University of Virginia Library

The Bird of Jove, who was all Day,
As much intent upon his Prey,
As any Prince in Christendom,
Was not well pleased, that coming home,
He always found his Folks a Bed,
(Sure Courtiers should be better bred.)
For, as Crown'd Heads have much to think,
Some Nights he could not sleep a wink;
And thought it hard to have ne'er a Bird
In all his Court could speak a Word,
Or snuff a Candle, hundred things,
That are of use to waking Kings.
Some Birds strove hard, did what they could;
Yet when 't grew dark, slept as they stood.
Others pretended that they watch'd,
And swore and ly'd till they were catch'd.
The King would not be put upon:
Asks all his Court what's to be done?
One talks no wiser than a Horse,
Another makes it ten times worse,
The Ostrich said, It's plain to me,
We sleep because we cannot see;
Ask Jupiter, he can't deny't,
To let it when 'tis dark be light—
At that all stopt his Speech a laughing,
Except the King, who fell a coughing.
Says one more learned than the rest,
I'm for a Crane with stone in Fist;
If he should sleep it must be known,
For presently he'll drop the stone.
But as the Watchmen were to be
In the upper Garret of the Tree,
The King for weighty Reasons said,
He'd have no Stones held o'er his Head.
Then cries the Swan, and he was right,
If one pretends to watch all Night.
He cannot do a better thing,
To make us believe it than to sing.
His Majesty approves of it,
And Letters presently are writ;
By which the Airy Prince invites
All Birds to Court, that sung a Nights;
But most of 'em look on the same
As things of no concern to them.
Yet some that had Ambition
Would very willingly have gone,
But since they could not watch in short,
And might perhaps be punish'd for't,
At best they could propose no Gains
But t'have their Labour for their Pains.
Only the Nightingale, whose Art
Man knows, had fill'd his little Heart
With so much Joy, he's more than glad,
And almost ready to run mad;
Calls on all Birds and shakes his Wings,
Tells them how every Night he sings;
(A thing, which they knew nothing of,
For by that time they're fast enough.)
Says he it hits so luckily,
As if it was contriv'd for me,
What cause to doubt of being chose,
When there's not one that can oppose.
His Friend the Black-bird says, if so,
Make haste to Court; why don't you go?
The haughty Bird cries truly No,
Glory's a thing I never went for,
Nor shall go now unless I am sent for.
At last the King by Mistress Fame,
'S acquainted with his Skill and Name,
And hearing of his Stateliness
Sends half a dozen Deputies;
Who, when they're come, are forced to wait:
The Bird makes every thing look great;
He humbly thanks his Majesty;
But could not leave his Family.
They still perswade and press him hard,
He need not doubt of a great Reward.
And as the Nightingale delays,
And banters 'em for several Days;
A Magpye in the Field at play
Heard how he made the Courtiers stay,
Goes home and there relates the Story,
The Message, and the Bird's Vain glory,
T'an Owl, who from his Infancy
Had liv'd in the same Family;
And adds, why don't you take a Flight?
I've often heard you sing at Night;
When wak'd by our unlucky Boys.
Says the Owl, I know I have no Voice
As well as you: But if you hear me,
Young Jackanaps you need not jeer me.
By George, says Mag, I'm not in jest,
What though the Nightingale sings best,
He is so proud, takes so much state,
A thing I know all Princes hate,
That if y'are there before the other,
Who wants such Courtship, keeps such pother,
I don't know but your solemn Face,
And modest Mein may get the place.
I'll go my self for Company:
And Mag discoursed so winingly,
The Match is made away they fly.
The King by this time thought it long
To stay for a Nocturnal Song
When Master Magpy, and his Friend,
Were just come to their Journy's end.
They told their Business modestly,
And are lodg'd on the Royal Tree.
The Owl sets up his Note at Night,
At which the Eagle laugh'd out right,
Then went to sleep and two Hours after
He wak'd, and wanted to make Water.
Call'd to his Watch, who presently
Jump'd in, and cry'd Sir, Here am I.
So, tho his Owlship could not sing,
His watchfulness had pleas'd the King.
Next day arrives the Nightingale,
With his Attendance at his Tail.
His Majesty would by no Means
Admit him to an Audience;
But sends a stately Bird of Sence,
Who thus accosted him. Signior,
Whom we so long have waited for;
Since Yesterday a Bird came hither,
As grave as ever wore a Feather,
Who without promise of Reward
Last Night has serv'd upon the Guard,
With him to Morrow Night the King
Has order'd you to watch and sing,
Says Nightingale, what do I care
For Orders? I am free, and swear
My Master-lays shall mix with none,
They make a Consort of their own:
But who has so much vanity,
That dares pretend to sing with me?
And hearing 'twas th'Athenian Bird,
He star'd and cou'd not speak a Word,
Grew pale, and swell'd, his Wind came short,
And Anger overwhelm'd his Heart.
He foams at Mouth, and raves, and blusters,
And utters all his Words in Clusters.
A King! a Devil, stupid Fowl,
That can compare me to an Owl!
Pray says the Courtier, have a Care,
Consider in what place you are;
But, as the Fool would hear no Reason,
He went, and left him sputt'ring Treason,
Then told what happen'd to the King,
Who said he'd never hear him sing;
The Owl should be kept in his Place,
And th'other punish'd with Disgrace;
He wisely weigh'd one's Complaisance
Against the other's Insolence,
Oppos'd the Humble to the Rude,
And thought the one might do more Good,
With Loyalty and Diligence,
Than th'other with his Skill and Sence.
The Nightingale is kick'd from Court
And serv'd the little Birds for sport;
Till full of Shame and Grief he went,
And curs'd the King and Government.

The Moral.

Princes can never satisfy
That Worth that rates itself too high.
What Pity it is! some Men of Parts
Should have such haughty stubborn Hearts:
When once they are courted they grow vain:
Ambitious Souls cannot contain
Their Joy, which when they strive to hide,
They cover it with so much Pride,
So Saucy to Superiors,
Impatient of Competitors,
Th'are utterly untractable,
And put off like our Nightingale.
Many with him might have been great,
Promoted Friends, and serv'd the State,
That have beheld, with too much Joy,
The wish'd for Opportunity;
Then slipt it by their own Delays,
Sloth, Pride, or other willful Ways,
And ever after strove in vain
To see the Forelock once again.