Chapter 15

PROLOGUE.

To you, who’ve graver things bespoke, This seems no better than a joke, And light for mere amusement made; Yet still we drive the scribbling trade, And from the pen our pleasure find, When we’ve no greater things to mind. Yet if you look with care intense, These tales your toil shall recompense; Appearance is not always true, And thousands err by such a view. ’Tis a choice spirit that has pried Where clean contrivance chose to hide; That this is not at random said, I shall produce upon this head A fable of an arch device, About the Weasel and the Mice.

FABLE I. THE WEAZEL AND MICE.

A Weasel, worn with years, and lame, That could not overtake its game, Now with the nimble Mice to deal, Disguised herself with barley meal; Then negligent her limbs she spread In a sly nook, and lay for dead. A Mouse that thought she there might feed, Leapt up, and perish’d in the deed; A second in like manner died; A third, and sundry more beside: Then comes the brindled Mouse, a chap That oft escaped both snare and trap, And seeing how the trick was played, Thus to his crafty foe he said:-- “So may’st thou prosper day and night, As thou art not an errant bite.”

II. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.

An hungry Fox with fierce attack Sprang on a Vine, but tumbled back, Nor could attain the point in view, So near the sky the bunches grew. As he went off, “They’re scurvy stuff,” Says he, “and not half ripe enough-- And I’ve more rev’rence for my tripes Than to torment them with the gripes.” For those this tale is very pat Who lessen what they can’t come at.

III. THE HORSE AND BOAR.

A Wild-Boar wallow’d in the flood, And troubled all the stream with mud, Just where a horse to drink repair’d-- He therefore having war declared, Sought man’s alliance for the fight, And bore upon his back the knight; Who being skill’d his darts to throw, Despatched the Wild-Boar at a blow. Then to the steed the victor said, “I’m glad you came to me for aid, For taught how useful you can be, I’ve got at once a spoil and thee.” On which the fields he made him quit, To feel the spur and champ the bit. Then he his sorrow thus express’d: “I needs must have my wrongs redress’d, And making tyrant man the judge, Must all my life become a drudge.” This tale the passionate may warn, To bear with any kind of scorn; And rather all complaint withdraw Than either go to war or law.

IV. ESOP AND THE WILL.

That one man sometimes is more shrewd Than a stupendous multitude, To after-times I shall rehearse In my concise familiar verse. A certain man on his decease, Left his three girls so much a-piece: The first was beautiful and frail, With eyes still hunting for the male; The second giv’n to spin and card, A country housewife working hard; The third but very ill to pass, A homely slut, that loved her glass. The dying man had left his wife Executrix, and for her life Sole tenant, if she should fulfil These strange provisos of his will: “That she should give th’ estate in fee In equal portions to the three; But in such sort, that this bequest Should not be holden or possess’d; Then soon as they should be bereav’n Of all the substance that was giv’n, They must for their good mother’s ease Make up an hundred sesterces.” This spread through Athens in a trice; The prudent widow takes advice. But not a lawyer could unfold How they should neither have nor hold The very things that they were left. Besides, when once they were bereft, How they from nothing should confer The money that was due to her. When a long time was spent in vain, And no one could the will explain, She left the counsellors unfeed, And thus of her own self decreed: The minstrels, trinkets, plate, and dress, She gave the Lady to possess. Then Mrs. Notable she stocks With all the fields, the kine and flocks: The workmen, farm, with a supply Of all the tools of husbandry. Last, to the Guzzler she consigns The cellar stored with good old wines, A handsome house to see a friend, With pleasant gardens at the end. Thus as she strove th’ affair to close, By giving each the things they chose, And those that knew them every one Highly applauded what was done Esop arose, and thus address’d The crowd that to his presence press’d: “O that the dead could yet perceive! How would the prudent father grieve, That all th’ Athenians had not skill Enough to understand his will!” Then at their joint request he solved That error, which had all involved. “The gardens, house, and wine vaults too, Give to the spinster as her due; The clothes, the jewels, and such ware, Be all the tippling lady’s share; The fields, the barns, and flocks of sheep, Give the gay courtesan to keep. Not one will bear the very touch Of things that thwart their tastes so much; The slut to fill her cellar straight Her wardrobe will evacuate; The lady soon will sell her farms, For garments to set off her charms; But she that loves the flocks and kine Will alienate her stores of wine, Her rustic genius to employ. Thus none their portions shall enjoy, And from the money each has made Their mother shall be duly paid.” Thus one man by his wit disclosed The point that had so many posed.

V. THE BATTLE OF THE MICE AND WEASELS.

The routed Mice upon a day Fled from the Weasels in array; But in the hurry of the flight, What with their weakness and their fright Each scarce could get into his cave: Howe’er, at last their lives they save. But their commanders (who had tied Horns to their heads in martial pride, Which as a signal they design’d For non-commission’d mice to mind) Stick in the entrance as they go, And there are taken by the foe, Who, greedy of the victim, gluts With mouse-flesh his ungodly guts. Each great and national distress Must chiefly mighty men oppress; While folks subordinate and poor Are by their littleness secure.

VI. PHÆDRUS TO THE CAVILLERS.

Thou that against my tales inveigh’st, As much too pleasant for thy taste; Egregious critic, cease to scoff, While for a time I play you off, And strive to soothe your puny rage. As Esop comes upon the stage, And dress’d entirely new in Rome, Thus enters with the tragic plume.-- “O that the fair Thessalian pine Had never felt the wrath divine, And fearless of the axe’s wound, Had still the Pelian mountain crown’d! That Argus by Palladian aid Had ne’er the advent’rous vessel made; In which at first, without dismay, Death’s bold professors won their way, In which th’ inhospitable main Was first laid open for the bane Of Grecians and barbarians too. Which made the proud Æetas rue, And whence Medea’s crimes to nought The house and reign of Pelias brought. She--while in various forms she tries Her furious spirit to disguise, At one place in her flight bestow’d Her brother’s limbs upon the road; And at another could betray The daughters their own sire to slay.” How think you now?--What arrant trash! And our assertions much too rash!-- Since prior to th’ Ægean fleet Did Minos piracy defeat, And made adventures on the sea. How then shall you and I agree? Since, stern as Cato’s self, you hate All tales alike, both small and great. Plague not too much the man of parts; For he that does it surely smarts.-- This threat is to the fools, that squeam At every thing of good esteem; And that they may to taste pretend, Ev’n heaven itself will discommend.

VII. THE VIPER AND THE FILE.

He that a greater biter bites, His folly on himself requites, As we shall manifest forthwith.-- There was a hovel of a smith, Where a poor Viper chanced to steal, And being greedy of a meal, When she had seized upon a file, Was answer’d in this rugged style: “Why do you think, O stupid snake! On me your usual meal to make, Who’ve sharper teeth than thine by far, And can corrode an iron bar?”

VIII. THE FOX AND THE GOAT.

A crafty knave will make escape, When once he gets into a scrape, Still meditating self-defence, At any other man’s expense. A Fox by some disaster fell Into a deep and fenced well: A thirsty Goat came down in haste, And ask’d about the water’s taste, If it was plentiful and sweet? At which the Fox, in rank deceit, “So great the solace of the run, I thought I never should have done. Be quick, my friend, your sorrows drown.” This said, the silly Goat comes down. The subtle Fox herself avails, And by his horns the mound she scales, And leaves the Goat in all the mire, To gratify his heart’s desire.

IX. THE TWO BAGS.

Great Jove, in his paternal care, Has giv’n a man two Bags to bear; That which his own default contains Behind his back unseen remains; But that which others’ vice attests Swags full in view before our breasts. Hence we’re inevitably blind, Relating to the Bag behind; But when our neighbours misdemean, Our censures are exceeding keen.

X. THE SACRILEGIOUS THIEF.

A villain to Jove’s altar came To light his candle in the flame, And robb’d the god in dead of night, By his own consecrated light: Then thus an awful voice was sent, As with the sacrilege he went: “Though all this gold and silver plate As gifts of evil men I hate; And their removal from the fane Can cause the Deity no pain; Yet, caitiff, at th’ appointed time, Thy life shall answer for thy crime. But, for the future, lest this blaze, At which the pious pray and praise, Should guide the wicked, I decree That no such intercourse there be.” Hence to this day all men decline To light their candle at the shrine; Nor from a candle e’er presume The holy light to re-illume. How many things are here contain’d, By him alone can be explain’d Who could this useful tale invent. In the first place, herein is meant, That they are often most your foes Who from your fost’ring hand arose. Next, that the harden’d villain’s fate Is not from wrath precipitate, But rather at a destined hour. Lastly, we’re charg’d with all our pow’r, To keep ourselves, by care intense, From all connexions with offence.

XI. HERCULES AND PLUTUS.

Wealth by the brave is justly scorn’d, Since men are from the truth suborn’d, And a full chest perverts their ways From giving or deserving praise. When Hercules, for matchless worth, Was taken up to heav’n from earth, As in their turns to all the crowd Of gratulating gods he bow’d, When Plutus, Fortune’s son, he spies, He from his face averts his eyes. Jove ask’d the cause of this disgust: “I hate him, as he is unjust, To wicked men the most inclined, And grand corrupter of mankind.”

XII. THE HE-GOATS AND SHE-GOATS.

When the She-Goats from Jove obtain’d A beard, th’ indignant Males complain’d, That females by this near approach Would on their gravity encroach. “Suffer, my sapient friends,” says he, “Their eminence in this degree, And bear their beard’s most graceful length, As they can never have your strength.” Warn’d by this little tale, agree With men in gen’ral form’d like thee, While you by virtue still exceed, And in the spirit take the lead.

XIII. THE PILOT AND SAILORS.

On hearing a poor man lament His worldly thoughts in discontent, Esop this tale began to write, For consolation and delight. The ship by furious tempests toss’d, The Mariners gave all for lost; But midst their tears and dread, the scene Is changed at once, and all serene. The wind is fair, the vessel speeds, The Sailors’ boist’rous joy exceeds: The Pilot then, by peril wise, Was prompted to philosophise. “’Tis right to put a due restraint On joy, and to retard complaint, Because alternate hope and fright Make up our lives of black and white.”

XIV. THE MAN AND THE ADDER.

He, that malicious men relieves, His folly in a season grieves. A Man, against himself humane, Took up an Adder, that had lain And stiffen’d in the frosty air, And in his bosom placed with care, Where she with speed recov’ring breath, Her benefactor stung to death. Another Adder near the place, On asking why she was so base, Was told, “’Tis others to dissuade From giving wickedness their aid.”

XV. THE FOX AND THE DRAGON.

A Fox was throwing up the soil, And while with his assiduous toil He burrow’d deep into the ground, A Dragon in his den he found, A-watching hidden treasure there, Whom seeing, Renard speaks him fair: “First, for your pardon I apply For breaking on your privacy; Then, as you very plainly see That gold is of no use to me, Your gentle leave let me obtain To ask you, what can be the gain Of all this care, and what the fruit, That you should not with sleep recruit Your spirits, but your life consume Thus in an everlasting gloom?” “’Tis not my profit here to stay,” He cries; “but I must Jove obey.” “What! will you therefore nothing take Yourself, nor others welcome make?” “Ev’n so the fates decree:” --“Then, sir, Have patience, whilst I do aver That he who like affections knows Is born with all the gods his foes. Since to that place you needs must speed, Where all your ancestors precede, Why in the blindness of your heart Do you torment your noble part?” All this to thee do I indite, Thou grudging churl, thy heir’s delight, Who robb’st the gods of incense due, Thyself of food and raiment too; Who hear’st the harp with sullen mien, To whom the piper gives the spleen; Who’rt full of heavy groans and sighs When in their price provisions rise; Who with thy frauds heaven’s patience tire To make thy heap a little higher, And, lest death thank thee, in thy will Hast tax’d the undertaker’s bill.

XVI. PHÆDRUS, ON HIS FABLES.

What certain envious hearts intend I very clearly comprehend, Let them dissemble e’er so much.-- When they perceive the master’s touch, And find ’tis likely to endure, They’ll say ’tis Esop to be sure-- But what appears of mean design, At any rate they’ll vouch for mine. These in a word I would refute: Whether of great or no repute, What sprung from Esop’s fertile thought This hand has to perfection brought; But waiving things to our distaste, Let’s to the destined period haste.

XVII. THE SHIPWRECK OF SIMONIDES.

A man, whose learned worth is known, Has always riches of his own. Simonides, who was the head Of lyric bards, yet wrote for bread, His circuit took through every town In Asia of the first renown, The praise of heroes to rehearse, Who gave him money for his verse. When by this trade much wealth was earn’d, Homewards by shipping he return’d (A Cean born, as some suppose): On board he went, a tempest rose, Which shook th’ old ship to that degree, She founder’d soon as out at sea. Some purses, some their jewels tie About them for a sure supply; But one more curious, ask’d the seer, “Poet, have you got nothing here?” “My all,” says he, “is what I am.”-- On this some few for safety swam (For most o’erburden’d by their goods, Were smother’d in the whelming floods). The spoilers came, the wealth demand, And leave them naked on the strand. It happen’d for the shipwreck’d crew An ancient city was in view, By name Clazomena, in which There lived a scholar learn’d and rich, Who often read, his cares to ease, The verses of Simonides, And was a vast admirer grown Of this great poet, though unknown. Him by his converse when he traced, He with much heartiness embraced, And soon equipp’d the bard anew, With servants, clothes, and money too, The rest benevolence implored, With case depicted on a board: Which when Simonides espied, “I plainly told you all,” he cried, “That all my wealth was in myself; As for your chattels and your pelf, On which ye did so much depend, They’re come to nothing in the end.”

XVIII. THE MOUNTAIN IN LABOR.

The Mountain labor’d, groaning loud, On which a num’rous gaping crowd Of noodles came to see the sight, When, lo! a mouse was brought to light! This tale’s for men of swagg’ring cast, Whose threats, voluminous and vast, With all their verse and all their prose, Can make but little on’t, God knows.

XIX. THE ANT AND THE FLY.

An Ant and Fly had sharp dispute Which creature was of most repute; When thus began the flaunting Fly: “Are you so laudible as I? I, ere the sacrifice is carved, Precede the gods; first come, first served-- Before the altar take my place, And in all temples show my face, Whene’er I please I set me down Upon the head that wears a crown. I with impunity can taste The kiss of matrons fair and chaste. And pleasure without labor claim-- Say, trollop, canst thou do the same?” “The feasts of gods are glorious fare. No doubt, to those who’re welcome there; But not for such detested things.-- You talk of matron’s lips and kings; I, who with wakeful care and pains Against the winter hoard my grains, Thee feeding upon ordure view.-- The altars you frequent, ’tis true; But still are driv’n away from thence, And elsewhere, as of much offence. A life of toil you will not lead, And so have nothing when you need. Besides all this, you talk with pride Of things that modesty should hide. You plague me here, while days increase, But when the winter comes you cease. Me, when the cold thy life bereaves, A plenteous magazine receives. I think I need no more advance To cure you of your arrogance.” The tenor of this tale infers Two very diff’rent characters; Of men self-praised and falsely vain, And men of real worth in grain.

XX. THE ESCAPE OF SIMONIDES.

Th’ attention letters can engage, Ev’n from a base degen’rate age, I’ve shown before; and now shall show Their lustre in another view, And tell a memorable tale, How much they can with heav’n prevail. Simonides, the very same We lately had a call to name, Agreed for such a sum to blaze A certain famous champion’s praise. He therefore a retirement sought, But found the theme on which he wrote So scanty, he was forced to use Th’ accustom’d license of the muse, And introduced and praise bestow’d On Leda’s sons to raise his ode; With these the rather making free, As heroes in the same degree. He warranted his work, and yet Could but one third of payment get. Upon demanding all the due, “Let them,” says he, “pay t’other two, Who take two places in the song; But lest you think I do you wrong And part in dudgeon--I invite Your company to sup this night, For then my friends and kin I see, ’Mongst which I choose to reckon thee.” Choused and chagrined, yet shunning blame, He promised, set the hour, and came; As fearful lest a favour spurn’d Should to an open breach be turn’d. The splendid banquet shone with plate, And preparations full of state Made the glad house with clamors roar-- When on a sudden at the door Two youths, with sweat and dust besmear’d, Above the human form appear’d, And charged forthwith a little scout To bid Simonides come out, That ’twas his int’rest not to stay.-- The slave, in trouble and dismay, Roused from his seat the feasting bard, Who scarce had stirr’d a single yard Before the room at once fell in, And crush’d the champion and his kin. No youths before the door are found.-- The thing soon spread the country round; And when each circumstance was weigh’d, They knew the gods that visit made, And saved the poet’s life in lieu Of those two-thirds which yet were due.

EPILOGUE TO EUTYCHUS.

I yet have stock in hand to spare, And could write on--but will forbear-- First, lest I tire a friend, whose state And avocations are so great: And then, if other pens should try This moral scheme as well as I, They may have something to pursue:-- Yet if the spacious field we view, More men are wanting for the plan, Rather than matter for the man. Now for that prize I make my plea You promised to my brevity. Keep your kind word; for life, my friend, Is daily nearer to its end; And I shall share your love the less The longer you your hand repress: The sooner you the boon insure, The more the tenure must endure; And if I quick possession take, The greater profit must I make, While yet declining age subsists, A room for friendly aid exists. Anon with tasteless years grown weak, In vain benevolence will seek To do me good--when Death at hand Shall come and urge his last demand. ’Tis folly, you’ll be apt to say, A thousand times to beg and pray Of one with so much worth and sense, Whose gen’rous bounty is propense. If e’er a miscreant succeeds, By fair confession of his deeds, An innocent offender’s case Is far more worthy of your grace. You for example sake begin, Then others to the lure you’ll win, And in rotation more and more Will soon communicate their store. Consider in your mind how far At stake your word and honour are; And let your closing the debate By what I may congratulate. I have been guilty of excess Beyond my thought in this address But ’tis not easy to refrain A spirit work’d up to disdain By wretches insolent and vile, With a clear conscience all the while. You’ll ask me, sir, at whom I hint-- In time they may appear in print. But give me leave to cite a phrase I met with in my boyish days. “’Tis dangerous for the mean and low Too plain their grievances to show.” This is advice I shall retain While life and sanity remain.