Aesop at Court :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Sun and Wind one day fell out,
In matters they discours'd about,
Old Boreas in a Rage:
Call'd the Sun Fool, and swore he li'd,
Spit in his Face, his power defi'd,
And dar'd him to engage.

Quoth he, yon goes a Traveller,
With formal Cloak, and looks demure,
The Whiggish Signs of Grace:
Who fairly off the Cloak can force,
From one so Stiff, Proud, and Morose,
Deserves the Upper Place.

With that the Wind began to rise,
Bluster'd and Storm'd it thro' the Skies,
Making a dismal Roar:
The Non-con. wrap'd his Cloak about,
Trudg'd on, resolv'd to weather't out,
And see the Tempest o'er.

The Storm being spent, with piercing Rays,
Full on his Shoulders Phœbus plays,
Which soon the Zealot felt,

Aside the cumb'rous Cloak was thrown,
Panting and faint he laid him down,
More decently to melt.

The Sun then ask'd his blustering Friend,
If farther yet he durst contend,
And try some other way:
But conscious of so plain a Truth,
He put his Finger in his Mouth,
Without a word to say.

The MORAL.

Your Whigs disgrac'd, like Bullys of the Town,
Libel, and Rail the more they'r tumbl'd down:
Superior Merit still prevails at last,
The Fury of their feeble Storm is past.

But when the Senate darts its piercing Rays,
Faction unbuttons, and rebates its pace:
The Hypocritick Cloak is tiresome found,
And the faint Zealot pants upon the Ground.