FABLE XLIV.
THE HOUND AND THE HUNTSMAN.
Impertinence at first is borne With heedless slight, or smiles of scorn; Teased into wrath, what patience bears The noisy fool who perseveres?
The morning wakes, the huntsman sounds, At once rush forth the joyful hounds.
They seek the wood with eager pace, Through bush, through brier, explore the chase.
Now scattered wide, they try the plain, And snuff the dewy turf in vain.
_10 What care, what industry, what pains!
What universal silence reigns.
Ringwood, a dog of little fame, Young, pert, and ignorant of game, At once displays his babbling throat; The pack, regardless of the note, Pursue the scent; with louder strain He still persists to vex the train.
The huntsman to the clamour flies; The smacking lash he smartly plies.
_20 His ribs all welked, with howling tone The puppy thus expressed his moan: "I know the music of my tongue Long since the pack with envy stung.
What will not spite? These bitter smarts I owe to my superior parts."
"When puppies prate," the huntsman cried, "They show both ignorance and pride: Fools may our scorn, not envy raise, For envy is a kind of praise.
_30 Had not thy forward noisy tongue Proclaimed thee always in the wrong, Thou might"st have mingled with the rest, And ne"er thy foolish nose confess"d.
But fools, to talking ever p.r.o.ne, Are sure to make their follies known."
FABLE XLV.
THE POET AND THE ROSE.
I hate the man who builds his name On ruins of another"s fame.
Thus prudes, by characters o"erthrown, Imagine that they raise their own.
Thus scribblers, covetous of praise, Think slander can transplant the bays.
Beauties and bards have equal pride, With both all rivals are decried.
Who praises Lesbia"s eyes and feature, Must call her sister, awkward creature; _10 For the kind flattery"s sure to charm, When we some other nymph disarm.
As in the cool of early day A poet sought the sweets of May, The garden"s fragrant breath ascends, And every stalk with odour bends.
A rose he plucked, he gazed, admired, Thus singing as the muse inspired: "Go, rose, my Chloe"s bosom grace; How happy should I prove, _20 Might I supply that envied place With never fading love!
There, phoenix-like, beneath her eye, Involved in fragrance, burn and die!
Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find More fragrant roses there; I see thy withering head reclined With envy and despair!
One common fate we both must prove; You die with envy, I with love."
_30 "Spare your comparisons," replied An angry rose, who grew beside.
"Of all mankind, you should not flout us; What can a poet do without us!
In every love-song roses bloom; We lend you colour and perfume.
Does it to Chloe"s charms conduce, To found her praise on our abuse?
Must we, to flatter her, be made To wither, envy, pine and fade?"
_40
FABLE XLVI.
THE CUR, THE HORSE, AND THE SHEPHERD"S DOG.
The lad of all-sufficient merit, With modesty ne"er damps his spirit; Presuming on his own deserts, On all alike his tongue exerts; His noisy jokes at random throws, And pertly spatters friends and foes; In wit and war the bully race Contribute to their own disgrace.
Too late the forward youth shall find That jokes are sometimes paid in kind; _10 Or if they canker in the breast, He makes a foe who makes a jest.
A village-cur, of snappish race, The pertest puppy of the place, Imagined that his treble throat Was blest with music"s sweetest note: In the mid road he basking lay, The yelping nuisance of the way; For not a creature pa.s.sed along, But had a sample of his song.
_20 Soon as the trotting steed he hears, He starts, he c.o.c.ks his dapper ears; Away he scours, a.s.saults his hoof; Now near him snarls, now barks aloof; With shrill impertinence attends; Nor leaves him till the village ends.
It chanced, upon his evil day, A pad came pacing down the way: The cur, with never-ceasing tongue, Upon the pa.s.sing traveller sprung.
_30 The horse, from scorn provoked to ire, Flung backward; rolling in the mire, The puppy howled, and bleeding lay; The pad in peace pursued the way.
A shepherd"s dog, who saw the deed, Detesting the vexatious breed, Bespoke him thus: "When c.o.xcombs prate, They kindle wrath, contempt, or hate; Thy teasing tongue had judgment tied, Thou hadst not, like a puppy, died."
_40
FABLE XLVII.
THE COURT OF DEATH.
Death, on a solemn night of state, In all his pomp of terror sate: The attendants of his gloomy reign, Diseases dire, a ghastly train!
Crowd the vast court. With hollow tone, A voice thus thundered from the throne: "This night our minister we name, Let every servant speak his claim; Merit shall bear this ebon wand;"
All, at the word, stretch"d forth their hand.
_10 Fever, with burning heat possess"d, Advanced, and for the wand address"d: "I to the weekly bills appeal, Let those express my fervent zeal; On every slight occasion near, With violence I persevere."
Next Gout appears with limping pace, Pleads how he shifts from place to place, From head to foot how swift he flies, 19 And every joint and sinew plies; _20 Still working when he seems suppress"d, A most tenacious stubborn guest.
A haggard spectre from the crew Crawls forth, and thus a.s.serts his due: "Tis I who taint the sweetest joy, And in the shape of love destroy: My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face, Prove my pretension to the place."
Stone urged his ever-growing force.
And, next, Consumption"s meagre corse, _30 With feeble voice, that scarce was heard, Broke with short coughs, his suit preferred: "Let none object my ling"ring way, I gain, like Fabius, by delay; Fatigue and weaken every foe By long attack, secure, though slow."
Plague represents his rapid power, Who thinned a nation in an hour.
All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand.
Now expectation hushed the band, _40 When thus the monarch from the throne: "Merit was ever modest known, What, no physician speak his right!
None here! but fees their toils requite.
Let then Intemperance take the wand, Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest, (Whom wary men, as foes, detest,) Forego your claim; no more pretend: Intemperance is esteemed a friend; _50 He shares their mirth, their social joys, And, as a courted guest, destroys.
The charge on him must justly fall, Who finds employment for you all."
FABLE XLVIII.
THE GARDENER AND THE HOG.
A gard"ner, of peculiar taste, On a young hog his favour placed; Who fed not with the common herd; His tray was to the hall preferred.
He wallowed underneath the board, Or in his master"s chamber snored; Who fondly stroked him every day, And taught him all the puppy"s play; Where"er he went, the grunting friend Ne"er failed his pleasure to attend.
_10 As on a time, the loving pair Walked forth to tend the garden"s care, The master thus address"d the swine: "My house, my garden, all is thine.
On turnips feast whene"er you please, And riot in my beans and peas; If the potato"s taste delights, Or the red carrot"s sweet invites, Indulge thy morn and evening hours, But let due care regard my flowers: _20 My tulips are my garden"s pride, What vast expense those beds supplied!"
The hog by chance one morning roamed, Where with new ale the vessels foamed.
He munches now the steaming grains, Now with full swill the liquor drains.
Intoxicating fumes arise; 27 He reels, he rolls his winking eyes; Then stagg"ring through the garden scours, And treads down painted ranks of flowers.
_30 With delving snout he turns the soil, And cools his palate with the spoil.
The master came, the ruin spied, "Villain, suspend thy rage," he cried.
"Hast thou, thou most ungrateful sot, My charge, my only charge forgot?
What, all my flowers!" No more he said, But gazed, and sighed, and hung his head.