FABLE XV.

THE COOK-MAID, THE TURNSPIT, AND THE OX.

TO A POOR MAN.

Consider man in every sphere, Then tell me is your lot severe?

'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust, That makes you wretched. G.o.d is just.

I grant, that hunger must be fed, That toil too earns thy daily bread.

What then? Thy wants are seen and known, But every mortal feels his own.

We're born a restless, needy crew: Show me the happier man than you.

_10 Adam, though blest above his kind, For want of social woman pined, Eve's wants the subtle serpent saw, Her fickle taste transgressed the law: Thus fell our sires; and their disgrace The curse entailed on human race.

When Philip's son, by glory led, Had o'er the globe his empire spread; When altars to his name were dressed, That he was man, his tears confessed.

_20 The hopes of avarice are check'd: The proud man always wants respect.

What various wants on power attend!

Ambition never gains its end.

Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits and corporeal pain?

He, barred from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.

Another in a beauteous wife Finds all the miseries of life: _30 Domestic jars and jealous fear Embitter all his days with care.

This wants an heir, the line is lost: Why was that vain entail engross'd?

Canst thou discern another's mind?

Why is't you envy? Envy's blind.

Tell Envy, when she would annoy, That thousands want what you enjoy.

'The dinner must be dished at one.

Where's this vexatious turnspit gone?

_40 Unless the skulking cur is caught, The sirloin's spoiled, and I'm in fault.'

Thus said: (for sure you'll think it fit That I the cook-maid's oaths omit) With all the fury of a cook, Her cooler kitchen Nan forsook.

The broomstick o'er her head she waves; She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves.

The sneaking cur before her flies: She whistles, calls; fair speech she tries.

_50 These nought avail. Her choler burns; The fist and cudgel threat by turns; With hasty stride she presses near; He slinks aloof, and howls with fear.

'Was ever cur so cursed!' he cried, 'What star did at my birth preside?

Am I for life by compact bound To tread the wheel's eternal round?

Inglorious task! Of all our race No slave is half so mean and base.

_60 Had fate a kinder lot a.s.signed, And formed me of the lap-dog kind, I then, in higher life employed, Had indolence and ease enjoyed; And, like a gentleman, caress'd, Had been the lady's favourite guest.

Or were I sprung from spaniel line, Was his sagacious nostril mine, By me, their never-erring guide, From wood and plain their feasts supplied _70 Knights, squires, attendant on my pace, Had shared the pleasures of the chase.

Endued with native strength and fire, Why called I not the lion sire?

A lion! such mean views I scorn.

Why was I not of woman born?

Who dares with reason's power contend?

On man we brutal slaves depend: To him all creatures tribute pays, And luxury employs his days.'

_80 An ox by chance o'erheard his moan, And thus rebuked the lazy drone: 'Dare you at partial fate repine?

How kind's your lot compared with mine!

Decreed to toil, the barbarous knife Hath severed me from social life; Urged by the stimulating goad, I drag the c.u.mbrous waggon's load: 'Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain, Break the stiff soil, and house the grain; _90 Yet I without a murmur bear The various labours of the year.

But then consider, that one day, (Perhaps the hour's not far away,) You, by the duties of your post, Shall turn the spit when I'm the roast: And for reward shall share the feast; I mean, shall pick my bones at least.'

''Till now,' the astonished cur replies, 'I looked on all with envious eyes.

_100 How false we judge by what appears!

All creatures feel their several cares.

If thus yon mighty beast complains, Perhaps man knows superior pains.

Let envy then no more torment: Think on the ox, and learn content.'

Thus said: close following at her heel, With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel.

FABLE XVI.

THE RAVENS, THE s.e.xTON, AND THE EARTH-WORM.

TO LAURA.

Laura, methinks you're over nice.

True, flattery is a shocking vice; Yet sure, whene'er the praise is just, One may commend without disgust.

Am I a privilege denied, Indulged by every tongue beside?

How singular are all your ways!

A woman, and averse to praise!

If 'tis offence such truths to tell, Why do your merits thus excel?

_10 Since then I dare not speak my mind, A truth conspicuous to mankind; Though in full l.u.s.tre every grace Distinguish your celestial face: Though beauties of inferior ray (Like stars before the orb of day) Turn pale and fade: I check my lays, Admiring what I dare not praise.

If you the tribute due disdain, The Muse's mortifying strain _20 Shall like a woman in mere spite, Set beauty in a moral light.

Though such revenge might shock the ear Of many a celebrated fair; I mean that superficial race Whose thoughts ne'er reach beyond their face; What's that to you? I but displease Such ever-girlish ears as these.

Virtue can brook the thoughts of age, That lasts the same through every stage.

_30 Though you by time must suffer more Than ever woman lost before; To age is such indifference shown, As if your face were not your own.

Were you by Antoninus[1] taught?

Or is it native strength of thought, That thus, without concern or fright, You view yourself by reason's light?

Those eyes of so divine a ray, What are they? Mouldering, mortal clay.

_40 Those features, cast in heavenly mould, Shall, like my coa.r.s.er earth, grow old; Like common gra.s.s, the fairest flower Must feel the h.o.a.ry season's power.

How weak, how vain is human pride!

Dares man upon himself confide?

The wretch who glories in his gain, Ama.s.ses heaps on heaps in vain.

Why lose we life in anxious cares, To lay in h.o.a.rds for future years?

_50 Can those (when tortured by disease) Cheer our sick heart, or purchase ease?

Can those prolong one gasp of breath, Or calm the troubled hour of death?

What's beauty? Call ye that your own?

A flower that fades as soon as blown.

What's man in all his boast of sway?

Perhaps the tyrant of a day.

Alike the laws of life take place Through every branch of human race, _60 The monarch of long regal line Was raised from dust as frail as mine.

Can he pour health into his veins, Or cool the fever's restless pains?

Can he (worn down in Nature's course) New-brace his feeble nerves with force?

Can he (how vain is mortal power!) Stretch life beyond the destined hour?

Consider, man; weigh well thy frame; The king, the beggar is the same.

_70 Dust forms us all. Each breathes his day, Then sinks into his native clay.

Beneath a venerable yew, That in the lonely church-yard grew, Two ravens sat. In solemn croak Thus one his hungry friend bespoke: 'Methinks I scent some rich repast; The savour strengthens with the blast; Snuff then, the promised feast inhale; I taste the carcase in the gale; _80 Near yonder trees, the farmer's steed, From toil and daily drudgery freed, Hath groaned his last. A dainty treat!

To birds of taste delicious meat.'

A s.e.xton, busy at his trade, To hear their chat suspends his spade.

Death struck him with no further thought, Than merely as the fees he brought.

'Was ever two such blundering fowls, In brains and manners less than owls!

_90 Blockheads,' says he, 'learn more respect; Know ye on whom ye thus reflect?

In this same grave (who does me right, Must own the work is strong and tight) The squire that yon fair hall possessed, Tonight shall lay his bones at rest.

Whence could the gross mistake proceed?

The squire was somewhat fat indeed.