Chapter 6

The animals were once distressed By bitter famine, and addressed Themselves to man to find them food, And bound themselves in servitude; For, whilst they starved, or whilst they fed, Man had his lasting hoards of bread.

The cat demanded leave to sue, "Well, Puss," says Man, "and what can you do?" "Scatter the rats and mice," said Tib; "And guard your grain in sack or crib. Foe am I of the _genus Mus_, Absurdly called '_ridiculus_;' Dan AEsop called him so, not I; Feed me, and every mouse shall die."

Then to the starving hound, Man said: "Well, sir, and how can you earn bread?"

"My name is Trusty," said the hound; "And ne'er was I untrusty found. I am not used, by self-applause, To pander to my famished jaws; But I am well known; if you please To ask my character of these. My province is to watch, and keep The house and fold the whilst you sleep; And thief and wolf alike shall know I am your friend, and am their foe."

"Ah!" said the Man, "we rarely find Trust uncorrupted with mankind. Such services, indeed, transcend; Pray, be my comrade and my friend."

Then to the drone he turned, and said: "Well, sir; can you, sir, earn your bread?"

"I will explain, sir, if I can; I am," said drone, "a gentleman. Mechanics earn their bread--not I: Where'er there honey is, I fly; But, truly, it would not be fit I should submit to toil for it: I visit peaches, plums, and roses, Where Beauty on a couch reposes; I seldom fail the placid hour, When she takes bohea in the bower; Nor do I gather stores of pelf--, My object is to please myself; And if I lay to aught pretence, It is to ease and elegance."

"So, Mr. Drone; and have you done? Then, from that peach, I pray, begone; If you won't work, you shall not eat,-- That is, with me; so quit that seat. If all the world were such as you, We all should starve when north winds blew But he who, with industrious zeal, Contributes to the common weal, Has the true secret understood Of private and of public good. Be off with you!" He raised his hand, Which the vain insect dared withstand; It smote the parasite of pride And there the idler fell, and died.

FABLE LIX.

THE JACKALL, LEOPARD, AND BEASTS.

(_To a Modern Politician._)

I grant these facts: corruption sways, Self-interest does pervert man's ways; That bribes do blind; that present crimes Do equal those of former times: Can I against plain facts engage To vindicate the present age? I know that bribes in modern palm Can nobler energies encalm; That where such argument exists There itching is in modern fists. And hence you hold that politicians Should drive their nails on such conditions, So they might penetrate _sans_ bending, And win your way past comprehending.

Premising no reflection's meant, Unto such doctrine I dissent. The barrister is bound to plead Upon the side on which he 's fee'd; And so in every other trade Is duty, by the guinea, paid. Man, we are taught, is prone to evil-- That does not vindicate the devil: Besides, man, in his own behoof, Contrives to hide the cloven hoof. Nor is corruption of late date,-- 'Twas known in every age and state; And where corruption was employed The public welfare was destroyed.

Next see court minions in disgrace, Stripped of their treasure, stripped of place; What now is all their pride and boast,-- The servile slave, the flattering host, The tongues that fed him with applause, The noisy champions of their cause? They press the foremost to accuse His selfish jobs and paltry views. Ah, me! short-sighted were the fools, And false, aye false, the hireling tools. Was it such sycophants to get Corruption swelled the public debt? This motto would not shine amiss-- Write, "Point d'argent et point de Suisse."

The lion is the noblest brute, With parts and valour past dispute, And yet it is by all averred His rule to jackalls is transferred.

A rascal jackall once on law And property put down his paw. The forest groaned brute-discontent, And swore its injuries to resent: The jackall heard it, and with fear He saw disgrace approaching near.

He said and thought: "I must defeat Malicious tongues, and guard my seat; Strengthen myself with new allies, And then this clamour may despise." Unto the generous brutes he fawned; The generous brutes the jackall scorned. What must he do? Friends must be made, And proselytes by bribes be paid; For think not a brute's paw withstands The bribe which dirties human hands.

A hog o'er cabbage said his benison; The wolf was won by haunch of venison; A pullet won the fox; a thistle Tickled the donkey's tongue of gristle.

But now the royal leopard rose The tricksy jackall to oppose: And as the rats will leave in lurch The falling walls of house or church, So did each briber cut and run To worship at the rising sun. The hog with warmth expressed his zeal, So did the wolf for public weal,-- But claimed their venison and cabbage. The fox the like--without disparage Unto his perquisites of geese. The donkey asked a common's lease.

"Away," the leopard said, "ye crew, Whose conscience honesty ne'er knew! Away, I say, with all the tribe Who dare to ask or take a bribe: Cudgels, and not rewards, are due To such time-serving tools as you!"

FABLE LX.

THE DEGENERATE BEES.

(_To Dean Swift._)

Though courts the practice disallow, I ne'er a friend will disavow: It may be very wrong to know him, And very prudent to forego him; 'Tis said that prudence changes friends Oft as it suits one's private ends. Ah, Dean! and you have many foes, Behind, before, beneath your nose, And fellows very high in station. Of high and low denomination, Who dread you with a deadly spite For what you speak and what you write,-- Where, between satire and your wit, They feel themselves most sorely bit. Ah! can a dunce in church or state So overflow with froth and hate? And can a scribbling crew so spurt On Pope and Swift, who stand unhurt?

Ah! can it be, a mighty race (For giants may hold power and place) Can scandals raise and libels pen To prove that they are worthy men? They suffered from your pen, 'tis true, Therefore you have from them your due. You have no friends--be it understood Except myself--and wise and good. To lay the matter on the table, And give it point, I'll tell a fable.

A bee, who greedy was of gain, But wanted parts him to maintain, Seeing small rogues by great ones thrive, Corruption sowed throughout the hive. And as he rose in power and place Importance settled on his face; All conscience found with him discredit, But impudence the loudest--merit: Wealth claimed distinction and found grace, But poverty was ever base. Right, law, and industry gave way Where'er his selfish rule had sway; And so corruption seized the swarm, Who plundered underneath his arm. Thus he harangued: "Whilst vulgar souls Waste life in low mechanic holes, Let us scorn drudgery: the drone And wasp, whose elegance we own, Like gentlemen sport in the rays Of sunbeams on all summer days; It were not fitting they should moil,-- They live upon their neighbour's toil."

A bee, with indignation warm, Stepped forth from the applauding swarm:

"The laws our native hives protect, And for the laws bees hold respect. I do not mind your frown; I cry-- Bees live by honest industry. 'Twas toil and honest gain to thrive, Which gave us an ancestral hive, Which gave us our time-honoured dome, Bequeathed with store of honeycomb. Pursue the self-same road to fame By which your fathers won their name: But know the road you are pursuing Will lead you to the brink of ruin."

He spoke; but he was only hissed, And from his cell forthwith dismissed. With him* two other friends resigned, Indignant at the Apian mind. "These drones, who now oppress the State, Proclaim our virtue by their hate," The exile said; "our honest zeal Will serve again the common weal; And we, be sure, shall be replaced, When they shall from this hive be chased."

* Lords Oxford and Bolingbroke, in 1714, are intended.

FABLE LXI.

THE PACK-HORSE AND THE CARRIER.

(_To a Young Nobleman._)

Begin, my lord, in early youth, To bear with, nay encourage, truth. And blame me not, for disrespect, That I the flatterer's style reject.

Let Virtue be your first pursuit; Is not the tree known by its fruit? Set your great ancestry in view; Honour the title from them due. Assert that you are nobly born, Viewing ignoble things with scorn.

My lord, your ancestry had not The wealth and heirlooms you have got; Yet was their conscience aye their own, Nor ever pandered to the throne. With hands by no corruption stained They ministerial bribes disdained; They served the Crown, upheld the laws, And bore at heart their country's cause: So did your sires adorn their name, And raised the title unto fame.

My lord, 'tis not permitted you To do what humbler men may do. You may not be a dunce: your post Is foremost, and before the host. You may not serve a private end; To jobs you may not condescend; As from obscurity exempt, So are you open to contempt. Your name alone descends by birth, Your fame is consequent on worth; Nor deem a coronet can hide Folly or overweening pride: Learning, by toil and study won, Was ne'er entailed from sire to son. If you degenerate from your race, Its merit heightens your disgrace.

A carrier, at night and morn, Watched while his horses ate their corn: It sunk the ostler's vales, 'tis true; But then his horses got their due. It were as well, in some like cases, If Ministers watched over places.

And as he stood, the manger minding, And heard the teeth continue grinding, There was a racket; for a pack-horse Foamed at the mouth, and was in rack hoarse.

"Why, zounds!" he cried; "where have I got? Is, then, my high descent forgot? Must I endure the vile attacks Of carriers' drudges--common hacks? May Roan and Dobbin poke their noses In cribs where my great nose reposes? Good gracious me! why, here's old Ball!-- No longer sacred is the stall. I see Democracy and Devil Will soon put all upon one level. We have not been of race of Could-would, At Epsom, Newmarket, and Goodwood; Nor, by Dame Truth! I vow and pledge her, Are we unknown at the St. Leger. Unnumbered are our triumphs, told; Unnumbered are the cups we hold; Unnumbered are our laurels won; And am I to be put upon By carrier-nags of low degree? O Fortune, do not let it be!"

"You stupid blockhead!" said the carrier; "'Twixt you and us there is no barrier. Your headstrong youth and wilful heart Reduced you to a servile part; And every carrier on the road Avers your oats are ill-bestowed. But, know that you do not inherit From dam or sire any merit. We give your ancestors their due, But any ass is good as you. As you are asinine and crass, So do we treat you--as an ass."

FABLE LXII.

PAN AND FORTUNE.

(_To a Young Heir._)

No sooner was thy father's death Proclaimed to some, with bated breath, Than every gambler was agog To win your rents and gorge your prog.

One counted how much income clear You had in "ready"--by the year.

Another cast his eyelid dark Over the mansion and the park. Some weighed the jewels and the plate, And all the unentailed estate: So much in land from mortgage free, So much in personality.

Would you to highwaymen abroad Display your treasures on the road? Would you abet their raid of stealth By the display of hoarded wealth? And are you yet with blacklegs fain With loaded dice to throw a main? It is not charity--for shame! The rascals look on you as game. And you--you feed the rogues with bread-- By you rascality is fed. Nay, more, you of the gallows cheat The scoundrels who would be its meat. The risks of the highway they shun, Having your rents to prey upon.

Consider, ere you lose the bet, That you might pay your duns and debt. Consider, as the dice-box rattles, Your honour and unpaid for chattels. Think of to-morrow and its duns; Usurious interest, how it runs; And scoundrel sharpers, how they cheat you. Think of your honour, I entreat you.

Look round, and see the wreck of play,-- Estate and honour thrown away: Their one time owner, unconfined, Wanders in equal wreck of mind, Or tries to learn the trade by which He ruined fell, and so grow rich: But failing there, for want of cunning, Subsists on charity by dunning. Ah! you will find this maxim true:-- "Fools are the game which knaves pursue."

And now the sylvans groan: the wood Must make the gamester's losses good. The antique oaks, the stately elms, One common ruin overwhelms. The brawny arms of boor and clown Cast with the axe their honours down, With Echo's repetitive sounds Complaining of the raided bounds.

Pan dropt a tear, he hung his head, To see such desolation spread. He said: "To slugs I hatred bear, To locusts that devour the ear, To caterpillars, fly, and lice; But what are they to cursed dice? Or what to cards? A bet is made, Which ruin is to mount or glade; My glory and my realm defaced, And my best regions run to waste. It is that hag's--that Fortune's--doing: She ever meditates my ruin. False, fickle jade! who more devours Than frost, in merry May, eats flowers."

But Fortune heard Pan railing thus. "Old Pan," said Fortune, "what's this fuss? Am I the patroness of dice? Is not she our fair cousin, Vice? Do I cog dice or mark the cards? Do gamesters offer me regards? They trust to their own fingers' ends: On Vice, not me, the game depends. So would I save the fools, if they Would not defy my rule by play. They worship Folly, and the knaves Own all her votaries for slaves. They cast their elm and oak trees low: 'Tis Folly,--Folly is thy foe. Dear Pan, then do not rail on me: I would have saved him every tree."

FABLE LXIII.

PLUTUS, CUPID, AND TIME.

Of all the burthens mortals bear _Time_ is most galling and severe; Beneath his grievous load oppressed We daily meet a man distressed: "I've breakfasted, and what to do I do not know; we dine at two." He takes a pamphlet or the papers, But neither can dispel his vapours; He raps his snuff-box, hums an air, He lolls, or changes now his chair, He sips his tea, or bites his nails, Then finds a chum, and then bewails Unto his sympathising ear The burthen they have both to bear.

"I wish all hours were _post meridiem_," Said Tom; "so that I were well rid of 'm. Why won't men play piquet and ombre Before the evening hour grows sombre? The women do it,--play quadrille Morning and evening when they will. They cast away the spleen and vapours By daylight as by midnight tapers."

"My case is different," said Will; "I have the means, but lack the skill: I am a courtier, in attendance, And sleep the time out in dependence. I should have been until the dark, But for this rain now, in the park, And then at court, till coming night Puts court and all my cares to flight. Then comes my dinner: then away From wine unto the stupid play Till ten o'clock; and then assemblies. And so my time, which you contemn, flies. I like to ramble midst the fair, And nothing I find vexes there,-- Save that time flies: and then the club Gives men their supper and their rub. And there we all enjoy ourselves, Till slumber lays us on her shelves."

My worthy friends, Time which devours, Eats up the demons--passing hours: Were you to books or business bred, Too fleetly, then, would they be sped; For time is fugitive as air. Now lay aside your spleen or care, And listen unto me and fable-- That is to say, if you are able.

Plutus, one morn, met Master Cupid; They stood a moment, as though stupid, Until they recognised each other. They complimented with some pother, When Time overtook them in his walk, And then all three fell into talk Of what each one had done for man. And Plutus, purse-proud, he began:

"Let kings or cobblers, for that matter, Tell of the gifts which we bespatter; Deem ye, that loyalty encumbers The congregated courtly numbers? Be undeceived: the strongest hold Man has on fellow-man is gold! Knaves have led senates, swayed debates, Enriched themselves, and beggared states Flatter yourselves no more: 'tis riches-- The depth of pocket of the breeches That rules the roast. Unhappy wight Is the poor soul with pocket light; His solitary day descends, Quite unencumbered by his friends."

"Of human hearts, and of their yearnings," Said Cupid, "I have some discernings; And own the power of gold. Its power, Added to beauty as its dower, Has oftentimes--there's no disputing-- Added a charm, was passed confuting. Ay--marriage, as has been professed, Is but a money-job at best; But not so hearts, and not so love,-- They are the power of gold above. Those who have true love known and tried, Have every pettier want defied; They nestle, and, beneath the storm, In their own love lie snug and warm. They every selfish feeling smother, And one lives only for the other."

Then Time, who pulled his forelock, said: "To love and money man is wed, And very apt are both to flout me; And, if they could, would do without me. Fools! I supply the vital space In which they move, and run their race; Without me they would be a dream. Behold the miser! does he deem Those hoards are his? So long--no more-- Than I am with him, is the store. Soon from him as I pass away, His heir will lavish them with play. To arts and learning, matins' chime, Vespers and midnight, seizing time, I never know an idle hour Love not more fugitive in bower. But I have heard coquettes complain That they have let the seasons wane, Nor caught me in my flight; and sorrowed To see the springtide was but borrowed-- Not permanent--and so had wasted The tide of joy they never tasted. But myriads have their time employed, And myriads have their time enjoyed. Why then are mortals heedless grown, Nor care to make each hour their own? They should beware how we may sever, At unawares, once and for ever!"

Cupid and Plutus understood Old Time was man's supremest good: To him they yielded, and confessed Time is of godlike blessings--best.

FABLE LXIV.

OWL, SWAN, COCK, SPIDER, ASS, AND FARMER.

(_To a Mother._)

Yes, I have seen your eyes maternal Beam, as beam forth the stars eternal, Intercommuning of your joys-- Sayings and doings of your boys. Nature, in body and in mind, Has been to them profusely kind; It now remains to do your part, To sow good morals in the heart. None other, as a mother can, Can form and educate the man. Perhaps now you anticipate In youth unknown each future state. The Church, the Navy, and the Bar, I censure not: such choices are Precarious truly in the event; Yet ere we give a last assent, We should remember nor destroy The latent genius in the boy.

Martial relates--a father once Wrote thus about his boy, a dunce: "You know I've stuck at no expense To train the lad, and rouse his sense; To me it seems he backward goes Like to a crab--for aught he knows. My friend, advise me what to do." And Martial thus replied in few: "Make him a grazier or a drover, And let him dwell in rural clover." 'Tis doubtful if the father heard This answer--he returned no word.

The urchin, wanting wit, is sent To school to grow impertinent; To college next; which left, he blunders In law, or military thunders; Or, if by medical degree, The sexton shares the doctor's fee, Or, if for orders passed, as full fit, He only potters from the pulpit, We see that Nature has been foiled Of her intent--a tradesman spoiled. And even so do Ministers Reward with places human burrs; For it is very meet and fit They should reward their kinsman's wit. Are such times past? Does merit now In a due course and channel flow? Distinguished in their posts, do we Worth and desert rewarded see? Survey the reverend bench, and spy If patrons choose by piety? Is honesty, disgraced and poor, Distinct from what it was of yore? And are all offices no longer Granted unto the rich and stronger? And are they never held by sparks, With all the business done by clerks? Do we, now, never contemplate Appointments such, in Church and State? And is there in no post a hobbler, Who should have been, by right, a cobbler? Patrons, consider such creations Expose yourselves and your relations; You should, as parents to the nation, Ponder upon such nomination-- And know, whene'er you wield a trust, Your judgment ever should be just.

An owl of magisterial air, Of solemn aspect, filled the chair; And, with the port of human race, Wore wisdom written on his face. He from the flippant world retired, And in a barn himself admired; And, like an ancient sage, concealed The follies foppish life revealed. He pondered o'er black-lettered pages Of old philosophers and sages-- Of Xenophon, and of the feat Of the ten thousand in retreat; Pondered o'er Plutarch and o'er Plato, On Scipio, Socrates, and Cato. But what most roused the bird's conceit, Was Athens--academic seat-- From which he thought himself descended. He an academy attended, And learnt by rote dogmatic rules; And, with trite sentences for tools, He opened an academy-- Himself the _Magister_ to be: And it won fame. The stately swan There sent her son and heir; her son Dame Partlet sent; and Mister Spider, Who in mechanics levelled wider; And Sir John Asinus, with hopes On music, metaphors, and tropes. With years, their education done And life before them to be run, The mothers Dr. Owl consulted On their career--and this resulted: The swan was to the army sent; The cock unto the navy went; The spider went to Court; and Neddy For Handel's music was made ready. They played their parts, the public railed: They, spite of education, failed.