Chapter 3

A goat of singularity-- Not vainer than a goat need be-- Lay on a thymy bank, and viewed Himself reflected in the flood. "Confound my beard!" he thought, and said; "How badly it becomes my head; Upon my honour! women might Take me to be some crazy wight." He sought the barber of the place,-- A monkey 'twas, of Moorish race, Who shaved mankind, drew teeth, and bled. A pole diagonal--striped red, Teeth in their row in order strung, And pewter bason by them slung, Far in the street projecting stood-- The pole with bandage symboled blood.

Pug shaved our friend and took his penny, And hoped to shave him oft and many; Goatee, impatient of applause, Then sought his native hills and shaws. "Heigh-day! how now? whoever heard-- What gone and shaven off your beard?"

The fop replied: "All realms polite, From Roman to the Muscovite, Now trim their beards and shave their chins; Shall we, like Monkish Capuchins, Alone be singular and hairy? One walks amidst the cities cheery, And men and boys all cease to poke Fun at the beard by way of joke-- In days of old, so Romans jeered Stoic philosophers with beard."

"Friend," said a bearded chieftain, "you At Rome may do as Romans do; But if you refuge with our herd, I counsel you to keep your beard: For if you dread the jeers of others, How will you bear it from your brothers?"

FABLE XXIII.

OLD DAME AND CATS.

He who holds friendship with a knave, Will reputation hardly save; And thus upon our choice of friends Our good or evil name depends.

A wrinkled hag--of naughty fame-- Sat hovering o'er a flickering flame, Propped with both hands upon her knees She shook with palsy and the breeze. She had perhaps seen fourscore years, And backwards said her daily prayers; Her troop of cats with hunger mewed,-- Tabbies and toms, a numerous brood. Teased with their murmuring, out she flew In angry passion: "Hence, ye crew!-- What made me take to keeping cats? Ye are as bad as bawling brats: With brats I might perhaps have grown rich; I never had been thought a known witch. Boys pester me, and strive to awe-- Across my path they place a straw; They nail the horse-shoe, hide the broom-stick, Put pins, and every sort of trick."

"Dame," said a tabby, "cease your prate, Enough to break a pussy's pate. What is our lot beneath your roof? Within, starvation; out, reproof: Elsewhere we had been honest mousers, And slept, by, fireside carousers. Here we are imps who serve a hag, And yonder broom-stick's thought your nag; Boys hunt us with a doom condign, To take one life out of our nine."

FABLE XXIV.

BUTTERFLY AND SNAIL.

All upstarts, insolent in place, Remind us of their vulgar race.

A butterfly, but born one morning, Sat on a rose, the rosebud scorning. His wings of azure, jet, and gold, Were truly glorious to behold; He spread his wings, he sipped the dew, When an old neighbour hove in view-- The snail, who left a slimy trace Upon the lawn, his native place.

"Adam," he to the gard'ner cried, "Behold this fellow by my side; What is the use with daily toil To war with weeds, to clear the soil, And with keen intermittent labour To graft and prune for fruit with flavour The peach and plum, if such as he, Voracious vermin, may make free? Give them the roller or the rake, And crush as you would crush a snake."

The snail replied: "Your arrogance Awakes my patience from its trance; Recalls to mind your humble birth, Born from the lowliest thing on earth. Nine times has Phoebus, with the hours, Awakened to new life, new flowers, Since you were a vile crawling thing! Though now endowed with painted wing, You then were vilest of the vile-- I was a snail, but housed the while; Was born a snail, and snail shall die; And thou, though now a butterfly, Will leave behind a baneful breed Of caterpillar sons--thy seed."

FABLE XXV.

THE SCOLD AND PARROT.

A husband said unto his wife: "Who deals in slander deals in strife; Are we the heralds of disgrace, To thunder, love, at all our race-- And, indiscriminate in rage, To spare nor friend nor sex nor age? Your tongue, love, is a rolling flood That thundering onwards stirs up mud, And, like to fame and human woes, Progressing, strengthens as it flows."

"My husband," so the _tongue_ replies, "So philosophic and so wise, Am I to be--so wisdom ridden-- A parrot's privilege forbidden? You praise his talk--smile at his squalling Yet in your wife you deem it brawling: Dear husband, must it still belong To man to think his wife is wrong? A lesson learnt from nature's school Tells me to call a fool a fool."

But Nature disabused her words By cat and monkey, dog and birds: Puss spat and pug grinned at the scold, The hound slunk off, the magpie told, With repetitions, woman's rage; Whilst poll, haranguing from her cage: "Parrots for prattling words are prized; Woman for prattling words despised. She who attacks another's fame Does but discredit her own name; Upon her tongues malignant set, And with good interest pay their debt."

FABLE XXVI.

CUR AND MASTIFF.

A sneaking cur caused much disaster By pandering scandal for his master. The hound was beaten, mastiff chidden, Puss in disgrace, and pug forbidden. Each of his dearest chum grew shy. And none could tell a reason why. Burglars to rob the house laid wait. Betty in love, undid the gate; The cur was won by dint of meat; Remained the mastiff dog to cheat. The mastiff dog refused the bribe, And tore the hand of one beside. The cur off with the tidings ran, And told how he had bit a man. The master said: "Hanged he shall be!" They dragged poor Trusty to the tree: He met his master, and averred That he had been condemned unheard.

His lord then sat to hear the trial: The mastiff pleaded his denial; The cur then, special pleading, stated The case--unduly aggravated.

When evidence on either side Concluded was, the dog replied, And ended with this peroration: "Trust not to curs of basest station, With itching palms--a plot is laid, And man and master are betrayed."

The mastiff had with truth harangued: The truth appeared; the cur was hanged.

FABLE XXVII.

SICK MAN AND ANGEL.

"Is there no hope?" the sick man said. The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with unfeigned sorrow To lose a patient on the morrow. When left alone, the dying man "Let me review my life"--began; "My bargains--well, they were well made; 'Tis the necessity of trade-- Necessity is no transgression. Now for my portion in possession: My lands and my securities, They all are right, in every wise. If justice to myself and heirs Have done some hardships unawares,-- Left Smith in jail for debt, or sent The Browns adrift for unpaid rent,-- I've given alms and helped my friends, What I propose will make amends: When I am numbered with the dead, And when my good bequests are read, Then will be seen and then be known Benevolence I have not shown."

The angel, present by his side, Bade him not in such hopes confide:

"What deed have you done worthy praise? What orphan blesses, widow prays, To lengthen out your life one year? If you will now add deeds to prayer-- Your neighbours want, whilst you abound-- Give me a cheque--five hundred pound."

"Where is the haste?" the sick man whines; "Who knows--who knows what Heaven designs: That sum, and more, are in my will; Perhaps I may recover still."

"Fool!" said the angel: "it is plain That your great happiness was gain; And after death would fain atone By giving what is not your own." "Whilst there is life, there's hope!" he cried; "Then why such haste?"--he spoke, and died.

FABLE XXVIII.

THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.

Lives there a bard for genius famed Whom Envy's tongue hath not declaimed? Her hissing snakes proclaim her spite; She summons up the fiends of night; Hatred and malice by her stand, And prompt to do what she command.

As prostrate to the orb of day A Persian, invocating, lay:

"Parent of light, whose rays dispense The various gifts of Providence, Accept our praise, accept our prayer, Smile on our fields, and bless our year."

A cloud passed by--a voice aloud, Like Envy's, issued from that cloud:

"I can eclipse your gaudy orb, And every ray you ask absorb. Pray, then, to me--where praise is due-- And I will grant the rays to you."

The Persian answered in his wrath: "He raised thee to that airy path; A passing wind or puff of air Will hurl thee to thy proper sphere."

The gale arose, the cloud was doomed, The golden orb his reign resumed. And as the sun above, so worth Scatters the clouds of sons of earth.

FABLE XXIX.

THE DYING FOX.

A fox was dying, and he lay In all the weakness of decay. A numerous progeny, with groans, Attended to his feeble tones:

"My crimes lie heavy on my soul; My sons, my sons, your raids control! Ah, how the shrieks of murdered fowl Environ me with stunning howl!"

The hungry foxes in a ring Looked round, but saw there no such thing: "This is an ecstasy of brain: We fast, dear sir, and wish in vain."

"Gluttons! restrain such wish," replied The dying fox; "be such defied; Inordinate desires deplore; The more you win, you grieve the more. Do not the dogs betray our pace, And gins and guns destroy our race? Old age--which few of us attain-- Now puts a period to my pain. Would you the good name lost redeem? Live, then, in credit and esteem."

"Good counsel, marry!" said a fox; "And quit our mountain-dens and rocks! But if we quit our native place, We bear the name that marks our race; And what our ancestry have done Descends to us from sire to son. Though we should feed like harmless lambs, We should regarded be as shams; The change would never be believed; A name lost cannot be retrieved."

The Sire replied: "Too true; but then-- Hark! that's the cackle of a hen. Go, but be moderate, spare the brood: One chicken, one, might do me good."

FABLE XXX.

THE SETTER AND THE PARTRIDGE.

The setting dog the stubble tried, And snuffed the breeze with nostrils wide; He set--the sportsmen from behind, Conscious of game, the net unwind.

A partridge, which as warder stood, Warned, and the covey sought the wood. But, ere she followed from her cover, Thus she discharged her mind on Rover:

"Thou fawning slave and sneaking cheat, Subservient unto man's deceit! Disgrace unto thy honest race, Unto the race of dogs disgrace; Who ere to men they bent the knee Were noted for fidelity."

The dog retorted with a sneer: "Since you are safe, enjoy your jeer; Rustic alike in kind and mind, And ignorant of courts refined. Sagacious courtiers do like me,-- They rise to high supremacy; I copy them, and I inherit The high rewards for worth and merit."

"I might have known," the partridge said, "The school where you were trained and bred; With a smooth brow for every crisis, Inherent to your master's vices. You came from courts: return! adieu"-- And to her covey off she flew.

FABLE XXXI.

THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION.

A rake who had, by pleasure stuffing, Raked mind and body down to nothing, In wretched vacancy reclined, Enfeebled both in frame and mind.

As pain and languor chose to bore him, A ghastly phantom rose before him:

"My name is Care. Nor wealth nor power Can give the heart a cheerful hour Devoid of health--impressed by care. From pleasures fraught with pains, forbear."

The phantom fled. The rake abstained, And part of fleeing health retained. Then, to reform, he took a wife, Resolved to live a sober life.

Again the phantom stood before him, With jealousies and fears to bore him. Her smiles to others he resents, Looks to the charges and the rents, Increasing debts, perplexing duns, And nothing for the younger sons.

He turned his thoughts to lucre's thirst, And stored until his garners burst: The spectre haunted him the more. Then poverty besieged his door: He feared the burglar and the thief; Nor light nor darkness brought relief.

Therefore he turned his thoughts to power, To guard him in the midnight hour. That he achieved--and then the sprite Beleagued him morning, noon, and night. He had no placid hour for rest; Envy and hate his soul depressed, And rivalry, and foe for friend, And footfalls which his steps attend.

Therefore he sought a rustic bower-- Groves, fields, and fruit-trees, filled each hour; But droughts and rains, and blighting dews, On foot, on horseback, Care pursues.

He faced the phantom, and addressed: "Since you must ever be my guest, Let me, as host, perform my due; Go you the first, I'll follow you."

FABLE XXXII.

THE OWLS AND SPARROW.

Two pompous owls together sat In the solemnity of chat:

"Respect to wisdom, all is fled; The Grecian sages all are dead. They gave our fathers honour due; The dignity of owls they knew. Upon our merit they conferred The title of 'The Athenian bird.'"

"Brother, they did; you reason right," Answered his chum with winking sight. "For Athens was the seat of learning. Academicians _were_ discerning. They placed us on Minerva's helm, And strove with rank to overwhelm Our worth, which now is quite neglected,-- Ay, a cock-sparrow's more respected."

A sparrow who was passing by, And heard the speech, made this reply: "Old chaps, you were at Athens graced, And on Minerva's helm were placed, And we all know the reason why. Of all the birds beneath the sky, They chose you forth the lot to show What they desired their schools to know, The emptiness of solemn looks. You teach it better than the books. Would you be thought of wit and worth, And be respected upon earth, Humble your arrogance of mind, Go to the farmers, and there find A welcome--foe to mice and rats. And live the rivals of the cats."

FABLE XXXIII.

COURTIER AND PROTEUS.

The country shelters the disgrace Of every courtier out of place: When, doomed to exercise and health, O'er his estate he scatters wealth; There he builds schemes for others' ruin, As Philip's son of old was doing.

A wandless one, upon the strand, Wandered with heavy hours on hand: The murmuring waters ran and broke; Proteus arose, and him bespoke:

"Come ye from court, I ask? Your mien Is so importantly serene."

The courtier answered, friends had tricked him, And that he was a party's victim.

Proteus replied: "I hold the skill To change to any shape at will. But I am told at court there be Fellows who more than rival me. Now see a form that I can take:" And Proteus rolled a scaly snake.

The man replied: "Of reptile race Is every courtier, whilst in place. Yes, they can take the dragon form, Bask in the sun, and flee the storm; With envy glare, with malice gloat, And cast, like you your skin,--their coat! And in a dunghill born and bred, With new-born lustre rear the head."

Then Proteus as a lion stood, And shook his mane and stirred the flood; Then soused as waters, soared as fire, Then as a tigress glared with ire.

"Such transformations might appal, Had I not stood in regal hall. We hunt the lion, utilise The elements, without surprise. Such forms indeed are things of prey, And courtiers hunt them, though they bray. They practise frauds in every shape, Or as a lion or an ape."

So said, the courtier grasped the god, Bound him with cords, dragged to the sod, And said: "Now tell me, Proteus; tell, Do men or ancient gods excel? For you are bound to tell the truth, Nor are your transformations sooth; But courtiers are not bound by ties; They consort not with truth, but lies; Fix on him any form you will A courtier finds evasion still."

FABLE XXXIV.

THE MASTIFF.

Those who in quarrels interpose Must often wipe a bloody nose.

A mastiff of true English mood Loved fighting better than his food. When dogs were snarling o'er a bone He wished to make their war his own; And often found (where two contend) To interpose, obtained his end: The scars of honour seamed his face; He deemed his limp endued with grace.

Once on a time he heard afar Two dogs contend with noisy jar; Away he scoured to lay about him, Resolved no fray should be without him. Forth from the yard--which was a tanner's-- The master rushed to teach him manners; And with the cudgel tanned his hide, And bullied him with words beside. Forth from another yard--a butcher's-- The master rushed--his name was Mutchers-- "Why, who the deuce are you?" he cried: "Why do you interfere? Bankside Has, at the Bull-pit, seen and known, And Hockleyhole and Marry-bone, That when we go to work we mean it-- Why should you come and intervene it?" So said, they dragged the dogs asunder, And kicks and clubs fell down like thunder. And parted now, and freed from danger, The curs beheld the meddling stranger, And where their masters whacked they hurried, And master mastiff he was "worried."

FABLE XXXV.

BARLEYMOW AND DUNGHILL.

How many saucy beaux we meet 'Twixt Westminster and Aldgate-street! Rascals--the mushrooms of a day, Who sprung and shared the South Sea prey, Nor in their zenith condescend To own or know the humble friend.

A careful farmer took his way Across his yard at break of day: He leant a moment o'er the rail, To hear the music of the flail; In his quick eye he viewed his stock,-- The geese, the hogs, the fleecy flock.

A barleymow there, fat as mutton, Then held her master by the button: "Master, my heart and soul are wrung--till They can't abide that dirty dunghill: Master, you know I make your beer-- You boast of me at Christmas cheer; Then why insult me and disgrace me, And next to that vile dunghill place me? By Jove! it gives my nose offence: Command the hinds to cart it hence."

"You stupid Barleymow," said Dunghill; "You talk about your heart and wrung-ill: Where would you be, I'd like to know, Had I not fed and made you grow? You of October brew brag--pshaw! You would have been a husk of straw. And now, instead of gratitude, You rail in this ungrateful mood."

FABLE XXXVI.

PYTHAGORAS AND COUNTRYMAN.

Pythagoras, at daybreak drawn To meditate on dewy lawn, To breathe the fragrance of the morning, And, like philosophers, all scorning To think or care where he was bound, Fell on a farm. A hammer's sound Arrested then his thoughts and ear:

"My man, what are you doing there?"

The clown stood on a ladder's rung, And answered him with rudish tongue: "I've caught the villain--this here kite Kept my hens ever in a fright; I've nailed he here to my barn-door, Him shan't steal turkey-pouts no more." And lo! upon the door displayed, The caitiff kite his forfeit paid.

"Friend," said Pythagoras, "'tis right To murder a marauding kite; But, by analogy, that glutton-- That man who feasts on beef and mutton-- I say,--that by analogy,-- The man who eats a chick should die. 'Tis insolence of power and might When man, the glutton, kills the kite."

The clown, who heard Pythagoras, Waxed in a rage, called him an ass; Said man was lord of all creation.

"Man," the sage answered, _sans_ sensation, "You murder hawks and kites, lest they Should rob you of your fatted prey; And that great rogues may hold their state, The petty rascal meets his fate."

FABLE XXXVII.

FARMER'S WIFE AND RAVEN.

"Why are those tears? Why droops your head? Say is your swain or husband dead?"

The farmer's wife said: "You know well The salt was spilt,--to me it fell; And then to add loss unto loss, The knife and fork were laid across. On Friday evening, 'tis too true, Bounce in my lap a coffin flew. Some dire misfortune it portends: I tremble for my absent friends."

"Dame," said the neighbour, "tremble not: Be all these prodigies forgot; The while, at least, you eat your dinner Bid the foul fiend avaunt--the sinner! And soon as Betty clears the table For a dessert, I'll read a fable.

"Betwixt her panniers rocked, on Dobbin A matron rode to market bobbing, Indulging in a trancelike dream Of money for her eggs and cream; When direful clamour from her broke: 'A raven on the left-hand oak! His horrid croak bodes me some ill.' Here Dobbin stumbled; 'twas down-hill, And somehow he with failing legs Fell, and down fell the cream and eggs. She, sprawling, said, 'You rascal craven! You--nasty--filthy--dirty--raven!' 'Goody,' said raven, 'spare your clamour, There nothing here was done by glamour; Get up again and wipe your gown, It was not I who threw you down; For had you laid your market ware On Dun--the old sure-footed mare-- Though all the ravens in the Hundred Had croaked till all the Hundred wondered, Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs, And you, good woman, saved your eggs.'"

FABLE XXXVIII.

THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.

We blame the mote that dims the eye Of other men, whose faults we spy; But we ignore the beam that lies With stronger strain in one's own eyes.

A turkey, who grew dull at home, Resolved in the wild woods to roam; Wearied she was of barn-door food, Therefore she chuckled round her brood, And said, "My little ones, now follow; We'll go and dine in yonder hollow." They first upon an ant-hill fell-- Myriads of negro-ants, pell-mell-- "O gobble, gobble--here's a treat! Emmets are most delicious meat; Spare not, spare not. How blest were we, Could we here live from poulterers free! Accursed man on turkeys preys, Christmas to us no holy-days; When with the oyster-sauce and chine We roast that aldermen may dine. They call us 'alderman in chains,' With sausages--the stupid swains! Ah! gluttony is sure the first Of all the seven sins--the worst! I'd choke mankind, had I the power, From peasant's hut to lordly bower."

An ant, who on a neighbouring beech Had climbed the trunk beyond her reach, Thus said to her: "You turkey-hen, What right have you to rail on men? You nor compunction know nor feel, But gobble nations at a meal!"

FABLE XXXIX.

THE FATHER AND JUPITER.

A man to Jupiter preferred Prayers for a wife: his prayer was heard. Jove smiled to see the man caressing The granted prayer and doubtful blessing.