FABLE LIV. The Smith and his Dog:
Or, No Work, no Meat.
While a laborious Smith, to earn his Meat,
Wrought at his Forge, with daily Toil and Sweat;
And, with incessant Pains, himself did tire,
For a poor Living, rak'd out of the Fire.
His idle Dog, that spent his Time in Ease,
Slept undisturb'd by ev'ry thing, but Fleas.
But when the Master to his Victuals sate,
His Dog sleep vanish'd, and he came to wait;
With brisk Devoir he fawn'd, and wagg'd his Tail,
And, by his Flatt'ry, did for Food prevail:
Thus ready at each Meal he us'd to be,
None so adroit, so diligent, as he.
All that observ'd his Stomach, wou'd have thought,
That he who eat so much, as much had wrought.
But honest Smug, who knew the lazy Curr
Did only, when the Meat was going, stir;
Yet the unprofitable Charge maintain'd,
Thus of his Appetite and Sloth complain'd:
While I, with early Pains, my Anvil ply,
You by my side supinely Sleeping lie;
And tho' my Noise the Neighbour's do's molest,
'Tis not sufficient to disturb your Rest:
But when my Hands are still, and Teeth employ'd,
You quickly hear, and then wou'd Sleep avoid:
Whene'er again, with Stroaks, my Anvil groans,
Again your Business is, to rest your Bones:
Scarce I to Work, e're you to Bed are gone;
For when your Belly's full, your Work is done.
The MORAL.
‘The Drones who haunt their busie Neighbours Hives,
‘And, by their Pains, support their idle Lives;
‘With just Contempt shou'd be excluded thence,
‘Driv'n to hard Work, or harder Indigence:
‘Labour alone intitles Men to Eat;
‘When Sleep's their Bus'ness, Sleep shou'd be their Meat.
