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 | 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.
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.
62
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.
| Poems on Affairs of State | |