FABLE I. The Peasant and Hercules:
Or,
No Pains, no Profit.
A
Peasant stock'd his Waggon in a Slough,
And saw no likely Prospect to get through;
Down on a Bank the lazy Lubber lay,
And, when he should have Labour'd, fell to Pray:
Thus did himself from Toil and Trouble spare,
And on the easie Gods cast all his Care:
But most to Hercules his Suit address'd,
For he was strongest, and cou'd help him best.
The God reply'd, You seek my Help in vain,
While, for your own Relief, you take no Pain:
Fall to your Work, and cease your idle Pray'r;
Actions, not Words, must manage this Affair:
Your busie Shoulders to the Wheel apply,
And when you strive to move it, so will I.
The MORAL.
‘Unactive Wishes, slow Concessions find;
‘Heav'n hears no Pray'rs, but with Endeavours join'd:
‘He who from thence hopes to obtain his End,
‘Must, by his own Efforts, himself befriend.
‘The Wretch, who ne'er exceeds a faint Desire,
‘Goes but half-way to what he would acquire.
‘He that to Vertue's high Rewards would rise,
‘Must run the Race, before he gains the Prize.
‘Alcides thus was for his Labours fam'd,
‘His Trophies rose from Monsters which he tam'd:
‘He his Renown by great Exploits enhanc'd,
‘And bore the Heav'n to which he was advanc'd.
