-fac'd appear,
Will shew a Hypocrite.

While they against each other bawl,
They the whole World convince,
And plainly shew their want to all
Of Faith, as well as Sense.

Fab. XVIII. The Sharpers and Cullies.

Two Sharpers once to Gaming fell,
In a large Company;
And manag'd their Intrigue so well,
They drew in Standers by.
They wrangled, quarrel'd, and call'd names;
And play'd with so much heat;
That no one jealous of a sham,
Suspected 'twas a Cheat.
But when the Gamesters num'rous grew,
And store of Cullies came;
Each from the other took his Cue,
To manage right his Game.
A long time doubtful was the Scale,
The Odds uncertain were;
For they do all by turns prevail,
And none great Losers are.
Till e'ery one at length was dipt,
And mighty Sums were laid;
The wink one of the Jugglers tipt,
And so the Cheat betray'd.
But this Discovery came to late,
For now the Game was won;
An empty Pocket was their Fate,
And all the Fools undone.

Ex***quer, B*nk, and the Exchange,
East-Indians Old, and New,
And all the World this very Game,
Too busily pursue.

Notes, Bills and Stock, and Actions fall,
Or without Reason rise;
Just as the Jugglers at Wh***hall,
Or M**cer's Chappel please.
The Great Ones have Sham-fallings out,
To draw the Lesser in;
But the true Quarrel is, not who,
But how much each shall win.
And when the small Ones give their Voice,
Who shall be most Empowr'd;
They have but Liberty of Choice,
By whom they'l be devour'd.

Fab. XIX. The Wolf and Dog.

A Half famisht Wolf met a jolly fat Dog,
That was let out for Air, and freed from the Clog.
Quoth Isgrim, Friend Towzer, thou hast what I lack,
How com'st thou by all this good Flesh on thy back?
Says Towzer, I lodg, and am fed at Wh***hall;
I live like a Prince, and do nothing but bawl.
You live like a Felon, by paltry Sheep-stealing;
But if you'l be rul'd, and use double-dealing,
I'l help you to mighty Preferment at C**rt,
And you shall pay nothing but Flattery for't.
Quoth Isgrim, I like the Conditions so well,
I long till I'm there, for I soon shou'd excel;
I can cringe like a Beau, and humour My Lord,
And praise e'ery foppish Nonsensical word.
'Tis enough says the Cur; so onward they jog'd,
Till Towzer, who often was collar'd and clog'd,
Like a Cur of good Manners in bowing betray'd
The Ring on his Neck, which the Collar had made.

Says the crafty sly Wolf, in that Circle some Spell
I suppose is contain'd, by which you live well.
'Tis only, says Towzer, ne'er mind it I pray,
Some loose hair my Collar has fretted away.
Says Isgrim, I owe you, Sir, thanks for this grace;
But if there's a Collar, that alters the case.
I'll purchase my Place by no such submission,
But forage the Woods, and not alter Condition.

The Wealth, and the Power of great Places please all,
Who wou'd shun the Fatigue they're encumber'd withal.
They wou'd have the Profit without the Attendance,
And shift off the burden of slavish dependance.
But here they may see by the Wolf, and the Dog,
They that will have the Fat, must submit to the Clog.

Fab. XX. Of the Apple and the Horse-Turd.

An Apple falling from a Tree
Which near a River stood,
With Horse-Turd in his Company
Was sailing down the Flood:
When Turd, ambitious to discourse
A thing so much above it,
Would into Conversation force,
As down the River drove it.
Lord! Madam, what a pleasant Stream
Is this in which we ride?
Sister! How we two Apples swim?
The foul Sirrev'rence cry'd.

A Thredbare Writer, who perchance
Has not one Farthing paid,
To carry on the War with France,
Towards the Royal Aid;

Crys, Damn this curs'd confounded Peace,
It Forty Millions cost,
And we could not procure our Ease
Till all our Wealth was lost.

Fab. XXI. The Pump.

A Welsh-man (from his Hills come down)
Saw a strange Engine near a Town;
A high erected Post there stood,
Crown'd with a Janus head of Wood;
One of whose Faces look'd to th'Country,
T'other Phyz o'er the Town was Centry.
A Clown close by gave 't many a thump,
And told admiring Taffy 'twas a Pump:
With this side I my Cellar drain and dry,
With t'other I my Waters want supply,
Here's all I have which in this Bowl stands by.
Sot, quoth the Briton, why dost toil?
Here's not a drop comes all this while.
T'other strait pours the dish of Water
Into the Pump. Thou mendst the matter,
Cry'd Taffy laughing; why dost wast
The Water thou already hast?
Vext with his Ignorance, the Clown
Replied, If ever thou hadst known
How wiser Men can use a Tool,
Thou wouldst not prate so like a Fool:
I threw this Dishful in, thou silly Lout,
Because I'm sure to get a Tubful out.

No wonder some profusely give their Coin,
'Tis easie being liberal on design.
Mony well plac'd at time of need we know,
Tho sprinkled but by P---, makes M--- flow.

Fab. XXII. Of the Bear and the Bees.

Cold Muscovy (as story tells)
Fam'd is for store of Bears;
That it in Honey too excels,
From the same Books appears.
There's scarce a hollow Tree that grows,
When cut, but Honey from it flows.
A plundering Bear about did roam,
To many a hollow Oak he troop'd,
Greedy he was, oft chang'd his home,
As oft the pillag'd Trees he scoop'd:
The Witless Bees saw him devour
Their Summers toils, and Winter-store;
Call'd it perhaps Protecting too,
Lest other Beasts the like should do,

And seem'd to be content.
At length when he enlarg'd his rounds,
(For Rapine scarce knows any bounds)

To a Farm-house he went.
The Bear his wonted raving drives,
To run a muck at all the Hives.
The Bees who had with patience born
The rifling of the Forest round;
Enrag'd, their All was from them torn,
And that their last retreat he found;
With Indignation rose in swarms,
With one consent all flew to Arms,

And all assail'd the Bear:
In numerous clusters round they hung;
Never was prowling Beast so stung,

As he was every where.
Vast Numbers gor'd his tender Snout,
Some his two shining Favourite Eyes:

He rages, storms, and cuffs about,
Both mad and blind to shun them trys:
Among the rest there's none attack'd him more
Than e'en those Drones who snack'd with him before.

In vain for Aid he roars and bawls.
In vain his kindred Cubs he calls;
The Floods and Woods that interpose,
Keep all things from him but his Foes.
Till torn, and bloody, thro the Bogs he flys,
And by those Insects he cou'd once despise,
Raving, and venom'd, for his Rapine dies.

Whoever D 'Alva like essays
To use oppressing Means and Ways
Will find the Consequence but bad;
Oppression all things overrules,
Not only raises swarms of Fools,
But makes a wise Man mad.

Fab. XXIII. The Devil and the Priest.

There was a Monarch, whose Imperial Sway
Nations far distant did as Slaves obey:
Kingdoms he govern'd, which he never saw,
And made 'em stoop to his extended Law.
Some Crowns by right of Birth he held, and some
Beneath his Sway by right of Conquest come:
So large his Awful Monarchy was grown,
His Slaves at all times did behold the Sun.

But Ah how weak is Pow'r and humane Sway!
When we Eternal Orders must obey?
That mighty King can ravish'd Kingdoms seize,
Becomes a Slave to Sickness and Disease,
And wasts in Bady, as his Crowns increase.

Just were the Gods this Monarch to oppress,
Who ruin'd Lands, and Nations did distress.
Millions of murder'd Ghosts surround his Throne,
Whose Lands by Blood he'ad vilely made his own:
Nature by day his drooping Soul afrights,
And murder'd Ghosts disturb his Peace anights.

Thus some vile Usurer of London Town,
Who has whole Familys and Tribes undone,
Widows and Orphans cramm'd into his Bags,
Expos'd to cold in tatter'd Clothes and Rags;
Whilst the vile Wretch Damnation worketh out,
Upon his Couch tormented with the Gout.

From Drugs this King could no assistance have,
Nature nor Art could not the Monarch save
From the cold Palace of a noisome Grave;
By Heaven accurst, no Issue left to reign,
He long had rul'd alas! but rul'd in vain:
His wealthy Kingdoms now disown'd by Fate,
Their Regal Line must meanly terminate:
Gasping they lie to every neighb'ring Power,
For every King is a Competitor;
Each claims his Right to the extinguish'd Throne,
Some would have part, but others all or none:
One claims by Marriage what by t'other's given,
But Father Pope claims by Decree of Heav'n.
Thus mighty Feuds thro the Horizon spread,
And promise Wars when the sick Monarch's dead.

What must be done in so deplor'd a case,
When Fate appears with such an angry face?
The Swords are whetting, and prepar'd's the Shield,
And bloody Troops are entering the Field;
When the whole World's just kindling in a Flame,
E'en in the Nick the Priest and Devil came;
Two great Composers of Intestine Jars,
Who fill both Hell and Mony-Chests by Wars;
Still leave the Slain confus'dly in the lurch,
Whilst Hell gets all the Vot'ries of the Church:

But such their fate, the Priesthood and Old Nick
Approach the Royal Mansions of the Sick.
They do not viler Words to Eve express,
The first Queen Regent of the Universe,
When their Advice she freely did embrace,
And by it damn'd her self and all her Race,
Than to the dying Monarch now they utter,
And in his Ears Infernal Accents mutter.

‘Sir, says the Priest, you're ready to bequeath
‘The Lamp of Life unto the puff of Death;
‘Your Kingdoms totter, as your Life declines,
‘You are the last of all the Regal Lines.
‘I am by Heaven, and by the Pope design'd
‘T'instruct with Rules of Faith your Royal Mind.
‘If you expect in t'other World some ease,
‘Pray leave your Kingdoms in a settled Peace:
‘Such vast Pretensions to your Thrones are made,
‘As will the Earth with grizly Wars invade.

Here did the dying King erect his head,
And faintly to his Confessor thus said:
‘Thou knowest my Kingdoms do belong to one,
‘Who hath by Birth a Title to my Throne;
‘Tho not descended from these Loins of mine,
‘His Title is as good, as much Divine.

‘Ah! says the Priest, that Title can't be good,
‘Which is supported by the loss of Blood:
‘That Prince can never his just Rights maintain,
‘He is too weak, too poor for such a Reign.
‘He who by Marriage does a Right pretend,
‘Was still your sure and ever-faithful Friend.
‘Tho he his Right renounc'd, I do declare
‘You may by Will appoint him lawful Heir.
And here the Devil whisp'ring in his Ear,

The Priest proceeds:
‘If you my sacred Counsels now shall shun,
‘I'll tell your Majesty you are undone:
‘Your Sins are many, and must be forgiven
‘Before you can approach the Throne of Heaven;

‘And if you do not my Advice pursue,
‘I'll pardon none, and Hell shall be your due;
‘No extreme Unction, no anointing Oil
‘To save your Skin where wretched Sinners broil
‘In the hot Confines of the Stygian Lake,
‘Because they Priestly Counsels did forsake!
‘Where in large Bowls is liquid Sulphur quaff'd
(At which damn'd Words the very Devil laugh'd.)
‘There you must lie tormented and forlorn,
‘No King in Tophet shall like you be torn:
‘I will more Torments on your Head denounce
‘Than you, when living, Scepters had and Crowns.

‘But if you will my Counsels now pursue,
‘No King in Heav'n shall be more blest than you,
‘With Treasures greater than those of Peru.
‘Nay when from earthly Body you are loose,
‘You shall not stop at the old half-way House,
‘Where Sinners take a Pot of Stygian Liquor
‘To make their sense of Torment far more quicker;
‘Where on hard Benches those dejected Elves
‘Do for vast Ages sit to louse themselves.
‘But you, when e'er your Majesty shall die,
‘Presto shall mount the Regions of the Sky,
‘And view your Kingdoms lessening as you fly.

He said. The Prince afrighted at his words,
To the vile Dictates of the Priest accords:
He makes his Will, and gives those Crowns away,
Which he, much envy'd, did so weakly sway,
Unto a Prince, who could no Title have,
But what Ambition and his Envy gave.

Thus Kings are bubbl'd, who on Priests rely,
They live in scandal, and unpitied die;
Condemn'd to Bondage and base Fame below,
And when they die, the Lord knows where they go.
For Heaven is kind, if e'er a Fool it saves,
Who trusts his Soul within the hands of Knaves.

Spain henceforth of the Priests may have a care,
And of their vile deluding Tricks beware.
If Heav'n be just, as sure in time it will,
Porto Carero shall his Crimes fulfil;
He who embroils the World with Scenes of Wars,
And Europe hurries in intestine Jars,
Shall by the hand of Fate a Victim fall,
And slip to Hell from off the Earthly Ball.

Let England, Holland, Germany alone,
See on the Wretch condign Justice done;
Mean while let France go on to play its pranks,
Whilst its vast River overflows its Banks.
Glutted with Empire may all Tyrants die,
And groveling in their Pride and Ruin lie:
She may in time her dear Ambition mourn;
Anjou, like Conti, may again return.
And may no King from henceforth e'er be blest,
Who trusts a Devil or a crafty Priest.

Fab. XXIV. The Courtier.

A milk-white Rogue Immortal and unhang'd,
By Fate and Parliaments severely bang'd,
Without a Saint, a Devil was within;
He sought all Dangers, for he knew all Sin;
Resolv'd for Grandure, and t'acquire Wealth,
Rob'd some by force, and others trick'd by stealth;
A wheedling, fawning, parsimonious Knave,
The Prince's Favour he resolv'd to have.
The only means by which he thought to rise,
He shuffl'd Cards, and slily cog'd his Dice;
A true State-Juggler, could make things appear
Such as would please his Prince's Eyes or Ear;
Produc'd false Lights his Monarch to mislead,
Which made him from his Paths of Int'rest tread.

He skreen'd all Villains from due course of Laws,
And from his Prince his truest Subjects draws;
Till angry Senates the vile Monster took,
And from the Root the upstart Cedar shook,
Squeez'd the curs'd Spunge had suck'd the Notion's Coin,
And made him cast up what he did purloin:
Then on a Gibbet did the Monster die,
A Just Example to Posterity.

Let Favorites beware how they abuse
Their Princes Goodness, or the Peoples Laws;
How they clandestine Methods ever use
To propagate a base unrighteous Cause.
The Prince's Favour, like a Horse untam'd,
Dos often break the giddy Rider's Neck:
On him who for Preferment's so much fam'd,
The People oft their bloody Vengeance wreak.
Let these beware how they mislead their Prince,
Or rob the Treasure of a potent Nation,
Or multiply enormous Crimes; for hence
Comes Hanging oft, or noble Decollation.

Fab. XXV. The Pilgrims.

Religion is a thing, if understood,
Would make men righteous and their Actions good
For Piety alone of all things can
Correct the Manners, and reform the Man:
But Ah! how much is the blest Name abus'd,
And by unhallow'd Lips profanely us'd!
But none so much their Lewdness evidence,
As those who to it make the most pretence.

A Brace of Pilgrims, of a Sect severe,
As e'er usurp'd a Place in Moses Chair,
Men skill'd and read in Moses sacred Laws,
Yet well instructed for an impious Cause.

They brought up Pilgrims in their pious Schools,
Where Men were hoodwink'd & transform'd to Fools.
They taught 'em Doctrines did e'en Sense deceive,
And made 'em many holy Cheats believe;
Passive Obedience taught in a free Nation,
More foolish far than Transubstantiation.
These pious Ramblers trudg'd from Post to Pillow,
Got sacred Oak and consecrated Willow,
Chips of our Saviour's Cross, which where they came
Still got 'em Mony, Provender and Fame;
Each holy Hocus Pocus had a trick
Would cheat the wisest Subject of Old Nick.
They wrought such Miracles in every Nation,
As did inhance their holy Reputation.
From Spain unto Aleppo they embark'd,
As Beasts in Noah's wooden House were ark'd;
From thence o'er sandy Desert they did travel,
Where Men by Winds are buried oft in Gravel,
Where Camels foundring in the sandy way,
Are mummied up for ever and for ay;
Where Men are thrust so far beneath the Ground,
They scarce will hear the final Trumpet sound;
Till thro the scorching Sand's impetuous Heat,
They got safe to Jerusalem's beauteous Gate;
Where when they came, just at the very entry,
They saw a Brother Pilgrim standing Sentry,
With meagre Looks, as if he'd been half roasted;
But yet in Pilgrim Cant he them accosted:
Says he, ‘You're welcome Brethren to this Place,
‘Of other Lands, and of our Church the Grace
‘Step you but in I'll show our Saviour's Tomb,
‘So much ador'd by all that hither come;
‘With all the holy Relicks of the Saints,
‘Which he who has not seen, true Fervour wants.
‘But e'er you enter, Brethren, I must tell ye,
‘We have got no Provision for the Belly.
At which one Pilgrim said, ‘We need not that,
‘We without Victuals can grow plump and fat.

Then putting Hand within his sacred Hood,
Pull'd out a Piece of most ill-favour'd Wood.
Said he, ‘Whoever bears this sacred Chip,
‘Needs not with Liquor ever wet his Lip,
‘Or cram his Guts as other Mortals do:
‘This is both Meat and Drink, and Clothing too.
‘We from Aleppo came, and all the way
‘Have neither eat nor drank by night or day,
‘Whilst others fainting, perish'd on the Road,
‘And Camels sunk beneath the Heat and Load.
‘Who e'er to Battel goes, that carries this,
‘Him shall the poyson'd Arrows ever miss:
‘He may in Tempests thro the largest Seas
‘Undrowned pass whenever he shall please.
‘This sacred Chip is of our Saviour's Cross,
‘Which who has got, can ne'er sustain a Loss.

A Pilgrim Merchant standing by, o'er-heard
What the Impostor said, and much afraid
To pass the Deserts, but with needful Prop
To keep his drooping Limbs and Spirits up;
Offers the Pilgrims Mony for the VVood,
VVho pond'ring seriously, a long time stood;
Then in the Offer they were very nice,
Not out of Zeal, but to inhance the Price:
At length, which being rais'd ('tis very odd)
They took the Mony, and they sold their God.
The Merchant thus equipp'd, away he ran,
He need not stay now for the Caravan;
But in the Deserts was the Sot mistaken,
Where he did broil and fry like any Bacon;
He would have given in this very matter
A Load of Timber for a draught of VVater:
There in the Sands did unassisted roast,
He curst the Pilgrims, and gave up the Ghost.

To English Jacobites, beware
How you this Merchant's paths do tread:

If you are caught in such a Snare,
And by Non-juring Priests misled,
You may like him be famish'd quite,
And die in Ditches like a Dog:
When you are poor, they'l say good night;
They get the Gold, and you the Log.
For if you run into Extremes,
And against Faith believe and hope,
You are bedevil'd by King James,
As he's bedevil'd by the Pope.
For take my word, and to it I'll be sworn,
Monmouth shall rise when James shall e'er return.

Fab. XXVI. The Confederacy.

1.

There was an Eagle built his Nest
Upon a lofty Oak,
Tho not above
Th'avenging Stroke
And Thunder of Almighty Jove;
Of Jove, who sometimes thinks it best,
For Reasons yet unknown,
To let the vilest Men alone,
To ravage all their Neighbours Lands,
And murder Innocents with bloody hands.
So he thought good
To let this mighty ravenous Tyrant of the Wood
Perch on his Boughs secure from Fate,
And all the little winged Mortals eat.

2.

Long there he liv'd, and every day descry'd
From his exalted Boughs,
All the low Underwood beside
Beneath his Shadow grows.
When e'er he saw the Flocks upon the wing,
Or heard in Bushes the plum'd Creatures sing,

His Eaglets he sent out
To seize the Prey,
Who fierce as Lightning flew about:
Swifter than they
No Arrow flies,
Or Star from Azure Skies;
No Tyger in the Forest tears
The trembling Hind with greater rage
To Pieces with his sharpen'd Paws,
Than these the harmless Birds engage,
And home return with bloody Beaks and Claws.

3.

In vain the Birds did build their Nest,
In vain did young ones breed,
When Old and Young were but a Prey at best
To this curs'd Eagle's Seed.
Hopeless of better fate
They pensive sate,
And did the dangers of their Tribes relate.
Till one much wiser than the rest,
To th'harmonious Croud in Notes himself exprest:
‘See, Brethren dear,
‘We who are born as free as Air,
‘Confin'd by nothing but the Sky
‘When we aloft do fly,
‘And when we downwards go
‘By nothing but the mighty Earth below.
‘But vain our Freedoms are,
‘Our native Birthright to the spacious Air,
‘If this Tyrannic Eagle be empower'd
‘By Fate to kill,
‘And make us Captives at his Will;
‘And we are born by him to be devour'd.
‘'Tis true (tho not to our disgrace)
‘We are the weakest of the feather'd Race:
‘The Gods have us no Talons giv'n,
‘Such the Decree of Heaven.
‘We can't contend with mighty Powers,
‘Our business is to sit in Bow'rs,

‘And in our natural Accents sing
‘The Glories of the Spring.
‘We are but Cantons of the Air,
‘Some mighty Emp'rors are;
‘If we with these are in Alliance join'd,
‘The Eagle soon will find
‘Himself o'ermatch'd,
‘And we shall have our Young in safety hatch'd.
‘Therefore let us persuade
‘These Potentates unto our Aid:
‘We'll get Provision from the Wood
‘Their Forces to maintain,
‘Whilst they upon the Plain
‘Do combat for the Common good.

4.

He said, and to his wise Intent
The feather'd Company
Did all agree;
They clapt their Wings, and chirping gave consent.
The Hawks of every kind
In the Alliance join'd,
The Ravens, Crows, and all the Breed
That do on slaughter'd Bodies feed;
Each one who did a Talon wear,
His sharpen'd Weapon did prepare,
He whet his Beak, and hasten'd to the War.
Which when the Eagle understood,
He armed all his Bands,
And to the Field commands
His vet'rane Troops long since inur'd to Blood.
Such Preparations ne'er were known,
Such mighty Actions ne'er were done
By the Inhabitants of the Air,
Or such a bloody War.

5.

For now the fatal Day is come,
Little inferiour to the Day of Doom,
Over a spacious Plain,
On which below
Small Furz and Fern did grow:

Now Death and vast Destruction reign:
Here in the Air
The Combatants begin the War;
Who as they in Battalia fly,
Put out the very Candle of the Sky:
Such sparring Blows they gave, the very Sound
Echo'd from hollow Caverns of the Ground;
At e'ery Stroke
Was some strong Talon broke,
Some Beak was spoil'd,
Or Hawk or Eagle kill'd:
The Feathers fell like Showers of Snow
Upon the Plain below,
The Battel was uncertain, still
They both did one another kill,
Until the Eagles Forces broke,
Retreated to the Fortress of their Oak.

6.

The Eagle thus distrest,
His Warriors spoil'd both in their Beak and Crest,
His Fortunes growing worse and worse,
To Policy he has recourse;
This firm Alliance he must break,
Or else his Oaken Throne must crack.
First from the common Cause
He the fierce Vultur draws,
Which was by Wedding done;
A Young Hen-Vultur of a comely Grace,
The only Princess of the Race,
To a Cock-Grandson-Eagle of his own.
Then with his other Foes he gets a Peace,
And thus all Feuds and Discord cease.
No sooner were his Pinions grown,
And Claws made sharp, but from his Throne
He War proclaims,
And all the little Flocks of Birds he damns,
And all Alliances he scorns,
And a true Tyrant Eagle turns.

100

If e'er Confederates agen
Shall the French Eagle overcome,
Ne'er let him rise to fight, but then
Give him his ne plus ultra Doom.
In him no Faith nor Honesty they'l find,
Whom neither Gods nor human Laws can bind.

Fab. XXVII. The Lions Treaty of Partition.

A mighty Lion heretofore,
Of monstrous Paws, and dreadful Roar,
Was bent upon a Chase:
Inviting Friends, and near Allies,
Frankly to share the Sport and Prize.
During the hunting Space,
The Lynx, and Royal Panther came,
The Boar and Wolf of Wolfingham,
The Articles were these:
Share and share like, whate'er they got,
The Dividend upon the spot,
And so depart in peace.
A Royal Hart, delicious Meat!
Destin'd by inauspicious Fate,
Was started for the Game;
The Hunters run him one and all,
The Chase was long, and at the fall
Each enter'd with his Claim.
One lov'd a Hanch, and one a Side,
This eat it powder'd, t'other dry'd,
Each for his share alone:
Old Grey-beard then began to roar,
His Whiskers twirl'd, bully'd and swore,
The Hart was all his own.
And thus I prove my Title good,
My Friend deceas'd sprung from our Blood,
Half's mine as we're ally'd:

101

My Valour claims the other part;
In short I love a hunted Hart,
And now who dares divide?
The bilk'd Confederates they stare,
And cry'd, Old Gentleman deal fair,
For once be Just and True.
Quoth he, and looking wondrous grum,
Behold my Paws, the word is Mum,
And so Messieurs adieu.

Tyrants can only be restrain'd by Might,
Power's their Conscience, and the Sword their Right:
Allies their Court to compass private ends,
But at the Dividend disclaim their Friends,
Yet boast not France of thy successful Fraud,
Maintain'd by Blood, a Torment whiist enjoy'd:
Imperial Cæsar drives the Storm along,
And Nassau's Arms avenge the publick Wrong.

Fab. XXVIII. The Blind Woman and her Doctors.

A wealthy Matron now grown old
Was weak in e'ery part;
Afflicted sore with Rhumes and Cold,
Yet pretty sound at Heart.
But most her Eyes began to fail,
Depriv'd of needful light:
Nor cou'd her Spectacles avail
To rectify their Sight.
Receipts she try'd, she Doctors fee'd,
And spar'd for no Advice
Of Men of Skill, or Quacks for need
That practise on sore Eyes.
Salves they dawb'd on, and Plaisters both,
And this, and that was done:

102

Then Flannels, and a Forehead-cloth,
To bind and keep them on.
Her House, tho small, was furnish'd neat,
And e'ery Room did shine
With Pictures, Tapestry, and Plate,
All Rich, and wondrous fine.
Whilst they kept blind the silly Soul,
Their hands found work enough,
They pilfer'd Plate, and Goods they stole,
Till all was carry'd off.
When they undamm'd their Patients Eyes,
And now pray how's your Sight?
Crys t'other, this was my advice,
I knew 'twou'd set you right.
Like a stuck Pig the Woman star'd,
And up and down she run:
With naked House, and Walls, quite scar'd,
She found her self undone.
Doctors, quoth she, your Cure's my pain,
For what are Eyes to me?
Bring Salves and Forehead-Cloths again,
I've nothing left to see.

See injur'd Britain thy unhappy Case,
Thou Patient with distemper'd Eyes:
State Quacks but nourish the Disease,
And thrive by Treacherous Advice.
If fond of the Expensive Pain,
When eighteen Millions run on Score:
Let them clap Mufflers on again,
And physick Thee of Eighteen more.

Fab. XXIX. The Satyrs Address.

Five Satyrs of the Woodland Sort,
Thought Politicians then:

103

Their Ears prick'd up, their Noses short,
And Brows adorn'd like Aldermen;
With Asses Hoofs, great gogle Eyes,
And ample Chins of Be---ms Size:
To Jove tript up with an Address,
In favour of the Plains:
That it wou'd please him to suppress
All Heats and Colds, his Winds and Rains;
The Sun that he'd extinguish too,
And in the Skies hang something new.
My wise reforming Friends, quoth Jove,
Our Elements are good!
We manage for the best above,
Tho not so rightly understood;
But since such profound Squires are sent,
We'l treat you like the Cream of Kent.
Then Jove brought out Æthereal Fire
In a gilt Chafindish:
The sparkling Flame they all admire,
'Twas fine, they vow'd, as Heart cou'd wish;
They gap'd, they grin'd, they jump'd about;
Jove give us that, the Sun put out!
The charming Flames they all embrace,
Which urg'd by Nature's Laws,
Their shaggy Hides set in a blaze,
And soundly sing'd their Paws;
In Corners then they sneak, with Terror dumb,
And o'er th'Immortal Pavements scud it home.

How senseless are our Modern Whiggish Tools,
Beneath the dignity of British Fools!
With Beef resolv'd, and fortify'd with Ale,
They censure Monarchs, and at Senates rail;
So eagerly to Publick Mischief run,
That they prevent the Hands which loo them on.
O true Machines; and Heads devoid of Brains!
Affront that Senate which your Rights maintains!

104

Thus Ideots sport with Power, and Flames embrace,
Till smarting Folly glares them in the Face.

Fab. XXX. The Farmer and his Dog.

There dwelt a Farmer in the West,
As we're in story told;
Whose Herds were large, and Flocks the best
That ever lin'd a Fold.
Arm'd with a Staff, his Russet Coat,
And Towser by his side;
Early and late he tun'd his Throat,
And every Wolf defi'd.
Lov'd Towser was his Heart's delight,
In Cringe and Fawning skill'd:
Entrusted with the Flocks by Night,
And Guardian of the Field.
Towser, quoth he, I'm for a Fair,
Be Regent in my Room:
Pray of my tender Flocks take care,
And keep all safe at home.
I know thee Watchful, Just, and Brave,
Right worthy such a place:
No wily Fox shall thee deceive,
Nor Wolf dare show his face.
But ne'er did Wolves a Fold infest,
At Regent Towser's rate:
He din'd and sup'd upon the best,
And frequent Breakfasts eat.
The Farmer oft receiv'd advice,
And laugh'd at the Report:
But coming on him by surprise,
Just found him at the sport.
Ungrateful Beast, quoth he, what means
That bloody Mouth and Paws?
I know the Base, the Treacherons Stains,
Thy breach of Trust and Laws.

105

The Fruits of my past Love I see,
Roger the Halter bring:
E'en truss him on that Pippin Tree,
And let Friend Towser swing.
I'll spare the famish'd Wolf and Fox,
That ne'er my Bounty knew:
But as the Guardian of my Flocks,
This Neckcloth is your due.

When Ministers their Prince abuse,
And on the Subjects prey:
With antient Monarchs 'twas in use,
To send them Towser's way.

University of Virginia Library

Several other Fables on State-Affairs.

Fab. I. The Fox and the Poultry.