initial commit of ebook 10587HEADmain

4 files changed, 31418 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/old/10587-8.txt b/old/10587-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2dae24f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/10587-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15709 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's
+Fables; and Somerville's Chase, by Joseph Addison, John Gay,
+William Sommerville
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase
+       With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations,
+       by the Rev. George Gilfillan
+
+Authors: Joseph Addison, John Gay, William Sommerville
+
+Release Date: January 4, 2004 [EBook #10587]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF ADDISON ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+POETICAL WORKS
+
+OF
+
+JOSEPH ADDISON;
+
+GAY'S FABLES;
+
+AND
+
+SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations,
+
+BY THE
+
+REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  M.DCCC.LIX.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+ADDISON'S POETICAL WORKS.
+
+LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON,
+
+ POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS:--
+
+  To Mr Dryden,
+
+  A Poem to his Majesty, presented
+  to the Lord Keeper,
+
+  A Translation of all Virgil's Fourth
+
+  Georgic, except the Story of
+  Aristæus,
+
+  A Song for St Cecilia's Day,
+
+  An Ode for St Cecilia's Day,
+
+  An Account of the greatest English Poets,
+
+  A Letter from Italy,
+
+  Milton's Style Imitated, in a
+  Translation of a Story out of
+  the Third Æneid,
+
+  The Campaign,
+
+  Cowley's Epitaph on Himself,
+
+  Prologue to the 'Tender Husband,'
+
+  Epilogue to the 'British Enchanters,'
+
+  Prologue to Smith's 'Phædra and
+  Hippolitus,'
+
+  Horace Ode III., Book III.,
+
+  The Vestal,
+
+ OVID'S METAMORPHOSES:--
+
+  BOOK II.
+
+  The Story of Phaeton,
+
+  Phaeton's Sisters transformed
+  into Trees,
+
+  The Transformation of Cyenus
+  into a Swan,
+
+  The Story of Calisto,
+
+  The Story of Coronis, and Birth
+  of Æsculapius,
+
+  Ocyrrhoe Transformed to a Mare,
+
+ The Transformation of Battus to
+  a Touchstone,
+
+  The Story of Aglauros, transformed
+  into a Statue,
+
+  Europa's Rape,
+
+  BOOK III.
+
+  The Story of Cadmus,
+
+  The Transformation of Actæon
+  into a Stag,
+
+  The Birth of Bacchus,
+
+  The Transformation of Tiresias,
+
+  The Transformation of Echo,
+
+  The Story of Narcissus,
+
+  The Story of Pentheus,
+
+  The Mariners transformed to
+  Dolphins,
+
+  The Death of Pentheus
+
+  BOOK IV.
+
+  The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus,
+
+  TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE
+  PRINCESS OF WALES,
+
+  TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, ON
+  HIS PICTURE OF THE KING,
+
+  THE PLAY-HOUSE,
+
+  ON THE LADY MANCHESTER,
+
+  AN ODE,
+
+  AN HYMN,
+
+  AN ODE,
+
+  AN HYMN,
+
+  PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.
+
+
+THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY
+
+ GAY'S FABLES:--
+
+  INTRODUCTION.--PART I.
+
+  The Shepherd and Philosopher
+
+  Fable I.--The Lion, the Tiger, and the Traveller
+
+  Fable II.--The Spaniel and the Cameleon
+
+  Fable III.--The Mother, the Nurse, and the Fairy
+
+  Fable IV.--The Eagle, and the Assembly of Animals
+
+  Fable V.--The Wild Boar and the Ram
+
+  Fable VI.--The Miser and Plutus
+
+  Fable VII.--The Lion, the Fox, and the Geese
+
+  Fable VIII.--The Lady and the Wasp
+
+  Fable IX.--The Bull and the Mastiff
+
+  Fable X.--The Elephant and the Bookseller
+
+  Fable XI.--The Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goose
+
+  Fable XII.--Cupid, Hymen, and Plutus
+
+  Fable XIII.--The Tame Stag
+
+  Fable XIV.--The Monkey who had seen the World
+
+  Fable XV.--The Philosopher and the Pheasants
+
+  Fable XVI.--The Pin and the Needle
+
+  Fable XVII.--The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf
+
+  Fable XVIII.--The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody
+
+  Fable XIX.--The Lion and the Cub
+
+  Fable XX.--The Old Hen and the Cock
+
+  Fable XXI.--The Rat-catcher and Cats
+
+  Fable XXII.--The Goat without a Beard
+
+  Fable XXIII.--The Old Woman and her Cats
+
+  Fable XXIV.--The Butterfly and the Snail
+
+  Fable XXV.--The Scold and the Parrot
+
+  Fable XXVI.--The Cur and the Mastiff
+
+  Fable XXVII.--The Sick Man and the Angel
+
+  Fable XXVIII.--The Persian, the Sun, and the Cloud
+
+  Fable XXIX.--The Fox at the point of Death
+
+  Fable XXX.--The Setting-dog and the Partridge
+
+  Fable XXXI.--The Universal Apparition
+
+  Fable XXXII.--The Two Owls and the Sparrow
+
+  Fable XXXIII.--The Courtier and Proteus
+
+  Fable XXXIV.--The Mastiffs
+
+  Fable XXXV.--The Barley-mow and the Dunghill
+
+  Fable XXXVI.--Pythagoras and the Countryman
+
+  Fable XXXVII.--The Farmer's Wife and the Raven
+
+  Fable XXXVIII.--The Turkey and the Ant
+
+  Fable XXXIX.--The Father and Jupiter
+
+  Fable XL.--The Two Monkeys
+
+  Fable XLI.--The Owl and the Farmer
+
+  Fable XLII.-The Jugglers
+
+  Fable XLIII.-The Council of Horses
+
+  Fable XLIV.--The Hound and the Huntsman
+
+  Fable XLV.--The Poet and the Rose
+
+  Fable XLVI.--The Cur, the Horse, and the Shepherd's Dog
+
+  Fable XLVII.--The Court of Death
+
+  Fable XLVIII.--The Gardener and the Hog
+
+  Fable XLIX.--The Man and the Flea
+
+  Fable L.--The Hare and many Friends
+
+
+  PART II.
+
+  Fable I.--The Dog and the Fox
+
+  Fable II.--The Vulture, the Sparrow, and other Birds
+
+  Fable III.--The Baboon and the Poultry
+
+  Fable IV.--The Ant in Office
+
+  Fable V.--The Bear in a Boat
+
+  Fable VI.--The Squire and his Cur
+
+  Fable VII.--The Countryman and Jupiter
+
+  Fable VIII.--The Man, the Cat, the Dog, and the Fly
+
+  Fable IX.--The Jackall, Leopard, and other Beasts
+
+  Fable X.--The Degenerate Bees
+
+  Fable XI.--The Pack-horse and the Carrier
+
+  Fable XII.--Pan and Fortune
+
+  Fable XIII.-Plutus, Cupid, and Time
+
+  Fable XIV.--The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass,
+              and the Farmer
+
+  Fable XV.--The Cook-maid, the Turnspit, and the Ox
+
+  Fable XVI.--The Ravens, the Sexton, and the Earth-worm
+
+ SONGS:--
+
+  Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan
+
+  A Ballad, from the What-d'ye-call-it
+
+
+SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE
+
+ SOMERVILLE'S CHASE:--
+
+  Book I.
+
+  Book II.
+
+  Book III.
+
+  Book IV.
+
+
+
+
+LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON.
+
+Joseph Addison, the _Spectator_, the true founder of our periodical
+literature, the finest, if not the greatest writer in the English
+language, was born at Milston, Wiltshire, on the 1st of May 1672. A
+fanciful mind might trace a correspondence between the particular months
+when celebrated men have been born and the peculiar complexion of their
+genius. Milton, the austere and awful, was born in the silent and gloomy
+month of December. Shakspeare, the most versatile of all writers, was
+born in April, that month of changeful skies, of sudden sunshine, and
+sudden showers. Burns and Byron, those stormy spirits, both appeared in
+the fierce January; and of the former, he himself says,
+
+ "'Twas then a blast o' Januar-win'
+  Blew welcome in on Robin."
+
+Scott, the broad sunny being, visited us in August, and in the same month
+the warm genius of Shelley came, as Hunt used to tell him, "from the
+planet Mercury" to our earth. Coleridge and Keats, with whose song a deep
+bar of sorrow was to mingle, like the music of falling leaves, or of
+winds wailing for the departure of summer, arrived in October,--that
+month, the beauty of which is the child of blasting, and its glory the
+flush of decay. And it seems somehow fitting that Addison, the mild, the
+quietly-joyous, the sanguine and serene, should come, with the daisy and
+the sweet summer-tide, on the 1st of May, which Buchanan thus hails--
+
+ "Salve fugacis gloria saeculi,
+  Salve secunda digna dies nota,
+  Salve vetustae vitae imago,
+  Et specimen venientis aevi."
+
+ "Hail, glory of the fleeting year!
+  Hail, day, the fairest, happiest here!
+  Image of time for ever by,
+  Pledge of a bright eternity."
+
+Dr Lancelot Addison, himself a man of no mean note, was the father of
+our poet. He was born in 1632, at Maltesmeaburn, in the parish of _Corby
+Ravensworth_, (what a name of ill-omen within ill-omen, or as Dr Johnson
+would say, "inspissated gloom"!) in the county of Westmoreland. His
+father was a minister of the gospel; but in such humble circumstances,
+that Lancelot was received from the Grammar-school of Appleby into
+Queen's College, Oxford, in the capacity of a "poor child." After passing
+his curriculum there, being chiefly distinguished for his violent High
+Church and Monarchical principles, for which he repeatedly smarted, he,
+at the Restoration, was appointed chaplain to the garrison of Dunkirk,
+and soon after he accepted a similar situation in Tangier, which had been
+ceded by Portugal to Britain. In this latter post he felt rather lonely
+and miserable, and was driven, in self-defence, to betake himself to the
+study of the manners and the literature of the Moors, Jews, and other
+Oriental nations. This led him afterwards to publish some works on
+Barbary, on Hebrew customs, and Mohammedanism, which shew a profound
+acquaintance with these subjects, and which, not without reason, are
+supposed to have coloured the imagination of his son Joseph, who is
+seldom more felicitous than when reproducing the gorgeous superstitions
+and phantasies of the East.
+
+For eight years, old Addison lingered in loathed Tangier; nor, when
+he returned to England on a visit, had he any purpose of permanently
+residing in his own country. But his appointment was hastily bestowed on
+another; and it was fortunate for him that a private friend stepped in
+and presented him with the living of Milston, near Ambrosebury, Wilts,
+worth £120 a-year. This, which Miss Aiken calls a "pittance," was
+probably equivalent to £250 now. At all events, on the strength of it,
+he married Jane, daughter of Dr Gulstone, and sister to the Bishop of
+Bristol, who, in due time, became the mother of our poet. Lancelot was
+afterwards made Prebendary of Salisbury Cathedral, and King's Chaplain
+in ordinary; about the time (1675) when he took the degree of D.D.
+Subsequently he became Archdeacon of Salisbury, and at last, in 1683,
+obtained the Deanery of Lichfield. But for his suspected Jacobitism, he
+would probably have received the mitre. He died in 1703.
+
+Joseph had two brothers and three sisters. His third sister, Dorothy,
+survived the rest, and was twice married. Swift met her once, and with
+some awe (for he, like all bullies, had a little of the coward about
+him), describes her as a kind of wit, and very like her brother. The
+_Spectator_ seems to have been a wild and wayward boy. He is said to have
+once acted as ringleader in a "barring out," described by Johnson as a
+savage license by which the boys, when the periodical vacation drew near,
+used to take possession of the school, of which they barred the doors,
+and bade the master defiance from the windows. On another occasion,
+having committed some petty offence at a country school, terrified at the
+master's apprehended displeasure, he made his escape into the fields and
+woods, where for some days he fed on fruits and slept in a hollow tree
+till discovered and brought back to his parents. This last may seem the
+act of a timid boy, and inconsistent with the former, and yet is somehow
+congenial to our ideal of the character of our poet. It required perhaps
+more daring to front the perils of the woods than the frown of the
+master, and augured, besides, a certain romance in his disposition which
+found afterwards a vent in literature. After receiving instruction, first
+at Salisbury, and then at Lichfield, (his connexion with which place
+forms a link, uniting him in a manner to the great lexicographer, who was
+born there,) he was removed to the Charterhouse, and there profited so
+much in Greek and Latin, that at fifteen he was not only, says Macaulay,
+"fit for the university, but carried thither a classical taste and a
+stock of learning which would have done honour to a master of arts." He
+had at the Charter-house formed a friendship, destined to have important
+bearings on his after history, with Richard Steele, whose character may
+be summed up in a few sentences. Who has not heard of Sir Richard Steele?
+Wordsworth says of one of his characters--
+
+ "She was known to every star,
+  And every wind that blows."
+
+Poor Dick was known to every sponging-house, and to every bailiff
+that, blowing in pursuit, walked the London streets. A fine-hearted,
+warm-blooded character, without an atom of prudence, self-control,
+reticence, or forethought; quite as destitute of malice or envy;
+perpetually sinning and perpetually repenting; never positively
+irreligious, even when drunk; and often excessively pious when recovering
+sobriety,--Steele reeled his way through life, and died with the
+reputation of being an orthodox Christian and a (nearly) habitual
+drunkard; the most affectionate and most faithless of husbands; a brave
+soldier, and in many points an arrant fool; a violent politician, and the
+best natured of men; a writer extremely lively, for this, among other
+reasons, that he wrote generally on his legs, flying or meditating flight
+from his creditors; and who embodied in himself the titles of his three
+principal works--"The Christian Hero," "The Tender Husband," and the
+_Tatler_;--being a "Christian Hero" in intention, one of those intentions
+with which a certain place is paved; a "Tender Husband," if not a
+true one, to his two ladies; and a _Tatler_ to all persons, in all
+circumstances, and at all times. When Addison first knew this original,
+he was probably uncontaminated, and must have been, as he continued to
+the end to be, an irascible but joyous and genial being; and they became
+intimate at once, although circumstances severed them from each other for
+a long period.
+
+In 1687 Addison entered Queen's College, Oxford; but sometime after,
+(Macaulay says "not many months," Johnson "a year," and Miss Aiken "two
+years,") Dr Lancaster, of Magdalene College, having accidentally seen
+some Latin verses from his pen, exerted himself to procure their author
+admission to the benefits of a foundation, then the wealthiest in Europe.
+Our poet was first elected Demy, then Probationary Fellow in 1697, and
+in the year following, Actual Fellow. During the ten years he resided
+at Oxford, he was a general favourite, remarkable for his diligence in
+study, for the purity and tenderness of his feelings, for his bashful and
+retiring manners, for the excellence of his Latin compositions, and for
+his solitary walks, pursued in a path they still point out below the elms
+which skirt a meadow on the banks of the Cherwell,--a river, we need
+scarcely say, which there weds the Isis. It was in such lonely evening or
+Saturday strolls that he probably acquired the habit of pensive reverie
+to which we owe many of the finest of his speculations in after days,
+such as that in _Spectator_, No. 565, beginning, "I was yesterday, about
+sunset, walking in the open fields, when insensibly the night fell upon
+me," &c.
+
+Prose English essays, however, were as yet strangers to his pen. His
+ambition was to be a poet, and while still under twenty-two, he produced
+and printed some complimentary verses to Dryden, then declining in years,
+and fallen into comparative neglect. The old poet was pleased with the
+homage of the young aspirant, which was as graceful in expression as it
+was generous in purpose. For instance, alluding to Dryden's projected
+translation of "Ovid," he says, that "Ovid," thus transformed, shall
+"reveal"
+
+  "A nobler change than he himself can tell."
+
+This, however, although happy, starts a different view of the subject. It
+suggests the idea that most translations are metamorphoses to the worse,
+like that of a living person into a dead tree, or at least of a superior
+into an inferior being. In Pope's "Iliad," you have the metamorphosis of
+an eagle into a nightingale; in Dryden's "Virgil," you have a stately
+war-horse transformed into a hard-trotting hackney; in Hoole's versions
+of the Italian Poets, you have nymphs nailed up in timber; while, on the
+other hand, in Coleridge's "Wallenstein," you have the "nobler change,"
+spoken of by Addison, of--shall we say?-a cold and stately holly-tree
+turned into a murmuring and oracular oak.
+
+That, after thus introducing himself to Dryden, he met him occasionally
+seems certain, although the rumour circulated by Spence that he taught
+the old man to sit late and drink hard seems ridiculous. Dryden
+introduced him to Congreve, and through Congreve he made the valuable
+acquaintance of Charles Montague, then leader of the Whigs in the House
+of Commons, and Chancellor of the Exchequer.
+
+He afterwards published a translation of that part of the "Fourth Book
+of the Georgics" referring to bees, on which Dryden, who had procured a
+preface to his own complete translation of the same poem from Addison,
+complimented him by saying--"After his bees, my later swarm is scarcely
+worth hiving." He published, too, a poem on "King William," and an
+"Account of the Principal English Poets," in which he ventures on a
+character of Spenser ere he had read his works. It thus is, as might have
+been expected, poor and non-appreciative, and speaks of Spenser as a poet
+pretty nearly forgotten. Some time after this, he collected a volume,
+entitled, "Musæ Anglicanæ," in which he inserted all his early Latin
+verses.
+
+Charles Montague, himself a poet of a certain small rank, and a man of
+great general talents, became--along with Somers--the patron of Addison.
+He diverted him from the Church, to which his own tastes seemed to
+destine him, suggesting that civil employment had become very corrupt
+through want of men of liberal education and good principles, and should
+be redeemed from this reproach, and declaring that, though he had been
+called an enemy of the Church, he would never do it any other injury than
+keeping Mr Addison out of it. It is likely that the timid temperament of
+our poet concurred with these suggestions of Montague in determining his
+decision. His failure as a Parliamentary orator subsequently seems to
+prove that the pulpit was not his vocation. After all, his Saturday
+papers in the _Spectator_ are as fine as any sermons of that age, and he
+perhaps did more good serving as a volunteer than had he been a regular
+soldier in the army of the Christian faith.
+
+Somers and Montague wished to employ their _protégé_ in public service
+abroad. There was, however, one drawback. Addison had plenty of English,
+Greek, and Latin, but he had little French. This he must be sent abroad
+to acquire; and for the purpose of defraying the expenses of his travels,
+a pension of £300 a-year was conferred upon him. Paid thus, as few
+poets or writers of any kind are, in advance, and having his fellowship
+besides, Addison, like a young nobleman, instead of a parson's son, set
+out upon his tour. This was in the summer of 1699. He was twenty-seven
+years of age, exactly one year younger than Byron, and three years
+younger than Milton, when they visited the same regions. He went first to
+Paris, and was received with great distinction by Montague's kinsman, the
+Earl of Manchester, and his beautiful lady. He travelled with his eyes
+quietly open, especially to the humorous aspects of things. In a letter
+to Montague he says that he had not seen a _blush_ from his first landing
+at Calais, and gives a sarcastic description of the spurious devotion
+which the example of the old repentant _roué_, Louis XIV., had rendered
+fashionable among the _literati_ of France: "There is no book comes out
+at present that has not something in it of an air of devotion. Dacier has
+been forced to prove his Plato a very good CHRISTIAN before he ventures
+upon his translation, and has so far complied with the taste of the age,
+that his whole book is overrun with texts of Scripture, and the notion of
+pre-existence, supposed to be stolen from two verses of the prophets."
+The sincere believer is usually the first to detect and be disgusted with
+the sham one; and Addison was always a sincere believer, but he had also
+that happy nature in which disgust is carried quickly and easily off
+through the safety-valve of a smile.
+
+From Paris he went to Blois, the capital of Loir-and-Cher, a small town
+about 110 miles south-west of Paris. Here he had two advantages. He found
+the French language spoken in its perfection; and as he had not a single
+countryman with whom to exchange a word, he was driven on his own
+resources. He remained there a year, and spent his time well, studying
+hard, rising early, having the best French masters, mingling in society,
+although subject, as in previous and after parts of his life, to fits of
+absence. His life was as pure as it was simple, his most intimate friend
+at Blois, the Abbe Philippeaux, saying: "He had no amour whilst here that
+I know of, and I think I should have known it if he had had any." During
+this time he sent home letters to his friends in England--to Montague,
+Colonel Froude, Congreve, and others[1]--which contain sentences of
+exquisite humour. Thus, describing the famous gallery at Versailles, with
+the paintings of Louis' victories, he says: "The history of the present
+King till the sixteenth year of his reign is painted on the roof by Le
+Brun, so that his Majesty has actions enough by him to furnish another
+gallery much longer than the first. He is represented with all the terror
+and majesty that you can imagine in every part of the picture, and see
+his young face as perfectly drawn in the roof as his present one in the
+side. The painter has represented His Most Christian Majesty under the
+figure of Jupiter throwing thunderbolts all about the ceiling, and
+striking terror into the Danube and Rhine, that _lie astonished and
+blasted with lightning a little above the cornice_."
+
+This is Addison all over; and quite as good is his picture of the general
+character of the French: "'Tis not in the power of want or slavery to
+make them miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the country
+but mirth and poverty. Every one sings, laughs, and starves. Their
+conversation is generally agreeable, for if they have any wit or sense,
+they are sure to shew it. Their women are perfect mistresses in the art
+of shewing themselves to the best advantage. They are always gay and
+sprightly, and set off the worst faces in Europe with the best airs.
+Every one knows how to give herself as charming a look and posture as Sir
+Godfrey Kneller could draw her in."
+
+From Blois he returned to Paris, and was now better qualified, from his
+knowledge of the language, to mingle with its philosophers, savants, and
+poets. He had some interesting talk with Malebranche and Boileau, the
+former of whom "very much praised Mr Newton's mathematics; shook his head
+at the name of Hobbes, and told me he thought him a _pauvre esprit_."
+Here follows a genuine Addisonianism: "His book is now reprinted with
+many additions, among which he shewed me a very pretty hypothesis of
+colours, which is different from that of Cartesius or Newton, _though
+they may all three be true_." Boileau, now sixty-four, deaf as a post,
+and full of the "sweltered venom" of ill-natured criticism, nevertheless
+received Addison kindly; and when presented by him with his "Musæ
+Anglicanæ," is said from that time to have conceived an opinion of the
+English genius for poetry. Addison says that Boileau "hated an ill
+poet." Unfortunately, however, for his judgment, it is notorious that he
+slighted Shakspeare, Milton, and Corneille, and that, next to Homer and
+Virgil, his great idols were Arnaud and Racine.
+
+In December 1700, tired of French manners, which had lost even their
+power of moving him to smiles, and it may be apprehensive of the war
+connected with the Spanish succession, which was about to inflame all
+Europe, Addison embarked from Marseilles for Italy. After a narrow escape
+from one of those sudden Mediterranean storms, in which poor Shelley
+perished, he landed at Savona, and proceeded, through wild mountain
+paths, to Genoa. He afterwards commemorated his deliverance in the
+pleasing lines published in the _Spectator_, beginning with--
+
+  "How are Thy servants blest, O Lord,"
+
+one verse in which was wont to awaken the enthusiasm of the boy Burns,
+
+  "What though in dreadful whirls we hung,
+       High on the broken wave," &c.
+
+The survivor of a shipwreck is, or should be, ever afterwards a sadder
+and a wiser man. And Addison continued long to feel subdued and thankful,
+and could hardly have been more so though he had outlived _that_
+shipwreck which bears now the relation to all recent wrecks which
+"_the_ storm" of November 1703, as we shall see, bore to all inferior
+tempests--the loss of the _Royal Charter_,--the stately and gold-laden
+bark, which, on Wednesday the 26th October 1859, when on the verge of the
+haven which the passengers so much desired to see, was lifted up by
+the blast as by the hand of God, and dashed into ten thousand
+pieces,--hundreds of men, women, and, alas! alas! children, drowned,
+mutilated, crushed by falling machinery, and that, too, at a moment when
+they had just been assured that there was no immediate danger, and
+when hope was beginning to sparkle in the eyes that were sinking into
+despair,--sovereigns, spray, and the mangled fragments of human bodies
+massed together as if in the anarchy of hell, and hurled upon the rocks.
+Addison, no more than one of the escaped from that saloon of horror and
+sea of death, could forget the special Providence by which he was saved;
+and the hymn above referred to, and that other still finer, commencing--
+
+  "When all Thy mercies, O my God!
+      My rising soul surveys,"
+
+seem a pillar erected on the shore to Him that had protected and redeemed
+him.
+
+From Genoa he went to Milan, and thence to Venice, where he saw a play on
+the subject of Cato enacted, and began himself to indite his celebrated
+tragedy, of which he completed four acts ere he quitted Italy. On his way
+to Rome, he visited the miniature mountain republic of San Marino, which
+he contemplated and described with much the same feeling of interest and
+amazement, as afterwards, in the _Guardian_, the little colony of ants
+immortalised there. Like Swift, (whom Macaulay accuses of stealing from
+Addison's Latin poem on the "Pigmies," some hints for his Lilliput,)
+Addison had a finer eye for the little than for the vast. He enjoyed
+Marino, therefore, and must have chuckled over the description of it in
+the geography, as much as if it had been a stroke of his own inventive
+pen. "Besides the mountain on which the town stands, the republic
+possesses _two adjoining hills_." At Rome he did not stay long at this
+time, but as if afraid of the attractions of the approaching Holy
+Week--that blaze of brilliant but false light in which so many moths have
+been consumed--he hurried to Naples and saw Vesuvius burning over its
+beautiful bay with less admiration than has been felt since by many
+inferior men. He returned to Rome and lived there unharmed during the
+sickly season; thence he went to Florence, surveying with interest the
+glories of its art; and in fine he crossed the Alps by Mount Cenis to
+Geneva, composing on his way a poetical epistle to Montague, now Lord
+Halifax. The Alps do not seem to have much delighted his imagination.
+There are a few even still who look upon mountains as excrescences and
+deformities, and give to Glencoe only the homage of their unaffected
+fears, which is certainly better than the false raptures of others. But,
+in Addison's day, admiration for wild scenery was neither pretended nor
+felt. Our poet loved, indeed, the great silent starry night, and has
+whispered and stammered out some beautiful things in its praise. But he
+does this, so to speak, below his breath, while the white Alps, seeming
+the shrouded corpses of the fallen Titans, take that breath away, and he
+shudders all the road through them, and descends delightedly to the green
+pastures and the still waters of lower regions.
+
+At Geneva, where he arrived in December 1701, he remained some time,
+expecting from Lord Manchester the official appointment for which he was
+now qualified. But while waiting there, he heard the tidings of King
+William's death, which put an end to his hopes as well as to those of
+his party. His pension, too, was stopped, and he was obliged to become a
+tutor to a young Englishman of fortune. With him he visited many parts of
+Switzerland and Germany, and spent a portion of his leisure in writing,
+not only his "Travels," but his recondite "Dialogue on Medals,"--a book
+of considerable research and great ingenuity, which was not published,
+however, till after his death. From Germany he passed to Holland, where
+he heard the sad intelligence that his father was no more. During his
+stay in Holland, he watched with keen, yet kindly eye, the manners of
+the inhabitants; and in his letters hits at their drinking habits with a
+mixture of severity and sympathy which is very characteristic. Toward the
+close of 1703 he returned home, and, we doubt not, felt at first desolate
+enough. His father was dead, his pension withdrawn, his political patrons
+out of power, and his literary fame not yet fully established. But,
+on the other hand, he was only thirty-one; he had made some new and
+influential friends on the Continent, particularly the eminent Edward
+Wortley Montague, husband of the still more celebrated Mary Wortley
+Montague, and he had in his portfolio a volume of "Travels" of some mark
+and likelihood, nearly ready for the press. Besides, the Whigs, low as
+they were now in political influence, were still true to their party,
+and they welcomed Addison, as one of their rising hopes, into the famous
+"Kit-Cat Club," an _omniumgaiherum_ of all whose talents, learning,
+accomplishments, wit, or wealth were thought useful to the Whig cause.
+
+Addison's arrival in England seems to have synchronised or preceded the
+great tempest of November 1703, to which we have already referred, and
+to which he afterwards alludes in his simile of the Angel in "The
+Campaign"--
+
+  "Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past."
+
+Our readers will find a sketch of this terrific tempest in the
+commencement of Ainsworth's "Jack Shepherd." Macaulay says of it, "It
+was the only tempest which, in our latitude, has equalled the rage of
+a tropical hurricane. No other tempest was ever in this country the
+occasion of a Parliamentary address, or of a national fast. Whole fleets
+had been cast away. Large mansions had been blown down; one prelate had
+been buried beneath the ruins of his palace. London and Bristol had
+presented the appearance of cities just sacked. Hundreds of families were
+thrown into mourning. The prostrate trunks of large trees, and the ruins
+of houses attested, in all the southern counties, the fury of the blast."
+How Addison felt or fared during this storm, we have no means of knowing.
+Perhaps his timid nature shrank from it in spite of its appeal to
+imagination, or perhaps the poetry that was in him triumphed over his
+fears, and as he felt what _Zanga_ was afterwards to say--
+
+  "I love this rocking of the battlements,"
+
+the image of the Angel, afterwards to be dilated into the vast form of
+Wrath, described in the "Campaign," rose on his vision, and remained
+there indelibly fixed till the time arrived when, used with artistic
+skill, it floated him into fame.
+
+Meanwhile, he spent this winter and spring of 1703-4 in a rather
+precarious manner, and like a true poet. He was lodging in an obscure
+garret in the Haymarket, up three stairs, when one day the Right
+Honourable Henry Boyle, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, called on him
+and communicated a project that had been concocted between Godolphin and
+Halifax. The Whigs were now again in the ascendant, and the battle of
+Blenheim, fought on the 13th August 1704, had brought their triumph to
+a climax. Halifax and Godolphin were mortified at the bad poems in
+commemoration of it which poured from the press. Their feeling was
+sincerely that which Byron affected in reference to Wellington and
+Waterloo--
+
+  "I wish your bards would sing it rather better."
+
+They bethought themselves of Addison, and sent Boyle to request him to
+write some verses on the subject. He readily undertook the task, and when
+he had half-finished the "Campaign," he shewed it to Godolphin, who
+was delighted, especially with the Angel, and in gratitude, instantly
+appointed the lucky poet to a commissionership worth about £200 a-year,
+and assured him that this was only a foretaste of greater favours to
+come. The poem soon after appeared. It was received with acclamation, and
+Addison felt that his fortune and his fame were both secured.
+
+Yet, in truth, the "Campaign" is not a great poem, nor, properly
+speaking, if we except the Angel, a poem at all. It is simply a _Gazette_
+done into tolerable rhyme; and its chief inspiration comes from its
+zealous party-feeling. Marlborough, though a first-rate marshal, was
+not a great man, not by any means so great as Wellington, far less as
+Napoleon; and how can a heroic poem be written without a hero? Yet the
+poem fell in with the humour of the times, and was cried up as though it
+had been another book of the Iliad. Shortly afterwards he published
+his "Travels," which were thought rather cold and classical. To them
+succeeded the opera of "Rosamond," which, being ill-set to music, failed
+on the stage; but became, and is still, a favourite in the closet. It
+is in the lightest and easiest style of Dryden,--that in which he wrote
+"Alexander's Feast," and some other of his lyrics,--but is sustained for
+some fifteen hundred lines with an energy and a grace which we doubt if
+even Dryden could have equalled. Its verses not only move but dance. The
+spirit is genial and sunny, and above the mazy motions shines the light
+of genuine poetry. Johnson truly says, that if Addison had cultivated
+this style he would have excelled.
+
+From the date of the "Campaign," Addison's life became an ascending
+scale of promotion. We find him first in Hanover with Lord Halifax, then
+appointed under-secretary to Sir Charles Hodges, and in a few months
+after to the Earl of Sunderland. In 1708 he was elected member for
+Malmesbury, and the next year he accompanied Thomas, Earl of Wharton,
+Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, to that country as his secretary, and became
+Keeper of the Records in Birmingham's Tower,--a nominal office worth £300
+a-year. His secretary's salary was £2000 per annum.
+
+Previous to this he had resumed his intimacy with Steele, to whom he lent
+money, and on one occasion is said to have recovered it by sending a
+bailiff to his house. This has been called heartless conduct, but the
+probability is that Addison was provoked by the extravagant use made of
+the loan by his reckless friend. In Parliament it is well-known Addison
+never spoke; but he surrounded himself in private life with a parliament
+of his own, and, like Cato, gave his little senate laws. That senate
+consisted of Steele, Ambrose, Phillips; the wretched Eustace Budgell,
+who afterwards drowned himself; sometimes Swift and Pope; and ultimately
+Tickell, who became his most confidential friend and the depositor of his
+literary remains. In mixed societies he was silent; but with a few select
+spirits around him, and especially after the "good wine did the good
+office" of banishing his bashfulness and taciturnity, he became the most
+delightful and fascinating of conversers. The staple of his conversation
+was quiet, sly humour; but there was fine sentiment, touches of pathos,
+and now and then imagination peeped over like an Alp above meaner hills.
+Swift alone, we suspect, was his match; but his power lay rather in
+severe and pungent sarcasm, in broad, coarse, though unsmiling wit, and
+at times in the fierce and terrible sallies of misanthropic rage and
+despair. Addison, on leaving England, had, by his modesty, geniality, and
+amiable manners, become the most popular man in the country, so much so,
+that, says Swift, "he might be king an' he had a mind."
+
+In Ireland--although he sat as member for Cavan, and appears in
+Parliament to have got beyond his famous "I conceive--I conceive--I
+conceive"--(having, as the wag observed, "conceived three times and
+brought forth nothing"), and spoken sometimes, if not often--he did not
+feel himself at home. He must have loathed the licentious and corrupt
+Wharton, and felt besides a longing for the society of London, the
+_noctes coenoeque Deûm_ he had left behind him. It was in Ireland,
+however, that his real literary career began. Steele, in the spring of
+1709, had commenced the _Tatler_, a thrice-a-week miscellany of foreign
+news, town gossip, short sharp papers _de omnibus rebus et guibusdum
+aliis_, with a sprinkling of moral and literary criticism. When Addison
+heard of this scheme, he readily lent his aid to it, and then, as honest
+Richard admits, "I fared like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful
+neighbour to his aid,--I was undone by my auxiliary." To the _Tatler_
+Addison contributed a number of papers, which, if slighter than his
+better ones in the _Spectator_, were nevertheless highly characteristic
+of his singular powers of observation, character-painting, humour, and
+invention.
+
+In November 1709, he returned to England, and not long after he shared
+in the downfall of his party, and lost his secretaryship. This also is
+thought to have injured him in a tender point. He had already conceived
+an affection for the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, who had been disposed
+to encourage the addresses of the Secretary, but looked coldly on
+those of the mere man and scribbler Joseph Addison, who, to crown his
+misfortunes at this time, had resigned his Fellowship, suffered some
+severe pecuniary losses of a kind, and from a quarter which are both
+obscure, and was trembling lest he should be deprived of his small Irish
+office too. Yet, although reduced and well-nigh beggared, never did
+his mind approve itself more rich. Besides writing a great deal in the
+_Tatler_, he published a political journal, called the _Whig Examiner_,
+in which, although the wit, we think, is not so fine as in his
+_Freeholder_, there is a vigour and masculine energy which he has seldom
+equalled elsewhere. When it expired, Swift exulted over its death in
+terms which sufficiently proved that he was annoyed and oppressed by its
+life. "He might well," says Johnson, "rejoice at the death of that which
+he could not have killed."
+
+On the 2d of January 1711, the last _Tatler_ came forth; and on the 1st
+of the following March appeared the _Spectator_, which is now the main
+pillar of Addison's fame, and the fullest revelation of his exquisite
+genius. Without being as a whole a great, or in any part of it a profound
+work, there are few productions which, if lost, would be more missed in
+literature. One reclines on its pages as on pillows. The sweetness of the
+spirit,--the trembling beauty of the sentences, like that of a twilight
+wave just touched by the west wind's balmy breath,--the nice strokes
+of humour, so gentle, yet so overpowering,--the feminine delicacy and
+refinement of the allusions,--the art which so dexterously conceals
+itself,--the mild enthusiasm for the works of man and God which glows in
+all its serious effusions,--the good nature of its satire,--the geniality
+of its criticism,--the everlasting April of the style, so soft and
+vivid,--the purity and healthiness of the moral tone,--and the childlike
+religion which breathes in the Saturday papers--one or two of which, such
+as the "Vision of Mirza," are almost scriptural in spirit and beautiful
+simplicity,--combine to throw a charm around the _Spectator_ which works
+of far loftier pretensions, if they need not, certainly do not possess.
+Macaulay (whom we love for his love of Addison and Bunyan more than
+for aught else about his works) truly observes, that few writers have
+discovered so much variety and inventiveness as Addison, who, in
+the papers of a single week, sometimes traverses the whole gamut of
+literature, supplying keen sarcasm, rich portraiture of character, the
+epistle, the tale, the allegory, the apologue, the moral essay, and the
+religious meditation,--all first-rate in quality, and all suggesting the
+idea that his resources are boundless, and that the half has not been
+told. His criticisms have been ridiculed as shallow; but while his
+lucubrations on Milton were useful in their day as plain finger-posts,
+quietly pointing up to the stupendous sublimities of the theme,
+his essays on Wit are subtle, and his papers on the "Pleasures of
+Imagination" throw on the beautiful topic a light like that of a red
+evening west, giving and receiving glory from the autumnal landscape.
+
+In the end of 1712 the _Spectator_, which had circulated at one time to
+the extent of 4000 copies a-day, was discontinued, and in a few weeks the
+_Guardian_ supplied its place. It was two months ere Addison began to
+write, and during that time it was flippantly dull; but when he appeared
+its character changed, and his contributions to the new periodical were
+quite as good as the best of his _Spectators_.
+
+In April 1713 his "Cato" was acted with immense success, and in
+circumstances so well known that they need not be detailed at length.
+Pope wrote the prologue; Booth enacted the hero; Steele packed the house;
+peers, both Tory and Whig, crowded the boxes; claps of applause were
+echoed back from High Churchmen to the members of the "Kit-Cat Club;"
+Bolingbroke sent fifty guineas, during the progress of the play, to
+Booth for defending the cause of liberty against a perpetual dictator,
+(Marlborough;) and with the exception of growling Dennis, everybody was
+in raptures. The play has long found its level. It has passages of
+power and thoughts of beauty, but it has one radical fault--formality.
+Mandeville described Addison as a parson in a tie-wig. "Cato" is a parson
+without the tie-wig; an intolerable mixture of the patriot and the
+pedant. Few would now give one of the _Spectator's_ little papers about
+Sir Roger de Coverley for a century of Catos.
+
+In September 1713 the _Guardian_ stopped; but in June 1714 Addison, now
+separated from Steele, who was carrying on a political paper called the
+_Englishman_, added an eighth volume to the _Spectator_. Its contents
+are more uniformly serious than those of the first seven volumes, and
+it contains, besides Addison's matchless papers, some only inferior to
+these, especially four by Mr Grove, a dissenting minister in Taunton. It
+is recorded in "Boswell" that Baretti having, on the Continent, met with
+Grove's paper on "Novelty," it quickened his curiosity to visit Britain,
+for he thought, if such were the lighter periodical essays of our
+authors, their productions on more weighty occasions must be wonderful
+indeed!
+
+When George I. succeeded to the throne, Addison's fortunes began to
+improve. A Council having been appointed to manage matters till the King
+arrived, Addison was chosen their secretary; and afterwards he went
+over again to Ireland in his old capacity, Sunderland being now
+Lord-Lieutenant. Here, much as he differed from Swift in politics, he
+resumed his intimacy with him,--an intimacy, considering the dispositions
+of the two men, singular, as though a lamb and a flayed bear were to form
+an alliance. In 1715 our poet returned to England, and obtained a seat at
+the Board of Trade. Early in the year he brought out, anonymously, on the
+stage his comedy of the "Drummer," which was coldly received. And towards
+the close of it, he commenced a very clever periodical called the
+_Freeholder_. We only met with this series a few years ago, but can
+assure our readers that some of the most delectable bits of Addison are
+to be found in it. There is a Tory fox-hunter yet riding along there,
+whom we would advise you to join if you would enjoy one of the richest
+treats of humour; and there is a Jacobite army still on its way to
+Preston, the only danger connected with approaching which, is lest you be
+killed with laughter.
+
+Shortly after occurred his famous quarrel with Pope, to which we have
+already referred in our life of that poet, and do not intend to recur.
+Next year Addison's long courtship came to a successful close. He
+wedded the Dowager Warwick, went to reside at Holland-house, and became
+miserable for life. She was a proud, imperious woman, who, instead of
+seeking to wean Addison from his convivial habits, (if such habits in
+any excessive measure were his,) drove him deeper into the slough by her
+bitter words and haughty carriage. The tavern, which had formerly been
+his occasional resort, became now his nightly refuge. In 1717 he received
+his highest civil honour, being made Secretary of State under Lord
+Sunderland; but, as usual, the slave soon appeared in the chariot. His
+health began to break down, and asthma soon obliged him to resign his
+office, on receiving a retiring pension of £1500 a-year. Next Steele
+and he, having taken opposite sides in politics, got engaged in a paper
+war--Steele in the _Plebeian_, and Addison in the _Old Whig_; and
+personalities of a disagreeable kind passed between the two friends. In
+the meantime Addison was dying fast. Dropsy had supervened on asthma, and
+the help of physicians was vain. He prepared himself, like a man and a
+Christian, to meet the last stern foe. He sent for Gay and asked his
+forgiveness for some act of unkindness he had done him. Gay granted it,
+although utterly ignorant of what the offence had been. He had probably,
+on account of his Toryism, been deprived, through Addison's means, of
+some preferment. He entrusted his works to the care of Tickell, and
+dedicated them to Craggs, his successor in the secretaryship, in a
+touching and beautiful letter, written a few days before his death. He
+called, it is said, the young Earl of Warwick, his wife's son, a very
+dissipated young man, and of unsettled religious principles, to his
+bedside, and said, "I have sent for you that you may see how a Christian
+can die." He breathed his last on the 17th June 1709, forty-seven years
+old, and leaving one child, a daughter, who died, at an advanced age, at
+Bilton, Warwickshire, in 1797. His funeral took place, at dead of night,
+in Westminster Abbey, Bishop Atterbury meeting the procession and reading
+the service by torch-light. He was laid beside his friend Montague, and
+in a few months his successor, Craggs, was laid beside him. Nearly a
+century elapsed ere the present monument was erected over his dust.
+Tickell wrote a fine poem to his memory; and a splendid edition of his
+works was published by subscription in 1721.
+
+Addison was cut off in the prime of life, and interrupted in some
+literary undertakings and projects of great pith and moment. He had
+written a portion of a treatise on the "Evidences of Christianity," and
+was meditating some works, such as a "Metrical Version of the Psalms" and
+a tragedy on the history of Socrates, still more suitable to his cast of
+mind.
+
+We have already indicated our opinion alike of Addison's character and
+genius, but must be permitted a few closing remarks. Both partook of the
+feminine type. He was an amiable and highly gifted, rather than a strong
+or great man. His shrinking timidity of temperament, his singular modesty
+of manners, his quiet, sly power of humorous yet kindly observation,
+his minute style of criticism, even the peculiar cast of his piety, all
+served to stamp the lady-man. In taciturnity alone he bore the sex no
+resemblance. And hence it is that Campbell in poetry, and Addison in
+prose, are, or were, the great favourites of female readers. He had many
+weaknesses, but, as in the character of woman, they appeared beautiful,
+and cognate to his gentle nature. His fear of giving offence was one of
+the most prominent of these. In his writings and in his life, he seems
+always treading on thin ice. Pope said truly of him--
+
+  "He hints a fault, and hesitates dislike."
+
+But this was not owing to malice, but to the bashful good nature which
+distinguished him. It is true, too, that he hints a beauty, and hesitates
+in his expressions of love. He says himself the finest things, and then
+blushes as if detected in a crime; or he praises an obvious and colossal
+merit in another, and then starts at the sound himself had made. His
+encomiums resemble the evening talk of lovers, being low, sweet, and
+trembling. Were we to speak of Addison phrenologically, we should say
+that, next to veneration, wit, and ideality, his principal faculties were
+caution and secretiveness. He was cautious to the brink of cowardice. We
+fancy him in a considerable fright in the storm on the Ligurian Gulf,
+amidst the exhalations of the unhealthy Campagna, and while the
+avalanches of the Alps--"the thunderbolts of snow"--were falling around
+him. We know that he walked about behind the scenes perspiring with
+agitation while the fate of "Cato" was still undecided. Had it failed,
+Addison never could, as Dr Johnson, when asked how he felt after "Irene"
+was damned, have replied, "Like the Monument." We know, too, that he
+sought to soothe the fury and stroke down the angry bristles of John
+Dennis. To call the author of the "Campaign" a coward were going too far;
+but he felt, we believe, more of a martial glow while writing it in
+his Haymarket garret than had he mingled in the fray. And as to his
+secretiveness, his still, deep, scarce-rippling stream of humour, his
+habit, commemorated by Swift, when he found any man invincibly wrong, of
+flattering his opinions by acquiescence, and sinking him yet deeper in
+absurdity; even the fact that no word is found more frequently in his
+writings than "secret" ("secret joy," "secret satisfaction," "secret
+solace," are phrases constantly occurring,) prove that, whatever else
+he had possessed of the female character, the title of the play, "A
+Wonder--a Woman keeps a Secret," had been no paradox in reference to him.
+
+Having his lips in general barred by the double bolts of caution and
+secretiveness, one ceases to wonder that the "invisible spirit of wine"
+was welcomed by him as a key to open occasionally the rich treasures of
+his mind; but that he was a habitual drunkard is one calumny; that he
+wrote his best _Spectators_ when too much excited with wine is another;
+and that he "died drunk" is a third,--and the most atrocious of all,
+propagated though it has been by Walpole and Byron. His habits, however,
+were undoubtedly too careless and convivial; and there used to be a
+floating tradition in Holland-house, that, when meditating his writings
+there, he was wont to walk along a gallery, at each end of which stood a
+separate bottle, out of both of which he never failed, _en passant_, to
+sip! This, after all, however, may be only a mythical fable.
+
+While, as an author, the favourite of ladies, of the young, and of
+catholic-minded critics generally, Addison has had, and has still, severe
+and able detractors, who are wont to speak of him in such a manner as
+this:--"He is a highly cultivated artist, but not one thought of any
+vivid novelty did he put out in all his many books. You become placid
+reading him, but think of Ossian and Shakspeare, and be silent. He is
+a lapidary polishing pebbles,--a pretty art, but not vested with the
+glories of sculpture, nor the mathematical magnitude of architecture. He
+does not walk a demigod, but a stiff Anglicised imitator of French paces.
+He is a symmetrical, but a small invisible personage at rapier practice."
+Now, clever as this is, it only proves that Addison is not a Shakspeare
+or Milton. He does not pretend to be either. He is no demigod, but he is
+a man, a lady-man if you will, but the lovelier on that account. Besides,
+he was cut off in his prime, and when he might have girt himself up to
+achieve greater things than he has done. And although the French taste of
+his age somewhat affected and chilled his genius, yet he knew of other
+models than Racine and Boileau. He drank of "Siloa's brook." He admired
+and imitated the poetry of the Bible. He loves not, indeed, its wilder
+and higher strains; he gets giddy on the top of Lebanon; the Valley of
+Dry Bones he treads with timid steps; and his look up to the "Terrible
+Crystal" is more of fright than of exultation. But the lovelier, softer,
+simpler, and more pensive parts of the Bible are very dear to the gentle
+_Spectator_, and are finely, if faintly, reproduced in his writings.
+Indeed, the principle which would derogate from Addison's works, would
+lead to the depreciation of portions of the Scriptures too. "Ruth" is not
+so grand as the "Revelation;" the "Song of Solomon" is not so sublime as
+the "Song of Songs, which is Isaiah's;" and the story of Joseph has not
+the mystic grandeur or rushing fire of Ezekiel's prophecy. But there they
+are in the same Book of God, and are even dearer to many hearts than the
+loftier portions; and so with Addison's papers beside the works of Bacon,
+Milton, and Coleridge.
+
+His poetry is now in our readers' hands, and should be read with a candid
+spirit. They will admire the elegance and gracefully-used learning of the
+"Epistle to Halifax." They will not be astonished at the "Campaign," but
+they will regard it with interest as the lever which first lifted Addison
+into his true place in society and letters. They will find much to please
+them in his verses to Dryden, Somers, King William, and his odes on St
+Cecilia's Day; and they will pause with peculiar fondness over those
+delightful hymns, some of which they have sung or repeated from infancy,
+which they will find again able to "beat the heavenward flame," and start
+the tender and pious tear, and which are of themselves sufficient to rank
+Addison high on the list of Christian poets.
+
+
+[Footnote 1: Among these "others" was Abraham Stanyan, plenipotentiary
+extraordinary at Neufchatel at the settlement of the rival claims of the
+Duke of Brandenberg, Holland, and France, to that principality. He was
+afterwards ambassador to France. He married a daughter of Dr Pritchett,
+Bishop of Gloucester. It is said, that, having on one occasion borrowed
+a sum of money from Addison, the latter observed him to be very
+subservient, agreeing with every opinion Mr A. expressed, till Addison,
+provoked, and guessing the cause, said, "Stanyan, either contradict me,
+or pay me my money." Our friend, Mr J. Stanyan Bigg, author of the
+very brilliant poem, "Night and the Soul," is a descendant of Abraham
+Stanyan.]
+
+
+
+
+ADDISON'S POETICAL WORKS.
+
+
+POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+
+TO MR DRYDEN.
+
+  How long, great poet, shall thy sacred lays
+  Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise?
+  Can neither injuries of time, nor age,
+  Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?
+  Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote;
+  Grief chilled his breast, and checked his rising thought;
+  Pensive and sad, his drooping Muse betrays
+  The Roman genius in its last decays.
+     Prevailing warmth has still thy mind possess'd,
+  And second youth is kindled in thy breast;
+_10
+  Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,
+  And England boasts of riches not her own;
+  Thy lines have heightened Virgil's majesty,
+  And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
+  Thou teachest Persius to inform our isle
+  In smoother numbers, and a clearer style;
+  And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
+  Edges his satire, and improves his rage.
+  Thy copy casts a fairer light on all,
+  And still outshines the bright original.
+_20
+     Now Ovid boasts the advantage of thy song,
+  And tells his story in the British tongue;
+  Thy charming verse and fair translations show
+  How thy own laurel first began to grow;
+  How wild Lycaon, changed by angry gods,
+  And frighted at himself, ran howling through the woods.
+     Oh, mayst thou still the noble task prolong,
+  Nor age nor sickness interrupt thy song!
+  Then may we wondering read, how human limbs
+  Have watered kingdoms, and dissolved in streams;
+_30
+  Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould
+  Turned yellow by degrees, and ripened into gold:
+  How some in feathers, or a ragged hide,
+  Have lived a second life, and different natures tried.
+  Then will thy Ovid, thus transformed, reveal
+  A nobler change than he himself can tell.
+
+_Mag. Coll. Oxon, June 2, 1693.
+  The Author's age_, 22.
+
+
+
+A POEM TO HIS MAJESTY,[2] PRESENTED TO THE LORD KEEPER.
+
+TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN SOMERS,
+
+LOKD KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL.
+
+  If yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs,
+  Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares,
+  If yet your time and actions are your own,
+  Receive the present of a Muse unknown:
+  A Muse that in adventurous numbers sings
+  The rout of armies, and the fall of kings,
+  Britain advanced, and Europe's peace restored,
+  By Somers' counsels, and by Nassau's sword.
+     To you, my lord, these daring thoughts belong,
+  Who helped to raise the subject of my song;
+_10
+  To you the hero of my verse reveals
+  His great designs; to you in council tells
+  His inmost thoughts, determining the doom
+  Of towns unstormed, and battles yet to come.
+  And well could you, in your immortal strains,
+  Describe his conduct, and reward his pains:
+  But since the state has all your cares engross'd,
+  And poetry in higher thoughts is lost,
+  Attend to what a lesser Muse indites,
+  Pardon her faults and countenance her flights.
+_20
+     On you, my lord, with anxious fear I wait,
+  And from your judgment must expect my fate,
+  Who, free from vulgar passions, are above
+  Degrading envy, or misguided love;
+  If you, well pleased, shall smile upon my lays,
+  Secure of fame, my voice I'll boldly raise;
+  For next to what you write, is what you praise.
+
+
+TO THE KING.
+
+  When now the business of the field is o'er,
+  The trumpets sleep, and cannons cease to roar;
+  When every dismal echo is decay'd,
+  And all the thunder of the battle laid;
+  Attend, auspicious prince, and let the Muse
+  In humble accents milder thoughts infuse.
+     Others, in bold prophetic numbers skill'd,
+  Set thee in arms, and led thee to the field;
+  My Muse, expecting, on the British strand
+  Waits thy return, and welcomes thee to land:
+_10
+  She oft has seen thee pressing on the foe,
+  When Europe was concerned in every blow;
+  But durst not in heroic strains rejoice; is
+  The trumpets, drums, and cannons drowned her voice:
+  She saw the Boyne run thick with human gore,
+  And floating corps lie beating on the shore:
+  She saw thee climb the banks, but tried in vain
+  To trace her hero through the dusty plain,
+  When through the thick embattled lines he broke,
+  Now plunged amidst the foes, now lost in clouds of smoke.
+_20
+     Oh that some Muse, renowned for lofty verse,
+  In daring numbers would thy toils rehearse!
+  Draw thee beloved in peace, and feared in wars,
+  Inured to noonday sweats, and midnight cares!
+  But still the godlike man, by some hard fate,
+  Receives the glory of his toils too late;
+  Too late the verse the mighty act succeeds;
+  One age the hero, one the poet breeds.
+     A thousand years in full succession ran
+  Ere Virgil raised his voice, and sung the man
+_30
+  Who, driven by stress of fate, such dangers bore
+  On stormy seas and a disastrous shore,
+  Before he settled in the promised earth,
+  And gave the empire of the world its birth.
+     Troy long had found the Grecians bold and fierce,
+  Ere Homer mustered up their troops in verse;
+  Long had Achilles quelled the Trojans' lust,
+  And laid the labour of the gods in dust,
+  Before the towering Muse began her flight,
+  And drew the hero raging in the fight,
+_40
+  Engaged in tented fields and rolling floods,
+  Or slaughtering mortals, or a match for gods.
+     And here, perhaps, by fate's unerring doom,
+  Some mighty bard lies hid in years to come,
+  That shall in William's godlike acts engage,
+  And with his battles warm a future age.
+  Hibernian fields shall here thy conquests show,
+  And Boyne be sung when it has ceased to flow;
+  Here Gallic labours shall advance thy fame,
+  And here Seneffe[3] shall wear another name.
+_50
+  Our late posterity, with secret dread,
+  Shall view thy battles, and with pleasure read
+  How, in the bloody field, too near advanced,
+  The guiltless bullet on thy shoulder glanced.
+     The race of Nassaus was by Heaven design'd
+  To curb the proud oppressors of mankind,
+  To bind the tyrants of the earth with laws,
+  And fight in every injured nation's cause,
+  The world's great patriots; they for justice call,
+  And, as they favour, kingdoms rise or fall.
+_60
+  Our British youth, unused to rough alarms,
+  Careless of fame, and negligent of arms,
+  Had long forgot to meditate the foe,
+  And heard unwarmed the martial trumpet blow;
+  But now, inspired by thee, with fresh delight
+  Their swords they brandish, and require the fight,
+  Renew their ancient conquests on the main,
+  And act their fathers' triumphs o'er again;
+  Fired, when they hear how Agincourt was strow'd
+  With Gallic corps and Cressi swam in blood,
+_70
+  With eager warmth they fight, ambitious all
+  Who first shall storm the breach, or mount the wall.
+  In vain the thronging enemy by force
+  Would clear the ramparts, and repel their course;
+  They break through all, for William leads the way,
+  Where fires rage most, and loudest engines play.
+  Namur's late terrors and destruction show
+  What William, warmed with just revenge, can do:
+  Where once a thousand turrets raised on high
+  Their gilded spires, and glittered in the sky,
+_80
+  An undistinguished heap of dust is found,
+  And all the pile lies smoking on the ground,
+     His toils, for no ignoble ends design'd,
+  Promote the common welfare of mankind;
+  No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears,
+  The cries of orphans, and the widow's tears;
+  Oppressed religion gives the first alarms,
+  And injured justice sets him in his arms;
+  His conquests freedom to the world afford,
+  And nations bless the labours of his sword.
+_90
+     Thus when the forming Muse would copy forth
+  A perfect pattern of heroic worth,
+  She sets a man triumphant in the field,
+  O'er giants cloven down, and monsters kill'd,
+  Reeking in blood, and smeared with dust and sweat,
+  Whilst angry gods conspire to make him great.
+     Thy navy rides on seas before unpress'd,
+  And strikes a terror through the haughty East;
+  Algiers and Tunis from their sultry shore
+  With horror hear the British engines roar;
+_100
+  Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run,
+  And wish themselves still nearer to the sun.
+  The Gallic ships are in their ports confined,
+  Denied the common use of sea and wind,
+  Nor dare again the British strength engage;
+  Still they remember that destructive rage
+  Which lately made their trembling host retire,
+  Stunned with the noise, and wrapt in smoke and fire;
+  The waves with wide unnumbered wrecks were strow'd,
+  And planks, and arms, and men, promiscuous flow'd.
+_110
+     Spain's numerous fleet, that perished on our coast,
+  Could scarce a longer line of battle boast,
+  The winds could hardly drive them to their fate,
+  And all the ocean laboured with the weight.
+     Where'er the waves in restless errors roll,
+  The sea lies open now to either pole:
+  Now may we safely use the northern gales,
+  And in the Polar Circle spread our sails;
+  Or deep in southern climes, secure from wars,
+  New lands explore, and sail by other stars;
+_120
+  Fetch uncontrolled each labour of the sun,
+  And make the product of the world our own.
+     At length, proud prince, ambitious Louis, cease
+  To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace;
+  Think on the structures which thy pride has razed,
+  On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste;
+  Think on the heaps of corps and streams of blood,
+  On every guilty plain, and purple flood,
+  Thy arms have made, and cease an impious war,
+  Nor waste the lives intrusted to thy care.
+_130
+  Or if no milder thought can calm thy mind,
+  Behold the great avenger of mankind,
+  See mighty Nassau through the battle ride,
+  And see thy subjects gasping by his side:
+  Fain would the pious prince refuse the alarm,
+  Fain would he check the fury of his arm;
+  But when thy cruelties his thoughts engage,
+  The hero kindles with becoming rage,
+  Then countries stolen, and captives unrestored,
+  Give strength to every blow, and edge his sword.
+_140
+  Behold with what resistless force he falls
+  On towns besieged, and thunders at thy walls!
+  Ask Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld
+  The town surrendered, and the treaty seal'd,
+  With what amazing strength the forts were won,
+  Whilst the whole power of France stood looking on.
+     But stop not here: behold where Berkley stands,
+  And executes his injured king's commands!
+  Around thy coast his bursting bombs he pours
+  On flaming citadels and falling towers;
+_150
+  With hissing streams of fire the air they streak,
+  And hurl destruction round them where they break;
+  The skies with long ascending flames are bright,
+  And all the sea reflects a quivering light.
+     Thus Ætna, when in fierce eruptions broke,
+  Fills heaven with ashes, and the earth with smoke;
+  Here crags of broken rocks are twirled on high,
+  Here molten stones and scattered cinders fly:
+  Its fury reaches the remotest coast,
+  And strows the Asiatic shore with dust.
+_160
+     Now does the sailor from the neighbouring main
+  Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain;
+  No more his wonted marks he can descry,
+  But sees a long unmeasured ruin lie;
+  Whilst, pointing to the naked coast, he shows
+  His wondering mates where towns and steeples rose,
+  Where crowded citizens he lately view'd,
+  And singles out the place where once St Maloes stood.
+     Here Russel's actions should my Muse require;
+  And, would my strength but second my desire,
+_170
+  I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse,
+  And draw his cannons thundering in my verse:
+  High on the deck should the great leader stand,
+  Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand;
+  Like Homer's Hector, when he flung his fire
+  Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire.
+     But who can run the British triumphs o'er,
+  And count the flames dispersed on every shore?
+  Who can describe the scattered victory,
+
+  And draw the reader on from sea to sea?
+_180
+  Else who could Ormond's godlike acts refuse,
+  Ormond the theme of every Oxford Muse?
+  Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim,
+  Attend him in the noble chase of fame,
+  Through all the noise and hurry of the fight,
+  Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight.
+  Oh, did our British peers thus court renown,
+  And grace the coats their great forefathers won,
+  Our arms would then triumphantly advance,
+  Nor Henry be the last that conquered France!
+_190
+  What might not England hope, if such abroad
+  Purchased their country's honour with their blood:
+  When such, detained at home, support our state
+  In William's stead, and bear a kingdom's weight,
+  The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow,
+  And blast the counsels of the common foe;
+  Direct our armies, and distribute right,
+  And render our Maria's loss more light.
+     But stop, my Muse, the ungrateful sound forbear,
+  Maria's name still wounds each British ear:
+_200
+  Each British heart Maria still does wound,
+  And tears burst out unbidden at the sound;
+  Maria still our rising mirth destroys,
+  Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys.
+     But see, at length, the British ships appear!
+  Our Nassau comes! and, as his fleet draws near,
+  The rising masts advance, the sails grow white,
+  And all his pompous navy floats in sight.
+  Come, mighty prince, desired of Britain, come!
+  May heaven's propitious gales attend thee home!
+_210
+  Come, and let longing crowds behold that look
+  Which such confusion and amazement strook
+  Through Gallic hosts: but, oh! let us descry
+  Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thy eye;
+  Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found;
+  But for awhile forget the trumpet's sound;
+  Well-pleased, thy people's loyalty approve,
+  Accept their duty, and enjoy their love.
+  For as, when lately moved with fierce delight,
+  You plunged amidst the tumult of the fight,
+_220
+  Whole heaps of dead encompassed you around,
+  And steeds o'erturned lay foaming on the ground:
+  So crowned with laurels now, where'er you go,
+  Around you blooming joys and peaceful blessings flow.
+
+
+A TRANSLATION OF ALL
+
+VIRGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC,
+
+EXCEPT THE STORY OF ARISTÆUS.
+
+  Ethereal sweets shall next my Muse engage,
+  And this, Maecenas, claims your patronage.
+  Of little creatures' wondrous acts I treat,
+  The ranks and mighty leaders of their state,
+  Their laws, employments, and their wars relate.
+  A trifling theme provokes my humble lays.
+  Trifling the theme, not so the poet's praise,
+  If great Apollo and the tuneful Nine
+     First, for your bees a proper station find,
+_10
+  That's fenced about, and sheltered from the wind;
+  For winds divert them in their flight, and drive
+  The swarms, when loaden homeward, from their hive.
+  Nor sheep, nor goats, must pasture near their stores,
+  To trample underfoot the springing flowers;
+  Nor frisking heifers bound about the place,
+  To spurn the dew-drops off, and bruise the rising grass;
+  Nor must the lizard's painted brood appear,
+  Nor wood-pecks, nor the swallow, harbour near.
+  They waste the swarms, and, as they fly along,
+_20
+  Convey the tender morsels to their young.
+     Let purling streams, and fountains edged with moss,
+  And shallow rills run trickling through the grass;
+  Let branching olives o'er the fountain grow;
+  Or palms shoot up, and shade the streams below;
+  That when the youth, led by their princes, shun
+  The crowded hive and sport it in the sun,
+  Refreshing springs may tempt them from the heat,
+  And shady coverts yield a cool retreat.
+     Whether the neighbouring water stands or runs,
+_30
+  Lay twigs across and bridge it o'er with stones
+  That if rough storms, or sudden blasts of wind,
+  Should dip or scatter those that lag behind,
+  Here they may settle on the friendly stone,
+  And dry their reeking pinions at the sun.
+  Plant all the flowery banks with lavender,
+  With store of savory scent the fragrant air;
+  Let running betony the field o'erspread,
+  And fountains soak the violet's dewy bed.
+     Though barks or plaited willows make your hive,
+_40
+  A narrow inlet to their cells contrive;
+  For colds congeal and freeze the liquors up,
+  And, melted down with heat, the waxen buildings drop.
+  The bees, of both extremes alike afraid,
+  Their wax around the whistling crannies spread,
+  And suck out clammy dews from herbs and flowers,
+  To smear the chinks, and plaster up the pores;
+  For this they hoard up glue, whose clinging drops,
+  Like pitch or bird-lime, hang in stringy ropes.
+  They oft, 'tis said, in dark retirements dwell,
+_50
+  And work in subterraneous caves their cell;
+  At other times the industrious insects live
+  In hollow rocks, or make a tree their hive.
+     Point all their chinky lodgings round with mud,
+  And leaves must thinly on your work be strow'd;
+  But let no baleful yew-tree flourish near,
+  Nor rotten marshes send out steams of mire;
+  Nor burning crabs grow red, and crackle in the fire:
+  Nor neighbouring caves return the dying sound,
+  Nor echoing rocks the doubled voice rebound.
+_60
+  Things thus prepared----
+  When the under-world is seized with cold and night,
+  And summer here descends in streams of light,
+  The bees through woods and forests take their flight.
+  They rifle every flower, and lightly skim
+  The crystal brook, and sip the running stream;
+  And thus they feed their young with strange delight,
+  And knead the yielding wax, and work the slimy sweet.
+  But when on high you see the bees repair,
+  Borne on the winds through distant tracts of air,
+_70
+  And view the winged cloud all blackening from afar;
+  While shady coverts and fresh streams they choose,
+  Milfoil and common honeysuckles bruise,
+  And sprinkle on their hives the fragrant juice.
+  On brazen vessels beat a tinkling sound,
+  And shake the cymbals of the goddess round;
+  Then all will hastily retreat, and fill
+  The warm resounding hollow of their cell.
+     If once two rival kings their right debate,
+  And factions and cabals embroil the state,
+_80
+  The people's actions will their thoughts declare;
+  All their hearts tremble, and beat thick with war;
+  Hoarse, broken sounds, like trumpets' harsh alarms,
+  Run through the hive, and call them to their arms;
+  All in a hurry spread their shivering wings,
+  And fit their claws, and point their angry stings:
+  In crowds before the king's pavilion meet,
+  And boldly challenge out the foe to fight:
+  At last, when all the heavens are warm and fair,
+  They rush together out, and join; the air
+_90
+  Swarms thick, and echoes with the humming war.
+  All in a firm round cluster mix, and strow
+  With heaps of little corps the earth below,
+  As thick as hailstones from the floor rebound,
+  Or shaken acorns rattle on the ground.
+  No sense of danger can their kings control,
+  Their little bodies lodge a mighty soul:
+  Each obstinate in arms pursues his blow,
+  Till shameful flight secures the routed foe.
+  This hot dispute and all this mighty fray
+_100
+  A little dust flung upward will allay.
+     But when both kings are settled in their hive,
+  Mark him who looks the worst, and, lest he live
+  Idle at home in ease and luxury,
+  The lazy monarch must be doomed to die;
+  So let the royal insect rule alone,
+  And reign without a rival in his throne.
+     The kings are different; one of better note,
+  All speck'd with gold, and many a shining spot,
+  Looks gay, and glistens in a gilded coat;
+_110
+  But love of ease, and sloth, in one prevails,
+  That scarce his hanging paunch behind him trails:
+  The people's looks are different as their kings',
+  Some sparkle bright, and glitter in their wings;
+  Others look loathsome and diseased with sloth,
+  Like a faint traveller, whose dusty mouth
+  Grows dry with heat, and spits a mawkish froth.
+  The first are best----
+  From their o'erflowing combs you'll often press
+  Pure luscious sweets, that mingling in the glass
+_120
+  Correct the harshness of the racy juice,
+  And a rich flavour through the wine diffuse.
+  But when they sport abroad, and rove from home,
+  And leave the cooling hive, and quit the unfinished comb,
+  Their airy ramblings are with ease confined,
+  Clip their king's wings, and if they stay behind
+  No bold usurper dares invade their right,
+  Nor sound a march, nor give the sign for flight.
+  Let flowery banks entice them to their cells,
+  And gardens all perfumed with native smells;
+_130
+  Where carved Priapus has his fixed abode,
+  The robber's terror, and the scarecrow god.
+  Wild thyme and pine-trees from their barren hill
+  Transplant, and nurse them in the neighbouring soil,
+  Set fruit-trees round, nor e'er indulge thy sloth,
+  But water them, and urge their shady growth.
+     And here, perhaps, were not I giving o'er,
+  And striking sail, and making to the shore,
+  I'd show what art the gardener's toils require,
+  Why rosy pæstum blushes twice a year;
+_140
+  What streams the verdant succory supply,
+  And how the thirsty plant drinks rivers dry;
+  With what a cheerful green does parsley grace,
+  And writhes the bellying cucumber along the twisted grass;
+  Nor would I pass the soft acanthus o'er,
+  Ivy nor myrtle-trees that love the shore;
+  Nor daffodils, that late from earth's slow womb
+  Unrumple their swoln buds, and show their yellow bloom.
+     For once I saw in the Tarentine vale,
+  Where slow Galesus drenched the washy soil,
+_150
+  An old Corician yeoman, who had got
+  A few neglected acres to his lot,
+  Where neither corn nor pasture graced the field,
+  Nor would the vine her purple harvest yield;
+  But savoury herbs among the thorns were found,
+  Vervain and poppy-flowers his garden crown'd,
+  And drooping lilies whitened all the ground.
+  Blest with these riches he could empires slight,
+  And when he rested from his toils at night,
+  The earth unpurchased dainties would afford,
+_160
+  And his own garden furnished out his board:
+  The spring did first his opening roses blow,
+  First ripening autumn bent his fruitful bough.
+  When piercing colds had burst the brittle stone,
+  And freezing rivers stiffened as they run,
+  He then would prune the tenderest of his trees,
+  Chide the late spring, and lingering western breeze:
+  His bees first swarmed, and made his vessels foam
+  With the rich squeezing of the juicy comb.
+  Here lindens and the sappy pine increased;
+_170
+  Here, when gay flowers his smiling orchard dressed,
+  As many blossoms as the spring could show,
+  So many dangling apples mellowed on the bough.
+  In rows his elms and knotty pear-trees bloom,
+  And thorns ennobled now to bear a plum,
+  And spreading plane-trees, where, supinely laid,
+  He now enjoys the cool, and quaffs beneath the shade.
+  But these for want of room I must omit,
+  And leave for future poets to recite.
+     Now I'll proceed their natures to declare,
+_180
+  Which Jove himself did on the bees confer
+  Because, invited by the timbrel's sound,
+  Lodged in a cave, the almighty babe they found,
+  And the young god nursed kindly under-ground.
+     Of all the winged inhabitants of air,
+  These only make their young the public care;
+  In well-disposed societies they live,
+  And laws and statutes regulate their hive;
+  Nor stray like others unconfined abroad,
+  But know set stations, and a fixed abode:
+_190
+  Each provident of cold in summer flies
+  Through fields and woods, to seek for new supplies,
+  And in the common stock unlades his thighs.
+  Some watch the food, some in the meadows ply,
+  Taste every bud, and suck each blossom dry;
+  Whilst others, labouring in their cells at home,
+  Temper Narcissus' clammy tears with gum,
+  For the first groundwork of the golden comb;
+  On this they found their waxen works, and raise
+  The yellow fabric on its gluey base.
+_200
+  Some educate the young, or hatch the seed
+  With vital warmth, and future nations breed;
+  Whilst others thicken all the slimy dews,
+  And into purest honey work the juice;
+  Then fill the hollows of the comb, and swell
+  With luscious nectar every flowing cell.
+  By turns they watch, by turns with curious eyes
+  Survey the heavens, and search the clouded skies,
+  To find out breeding storms, and tell what tempests rise.
+  By turns they ease the loaden swarms, or drive
+_210
+  The drone, a lazy insect, from their hive.
+  The work is warmly plied through all the cells,
+  And strong with thyme the new-made honey smells.
+     So in their caves the brawny Cyclops sweat,
+  When with huge strokes the stubborn wedge they beat,
+  And all the unshapen thunderbolt complete;
+  Alternately their hammers rise and fall;
+  Whilst griping tongs turn round the glowing ball.
+  With puffing bellows some the flames increase,
+  And some in waters dip the hissing mass;
+_220
+  Their beaten anvils dreadfully resound,
+  And Ætna shakes all o'er, and thunders under-ground.
+     Thus, if great things we may with small compare,
+  The busy swarms their different labours share.
+  Desire of profit urges all degrees;
+  The aged insects, by experience wise,
+  Attend the comb, and fashion every part,
+  And shape the waxen fret-work out with art:
+  The young at night, returning from their toils,
+  Bring home their thighs clogged with the meadows' spoils.
+_230
+  On lavender and saffron buds they feed,
+  On bending osiers and the balmy reed,
+  From purple violets and the teile they bring
+  Their gathered sweets, and rifle all the spring.
+     All work together, all together rest,
+  The morning still renews their labours past;
+  Then all rush out, their different tasks pursue,
+  Sit on the bloom, and suck the ripening dew;
+  Again, when evening warns them to their home,
+  With weary wings and heavy thighs they come,
+_240
+  And crowd about the chink, and mix a drowsy hum.
+  Into their cells at length they gently creep,
+  There all the night their peaceful station keep,
+  Wrapt up in silence, and dissolved in sleep.
+  None range abroad when winds and storms are nigh,
+  Nor trust their bodies to a faithless sky,
+  But make small journeys with a careful wing,
+  And fly to water at a neighbouring spring;
+  And lest their airy bodies should be cast
+  In restless whirls, the sport of every blast,
+_250
+  They carry stones to poise them in their flight,
+  As ballast keeps the unsteady vessel right.
+     But, of all customs that the bees can boast,
+  'Tis this may challenge admiration most;
+  That none will Hymen's softer joys approve,
+  Nor waste their spirits in luxurious love,
+  But all a long virginity maintain,
+  And bring forth young without a mother's pain:
+  From herbs and flowers they pick each tender bee,
+  And cull from plants a buzzing progeny;
+_260
+  From these they choose out subjects, and create
+  A little monarch of the rising state;
+  Then build wax kingdoms for the infant prince,
+  And form a palace for his residence.
+     But often in their journeys, as they fly,
+  On flints they tear their silken wings, or lie
+  Grovelling beneath their flowery load, and die.
+  Thus love of honey can an insect fire,
+  And in a fly such generous thoughts inspire.
+  Yet by repeopling their decaying state,
+_270
+  Though seven short springs conclude their vital date,
+  Their ancient stocks eternally remain,
+  And in an endless race their children's children reign.
+     No prostrate vassal of the East can more
+  With slavish fear his haughty prince adore;
+  His life unites them all; but, when he dies,
+  All in loud tumults and distractions rise;
+  They waste their honey and their combs deface,
+  And wild confusion reigns in every place.
+  Him all admire, all the great guardian own,
+_280
+  And crowd about his courts, and buzz about his throne.
+  Oft on their backs their weary prince they bear,
+  Oft in his cause, embattled in the air,
+  Pursue a glorious death, in wounds and war.
+     Some, from such instances as these, have taught,
+  'The bees' extract is heavenly; for they thought
+  The universe alive; and that a soul,
+  Diffused throughout the matter of the whole,
+  To all the vast unbounded frame was given,
+  And ran through earth, and air, and sea, and all the deep of heaven;
+_290
+  That this first kindled life in man and beast,
+  Life, that again flows into this at last.
+  That no compounded animal could die,
+  But when dissolved, the spirit mounted high,
+  Dwelt in a star, and settled in the sky.'
+     Whene'er their balmy sweets you mean to seize,
+  And take the liquid labours of the bees,
+  Spurt draughts of water from your mouth, and drive
+  A loathsome cloud of smoke amidst their hive,
+     Twice in the year their flowery toils begin,
+_300
+  And twice they fetch their dewy harvest in;
+  Once, when the lovely Pleiades arise,
+  And add fresh lustre to the summer skies;
+  And once, when hastening from the watery sign,
+  They quit their station, and forbear to shine.
+     The bees are prone to rage, and often found
+  To perish for revenge, and die upon the wound
+  Their venomed sting produces aching pains,
+  And swells the flesh, and shoots among the veins.
+  When first a cold hard winter's storms arrive,
+_310
+  And threaten death or famine to their hive,
+  If now their sinking state and low affairs
+  Can move your pity, and provoke your cares,
+  Fresh burning thyme before their cells convey,
+  And cut their dry and husky wax away;
+  For often lizards seize the luscious spoils,
+  Or drones, that riot on another's toils:
+  Oft broods of moths infest the hungry swarms,
+  And oft the furious wasp their hive alarms
+  With louder hums, and with unequal arms;
+_320
+  Or else the spider at their entrance sets.
+  Her snares, and spins her bowels into nets.
+     When sickness reigns, for they as well as we
+  Feel all the effects of frail mortality,
+  By certain marks the new disease is seen,
+  Their colour changes, and their looks are thin;
+  Their funeral rites are formed, and every bee
+  With grief attends the sad solemnity;
+  The few diseased survivors hang before
+  Their sickly cells, and droop about the door,
+_330
+  Or slowly in their hives their limbs unfold,
+  Shrunk up with hunger, and benumbed with cold;
+  In drawling hums the feeble insects grieve,
+  And doleful buzzes echo through the hive,
+  Like winds that softly murmur through the trees,
+  Like flames pent up, or like retiring seas.
+  Now lay fresh honey near their empty rooms,
+  In troughs of hollow reeds, whilst frying gums
+  Cast round a fragrant mist of spicy fumes.
+  Thus kindly tempt the famished swarm to eat,
+_340
+  And gently reconcile them to their meat.
+  Mix juice of galls, and wine, that grow in time
+  Condensed by fire, and thicken to a slime;
+  To these, dried roses, thyme, and ccntaury join,
+  And raisins, ripened on the Psythian vine.
+     Besides, there grows a flower in marshy ground,
+  Its name amellus, easy to be found;
+  A mighty spring works in its root, and cleaves
+  The sprouting stalk, and shows itself in leaves:
+  The flower itself is of a golden hue,
+_350
+  The leaves inclining to a darker blue;
+  The leaves shoot thick about the flower, and grow
+  Into a bush, and shade the turf below:
+  The plant in holy garlands often twines
+  The altars' posts, and beautifies the shrines;
+  Its taste is sharp, in vales new-shorn it grows,
+  Where Mella's stream in watery mazes flows.
+  Take plenty of its roots, and boil them well
+  In wine, and heap them up before the cell.
+     But if the whole stock fail, and none survive;
+_360
+  To raise new people, and recruit the hive,
+  I'll here the great experiment declare,
+  That spread the Arcadian shepherd's name so far.
+  How bees from blood of slaughtered bulls have fled,
+  And swarms amidst the red corruption bred.
+     For where the Egyptians yearly see their bounds
+  Refreshed with floods, and sail about their grounds,
+  Where Persia borders, and the rolling Nile
+  Drives swiftly down the swarthy Indian's soil,
+  Till into seven it multiplies its stream,
+_370
+  And fattens Egypt with a fruitful slime:
+  In this last practice all their hope remains,
+  And long experience justifies their pains.
+     First, then, a close contracted space of ground,
+  With straitened walls and low-built roof, they found;
+  A narrow shelving light is next assign'd
+  To all the quarters, one to every wind;
+  Through these the glancing rays obliquely pierce:
+  Hither they lead a bull that's young and fierce,
+  When two years' growth of horn he proudly shows,
+_380
+  And shakes the comely terrors of his brows:
+  His nose and mouth, the avenues of breath,
+  They muzzle up, and beat his limbs to death;
+  With violence to life and stifling pain
+  He flings and spurns, and tries to snort in vain,
+  Loud heavy blows fall thick on every side,
+  Till his bruised bowels burst within the hide;
+  When dead, they leave him rotting on the ground,
+  With branches, thyme, and cassia, strowed around.
+  All this is done, when first the western breeze
+_390
+  Becalms the year, and smooths the troubled seas;
+  Before the chattering swallow builds her nest,
+  Or fields in spring's embroidery are dress'd.
+  Meanwhile the tainted juice ferments within,
+  And quickens as its works: and now are seen
+  A wondrous swarm, that o'er the carcase crawls,
+  Of shapeless, rude, unfinished animals.
+  No legs at first the insect's weight sustain,
+  At length it moves its new-made limbs with pain;
+  Now strikes the air with quivering wings, and tries
+_400
+  To lift its body up, and learns to rise;
+  Now bending thighs and gilded wings it wears
+  Full grown, and all the bee at length appears;
+  From every side the fruitful carcase pours
+  Its swarming brood, as thick as summer showers,
+  Or flights of arrows from the Parthian bows,
+  When twanging strings first shoot them on the foes.
+     Thus have I sung the nature of the bee;
+  While Cæsar, towering to divinity,
+  The frighted Indians with his thunder awed,
+_410
+  And claimed their homage, and commenced a god;
+  I flourished all the while in arts of peace,
+  Retired and sheltered in inglorious ease;
+  I who before the songs of shepherds made,
+  When gay and young my rural lays I play'd,
+  And set my Tityrus beneath his shade.
+
+
+A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY,
+
+AT OXFORD.
+
+I.
+
+        Cecilia, whose exalted hymns
+           With joy and wonder fill the blest,
+        In choirs of warbling seraphims,
+           Known and distinguished from the rest,
+        Attend, harmonious saint, and see
+        Thy vocal sons of harmony;
+  Attend, harmonious saint, and hear our prayers;
+           Enliven all our earthly airs,
+  And, as thou sing'st thy God, teach us to sing of thee;
+           Tune every string and every tongue,
+        Be thou the Muse and subject of our song.
+
+  II.
+
+        Let all Cecilia's praise proclaim,
+        Employ the echo in her name,
+        Hark how the flutes and trumpets raise,
+        At bright Cecilia's name, their lays;
+        The organ labours in her praise.
+  Cecilia's name does all our numbers grace,
+      From every voice the tuneful accents fly,
+      In soaring trebles now it rises high,
+  And now it sinks, and dwells upon the base.
+      Cecilia's name through all the notes we sing,
+          The work of every skilful tongue,
+          The sound of every trembling string,
+          The sound and triumph of our song.
+
+  III.
+
+          For ever consecrate the day,
+          To music and Cecilia;
+      Music, the greatest good that mortals know,
+      And all of heaven we have below.
+         Music can noble hints impart,
+  Engender fury, kindle love;
+  With unsuspected eloquence can move,
+         And manage all the man with secret art.
+         When Orpheus strikes the trembling lyre,
+         The streams stand still, the stones admire;
+         The listening savages advance,
+            The wolf and lamb around him trip,
+            The bears in awkward measures leap,
+         And tigers mingle in the dance.
+  The moving woods attended, as he play'd,
+  And Rhodope was left without a shade.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+         Music religious heats inspires,
+             It wakes the soul, and lifts it high,
+         And wings it with sublime desires,
+             And fits it to bespeak the Deity.
+         The Almighty listens to a tuneful tongue,
+         And seems well-pleased and courted with a song.
+  Soft moving sounds and heavenly airs
+  Give force to every word, and recommend our prayers.
+         When time itself shall be no more,
+  And all things in confusion hurled,
+         Music shall then exert its power,
+  And sound survive the ruins of the world:
+         Then saints and angels shall agree
+         In one eternal jubilee:
+  All heaven shall echo with their hymns divine,
+         And God himself with pleasure see
+  The whole creation in a chorus join.
+
+
+  CHORUS.
+
+             Consecrate the place and day,
+             To music and Cecilia.
+         Let no rough winds approach, nor dare
+            Invade the hallowed bounds,
+         Nor rudely shake the tuneful air,
+            Nor spoil the fleeting sounds.
+         Nor mournful sigh nor groan be heard,
+            But gladness dwell on every tongue;
+         Whilst all, with voice and strings prepared,
+            Keep up the loud harmonious song,
+               And imitate the blest above,
+               In joy, and harmony, and love.
+
+
+
+AN ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY.
+
+SET TO MUSIC BY MR DANIEL PURCELL. PERFORMED AT OXFORD 1699.
+
+  Prepare the hallowed strain, my Muse,
+  Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbers choose;
+  The bright Cecilia's praise rehearse,
+  In warbling words, and gliding verse,
+  That smoothly run into a song,
+  And gently die away, and melt upon the tongue.
+  First let the sprightly violin
+  The joyful melody begin,
+     And none of all her strings be mute;
+
+  While the sharp sound and shriller lay
+_10
+  In sweet harmonious notes decay,
+     Softened and mellowed by the flute.
+         'The flute that sweetly can complain,
+         Dissolve the frozen nymph's disdain;
+         Panting sympathy impart,
+         Till she partake her lover's smart.'[4]
+
+
+  CHORUS.
+
+  Next, let the solemn organ join
+  Religious airs, and strains divine,
+  Such as may lift us to the skies,
+  And set all Heaven before our eyes:
+_20
+          'Such as may lift us to the skies;
+          So far at least till they
+          Descend with kind surprise,
+       And meet our pious harmony half-way.'
+
+  Let then the trumpet's piercing sound
+  Our ravished ears with pleasure wound.
+       The soul o'erpowering with delight,
+  As, with a quick uncommon ray,
+  A streak of lightning clears the day,
+       And flashes on the sight.
+_30
+  Let Echo too perform her part,
+  Prolonging every note with art,
+       And in a low expiring strain
+       Play all the concert o'er again.
+
+  Such were the tuneful notes that hung
+  On bright Cecilia's charming tongue:
+  Notes that sacred heats inspired,
+  And with religious ardour fired:
+  The love-sick youth, that long suppress'd
+  His smothered passion in his breast,
+_40
+  No sooner heard the warbling dame,
+     But, by the secret influence turn'd,
+  He felt a new diviner flame,
+     And with devotion burn'd.
+
+  With ravished soul, and looks amazed,
+  Upon her beauteous face he gazed;
+     Nor made his amorous complaint:
+  In vain her eyes his heart had charm'd,
+  Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm'd,
+     And changed the lover to a saint.
+_50
+
+  GRAND CHORUS.
+
+  And now the choir complete rejoices,
+  With trembling strings and melting voices.
+         The tuneful ferment rises high,
+         And works with mingled melody:
+  Quick divisions run their rounds,
+  A thousand trills and quivering sounds
+     In airy circles o'er us fly,
+  Till, wafted by a gentle breeze,
+  They faint and languish by degrees,
+     And at a distance die.
+_60
+
+
+AN ACCOUNT OF THE GREATEST ENGLISH POETS
+
+TO MR HENRY SACHEVERELL. APRIL 3, 1694.
+
+  Since, dearest Harry, you will needs request
+  A short account of all the Muse-possess'd,
+  That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times,
+  Have spent their noble rage in British rhymes;
+  Without more preface, writ in formal length,
+  To speak the undertaker's want of strength,
+  I'll try to make their several beauties known,
+  And show their verses' worth, though not my own.
+
+     Long had our dull forefathers slept supine,
+  Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine;
+_10
+  Till Chaucer first, the merry bard, arose,
+  And many a story told in rhyme and prose.
+  But age has rusted what the poet writ,
+  Worn out his language, and obscured his wit;
+  In vain he jests in his unpolished strain,
+  And tries to make his readers laugh in vain.
+     Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage,
+  In ancient tales amused a barbarous age;
+  An age that yet uncultivate and rude,
+  Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued
+_20
+  Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods,
+  To dens of dragons and enchanted woods.
+  But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore,
+  Can charm an understanding age no more;
+  The long-spun allegories fulsome grow,
+  While the dull moral lies too plain below.
+  We view well-pleased at distance all the sights
+  Of arms and palfreys, battles, fields, and fights,
+  And damsels in distress, and courteous knights;
+  But when we look too near, the shades decay,
+_30
+  And all the pleasing landscape fades away.
+     Great Cowley then (a mighty genius) wrote,
+  O'errun with wit, and lavish of his thought:
+  His turns too closely on the reader press;
+  He more had pleased us, had he pleased us less.
+  One glittering thought no sooner strikes our eyes
+  With silent wonder, but new wonders rise.
+  As in the milky-way a shining white
+  O'erflows the heavens with one continued light;
+  That not a single star can show his rays,
+_40
+  Whilst jointly all promote the common blaze.
+  Pardon, great poet, that I dare to name
+  The unnumbered beauties of thy verse with blame;
+  Thy fault is only wit in its excess,
+  But wit like thine in any shape will please.
+  What Muse but thine can equal hints inspire,
+  And fit the deep-mouthed Pindar to thy lyre;
+  Pindar, whom others, in a laboured strain
+  And forced expression, imitate in vain?
+  Well-pleased in thee he soars with new delight,
+_50
+  And plays in more unbounded verse, and takes a nobler flight.
+     Blest man! whose spotless life and charming lays
+  Employed the tuneful prelate in thy praise:
+  Blest man! who now shalt be for ever known
+  In Sprat's successful labours and thy own.
+     But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks,
+  Unfettered in majestic numbers walks;
+  No vulgar hero can his Muse engage;
+  Nor earth's wide scene confine his hallowed rage.
+  See! see! he upward springs, and towering high,
+_60
+  Spurns the dull province of mortality,
+  Shakes heaven's eternal throne with dire alarms,
+  And sets the Almighty thunderer in arms.
+  Whate'er his pen describes I more than see,
+  Whilst every verse arrayed in majesty,
+  Bold, and sublime, my whole attention draws,
+  And seems above the critic's nicer laws.
+  How are you struck with terror and delight,
+  When angel with archangel copes in fight!
+  When great Messiah's outspread banner shines,
+_70
+  How does the chariot rattle in his lines!
+  What sounds of brazen wheels, what thunder, scare,
+  And stun the reader with the din of war!
+  With fear my spirits and my blood retire,
+  To see the seraphs sunk in clouds of fire;
+  But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise,
+  And view the first gay scenes of Paradise,
+  What tongue, what words of rapture, can express
+  A vision so profuse of pleasantness!
+  Oh, had the poet ne'er profaned his pen,
+_80
+  To varnish o'er the guilt of faithless men,
+  His other works might have deserved applause;
+  But now the language can't support the cause;
+  While the clean current, though serene and bright,
+  Betrays a bottom odious to the sight.
+     But now, my Muse, a softer strain rehearse,
+  Turn every line with art, and smooth thy verse;
+  The courtly Waller next commands thy lays:
+  Muse, tune thy verse with art to Waller's praise.
+  While tender airs and lovely dames inspire
+_90
+  Soft melting thoughts, and propagate desire;
+  So long shall Waller's strains our passion move,
+  And Sacharissa's beauties kindle love.
+  Thy verse, harmonious bard, and flattering song,
+  Can make the vanquished great, the coward strong.
+  Thy verse can show even Cromwell's innocence,
+  And compliment the storms that bore him hence.
+  Oh, had thy Muse not come an age too soon,
+  But seen great Nassau on the British throne,
+  How had his triumphs glittered in thy page,
+_100
+  And warmed thee to a more exalted rage!
+  What scenes of death and horror had we view'd,
+  And how had Boyne's wide current reeked in blood!
+  Or, if Maria's charms thou wouldst rehearse,
+  In smoother numbers and a softer verse,
+  Thy pen had well described her graceful air,
+  And Gloriana would have seemed more fair.
+     Nor must Roscommon pass neglected by,
+  That makes even rules a noble poetry:
+  Rules, whose deep sense and heavenly numbers show
+_110
+  The best of critics, and of poets too.
+  Nor, Denham, must we e'er forget thy strains,
+  While Cooper's Hill commands the neighbouring plains.
+     But see where artful Dryden next appears,
+  Grown old in rhyme, but charming even in years.
+  Great Dryden next, whose tuneful Muse affords
+  The sweetest numbers, and the fittest words.
+  Whether in comic sounds or tragic airs
+  She forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears.
+  If satire or heroic strains she writes,
+_120
+  Her hero pleases and her satire bites.
+  From her no harsh unartful numbers fall,
+  She wears all dresses, and she charms in all.
+  How might we fear our English poetry,
+  That long has flourished, should decay with thee;
+  Did not the Muses' other hope appear,
+  Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear:
+  Congreve! whose fancy's unexhausted store
+  Has given already much, and promised more.
+  Congreve shall still preserve thy fame alive,
+_130
+  And Dryden's Muse shall in his friend survive.
+     I'm tired with rhyming, and would fain give o'er,
+  But justice still demands one labour more:
+  The noble Montague remains unnamed,
+  For wit, for humour, and for judgment famed;
+  To Dorset he directs his artful Muse,
+  In numbers such as Dorset's self might use.
+  How negligently graceful he unreins
+  His verse, and writes in loose familiar strains!
+  How Nassau's godlike acts adorn his lines,
+_140
+  And all the hero in full glory shines!
+  We see his army set in just array,
+  And Boyne's dyed waves run purple to the sea.
+  Nor Simois choked with men, and arms, and blood;
+  Nor rapid Xanthus' celebrated flood,
+  Shall longer be the poet's highest themes,
+  Though gods and heroes fought promiscuous in their streams.
+  But now, to Nassau's secret councils raised,
+  He aids the hero, whom before he praised.
+     I've done at length; and now, dear friend, receive
+_150
+  The last poor present that my Muse can give.
+  I leave the arts of poetry and verse
+  To them that practise them with more success.
+  Of greater truths I'll now prepare to tell,
+  And so at once, dear friend and Muse, farewell.
+
+
+A LETTER FROM ITALY,
+
+TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, IN THE YEAR 1701.
+
+                Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus,
+                Magna virûm! tibi res antiquæ laudis et artis
+                Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.
+      VIRG., Geor. ii.
+
+  While you, my lord, the rural shades admire,
+  And from Britannia's public posts retire,
+  Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please,
+  For their advantage sacrifice your ease;
+  Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
+  Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
+  Where the soft season and inviting clime
+  Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme.
+     For wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes,
+  Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise,
+_10
+  Poetic fields encompass me around
+  And still I seem to tread on classic ground;
+  For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung,
+  That not a mountain rears its head unsung,
+  Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows,
+  And every stream in heavenly numbers flows.
+     How am I pleased to search the hills and woods
+  For rising springs and celebrated floods!
+  To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
+  And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source,
+_20
+  To see the Mincio draw his watery store
+  Through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
+  And hoary Albula's infected tide
+  O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide.
+     Fired with a thousand raptures I survey
+  Eridanus[5] through flowery meadows stray,
+  The king of floods! that, rolling o'er the plains,
+  The towering Alps of half their moisture drains,
+  And proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows,
+  Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
+_30
+     Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng
+  I look for streams immortalised in song,
+  That lost in silence and oblivion lie,
+  (Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry,)
+  Yet run for ever by the Muse's skill,
+  And in the smooth description murmur still.
+     Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
+  And the famed river's empty shores admire,
+  That, destitute of strength, derives its course
+  From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source,
+_40
+  Yet sung so often in poetic lays,
+  With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys;
+  So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme!
+  Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream,
+  That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd,
+  And unobserved in wild meanders play'd;
+  Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renowned,
+  Its rising billows through the world resound,
+  Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce,
+  Or where the fame of an immortal verse.
+_50
+     Oh could the Muse my ravished breast inspire
+  With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
+  Unnumbered beauties in my verse should shine,
+  And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine!
+     See how the golden groves around me smile,
+  That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle,
+  Or when transplanted and preserved with care,
+  Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air.
+  Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments
+  To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents:
+_60
+  Even the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom,
+  And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume.
+  Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats,
+  Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
+  Where western gales eternally reside,
+  And all the seasons lavish all their pride:
+  Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise,
+  And the whole year in gay confusion lies.
+     Immortal glories in my mind revive,
+  And in my soul a thousand passions strive,
+_70
+  When Rome's exalted beauties I descry
+  Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.
+  An amphitheatre's amazing height
+  Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
+  That on its public shows unpeopled Rome,
+  And held uncrowded nations in its womb;
+  Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies;
+  And here the proud triumphal arches rise,
+  Where the old Romans' deathless acts displayed,
+  Their base, degenerate progeny upbraid:
+_80
+  Whole rivers here forsake the fields below,
+  And wondering at their height through airy channels flow.
+     Still to new scenes my wandering Muse retires,
+  And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires;
+  Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown,
+  And softened into flesh the rugged stone.
+  In solemn silence, a majestic band,
+  Heroes, and gods, and Roman consuls stand;
+  Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
+  And emperors in Parian marble frown;
+_90
+  While the bright dames, to whom they humble sued,
+  Still show the charms that their proud hearts subdued.
+     Fain would I Raphæl's godlike art rehearse,
+  And show the immortal labours in my verse,
+  Where from the mingled strength of shade and light
+  A new creation rises to my sight,
+  Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
+  So warm with life his blended colours glow.
+  From theme to theme with secret pleasure toss'd,
+  Amidst the soft variety I'm lost:
+_100
+  Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound
+  With circling notes and labyrinths of sound;
+  Here domes and temples rise in distant views,
+  And opening palaces invite my Muse.
+     How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land,
+  And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand!
+  But what avail her unexhausted stores,
+  Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores,
+  With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart,
+  The smiles of nature, and the charms of art,
+_110
+  While proud oppression in her valleys reigns,
+  And tyranny usurps her happy plains?
+  The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
+  The reddening orange and the swelling grain:
+  Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
+  And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines:
+  Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curs'd,
+  And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.
+     O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright,
+_120
+  Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
+  Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
+  And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train;
+  Eased of her load, subjection grows more light,
+  And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight;
+  Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay,
+  Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.
+     Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores;
+  How has she oft exhausted all her stores,
+  How oft in fields of death thy presence sought,
+  Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
+_130
+  On foreign mountains may the sun refine
+  The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine,
+  With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
+  And the fat olive swell with floods of oil:
+  We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
+  In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
+  Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine,
+  Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine:
+  'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,
+  And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile.
+_140
+     Others with towering piles may please the sight,
+  And in their proud aspiring domes delight;
+  A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give,
+  Or teach their animated rocks to live:
+  'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
+  And hold in balance each contending state,
+  To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war,
+  And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer.
+  The Dane and Swede, roused up by fierce alarms,
+  Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms:
+_150
+  Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
+  And all the northern world lies hushed in peace.
+     The ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread
+  Her thunder aimed at his aspiring head,
+  And fain her godlike sons would disunite
+  By foreign gold, or by domestic spite;
+  But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
+  Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide.
+     Fired with the name, which I so oft have found
+  The distant climes and different tongues resound,
+_160
+  I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain,
+  That longs to launch into a bolder strain.
+     But I've already troubled you too long,
+  Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song.
+  My humble verse demands a softer theme,
+  A painted meadow, or a purling stream;
+  Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,
+  And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise.
+
+
+
+  MILTON'S STYLE IMITATED,
+
+  IN A TRANSLATION OF A STORY OUT OF THE THIRD ÆNEID.
+
+  Lost in the gloomy horror of the night,
+  We struck upon the coast where Ætna lies,
+  Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire,
+  That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds,
+  Vast showers of ashes hovering in the smoke;
+  Now belches molten stones and ruddy flame,
+  Incensed, or tears up mountains by the roots,
+  Or slings a broken rock aloft in air.
+  The bottom works with smothered fire involved
+  In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke.
+_10
+     'Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus
+  Groveling beneath the incumbent mountain's weight,
+  Lies stretched supine, eternal prey of flames;
+  And, when he heaves against the burning load,
+  Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs,
+  A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle,
+  And Ætna thunders dreadful under-ground,
+  Then pours out smoke in wreathing curls convolved,
+  And shades the sun's bright orb, and blots out day.
+     Here in the shelter of the woods we lodged,
+_20
+  And frighted heard strange sounds and dismal yells,
+  Nor saw from whence they came; for all the night
+  A murky storm deep lowering o'er our heads
+  Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom
+  Opposed itself to Cynthia's silver ray,
+  And shaded all beneath. But now the sun
+  With orient beams had chased the dewy night
+  From earth and heaven; all nature stood disclosed:
+  When, looking on the neighbouring woods, we saw
+  The ghastly visage of a man unknown,
+_30
+  An uncouth feature, meagre, pale, and wild;
+  Affliction's foul and terrible dismay
+  Sat in his looks, his face, impaired and worn
+  With marks of famine, speaking sore distress;
+  His locks were tangled, and his shaggy beard
+  Matted with filth; in all things else a Greek.
+     He first advanced in haste; but, when he saw
+  Trojans and Trojan arms, in mid career
+  Stopp'd short, he back recoiled as one surprised:
+  But soon recovering speed he ran, he flew
+  Precipitant, and thus with piteous cries
+_40
+  Our ears assailed: 'By heaven's eternal fires,
+  By every god that sits enthroned on high,
+  By this good light, relieve a wretch forlorn,
+  And bear me hence to any distant shore,
+  So I may shun this savage race accursed.
+  'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late
+  With sword and fire o'erturned Neptunian Troy
+  And laid the labours of the gods in dust;
+  For which, if so the sad offence deserves,
+_50
+  Plunged in the deep, for ever let me lie
+  Whelmed under seas; if death must be my doom,
+  Let man inflict it, and I die well-pleased.'
+     He ended here, and now profuse to tears
+  In suppliant mood fell prostrate at our feet:
+  We bade him speak from whence and what he was,
+  And how by stress of fortune sunk thus low;
+  Anchises too, with friendly aspect mild,
+  Gave him his hand, sure pledge of amity;
+  When, thus encouraged, he began his tale.
+_60
+     'I'm one,' says he, 'of poor descent; my name
+  Is Achæmenides, my country Greece;
+  Ulysses' sad compeer, who, whilst he fled
+  The raging Cyclops, left me here behind,
+  Disconsolate, forlorn; within the cave
+  He left me, giant Polypheme's dark cave;
+  A dungeon wide and horrible, the walls
+  On all sides furred with mouldy damps, and hung
+  With clots of ropy gore, and human limbs,
+  His dire repast: himself of mighty size,
+_70
+  Hoarse in his voice, and in his visage grim,
+  Intractable, that riots on the flesh
+  Of mortal men, and swills the vital blood.
+  Him did I see snatch up with horrid grasp
+  Two sprawling Greeks, in either hand a man;
+  I saw him when with huge, tempestuous sway
+  He dashed and broke them on the grundsil edge;
+  The pavement swam in blood, the walls around
+  Were spattered o'er with brains. He lapp'd the blood,
+  And chewed the tender flesh still warm with life,
+_80
+  That swelled and heaved itself amidst his teeth
+  As sensible of pain. Not less meanwhile
+  Our chief, incensed and studious of revenge,
+  Plots his destruction, which he thus effects.
+  The giant, gorged with flesh, and wine, and blood,
+  Lay stretched at length and snoring in his den,
+  Belching raw gobbets from his maw, o'ercharged
+  With purple wine and cruddled gore confused.
+  We gathered round, and to his single eye,
+  The single eye that in his forehead glared
+_90
+  Like a full moon, or a broad burnished shield,
+  A forky staff we dexterously applied,
+  Which, in the spacious socket turning round,
+  Scooped out the big round jelly from its orb.
+  But let me not thus interpose delays;
+  Fly, mortals, fly this cursed, detested race:
+  A hundred of the same stupendous size,
+  A hundred Cyclops live among the hills,
+  Gigantic brotherhood, that stalk along
+  With horrid strides o'er the high mountains' tops,
+_100
+  Enormous in their gait; I oft have heard
+  Their voice and tread, oft seen them as they passed,
+  Sculking and cowering down, half dead with fear.
+  Thrice has the moon washed all her orb in light,
+  Thrice travelled o'er, in her obscure sojourn,
+  The realms of night inglorious, since I've lived
+  Amidst these woods, gleaning from thorns and shrubs
+  A wretched sustenance.' As thus he spoke,
+  We saw descending from a neighbouring hill
+  Blind Polypheme; by weary steps and slow
+_110
+  The groping giant with a trunk of pine
+  Explored his way; around, his woolly flocks
+  Attended grazing; to the well-known shore
+  He bent his course, and on the margin stood,
+  A hideous monster, terrible, deformed;
+  Full in the midst of his high front there gaped
+  The spacious hollow where his eye-ball rolled,
+  A ghastly orifice: he rinsed the wound,
+  And washed away the strings and clotted blood
+  That caked within; then, stalking through the deep,
+_120
+  He fords the ocean, while the topmost wave
+  Scarce reaches up his middle side; we stood
+  Amazed, be sure; a sudden horror chill
+  Ran through each nerve, and thrilled in every vein,
+  Till, using all the force of winds and oars,
+  We sped away; he heard us in our course,
+  And with his outstretched arms around him groped,
+  But finding nought within his reach, he raised
+  Such hideous shouts that all the ocean shook.
+  Even Italy, though many a league remote,
+_130
+  In distant echoes answered; Ætna roared,
+  Through all its inmost winding caverns roared.
+     Roused with the sound, the mighty family
+  Of one-eyed brothers hasten to the shore,
+  And gather round the bellowing Polypheme,
+  A dire assembly: we with eager haste
+  Work every one, and from afar behold
+  A host of giants covering all the shore.
+     So stands a forest tall of mountain oaks
+  Advanced to mighty growth: the traveller
+_140
+  Hears from the humble valley where he rides
+  The hollow murmurs of the winds that blow
+  Amidst the boughs, and at the distance sees
+  The shady tops of trees unnumbered rise,
+  A stately prospect, waving in the clouds.
+
+
+THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM.
+
+TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.
+
+                        Rhení pæator et Istri.
+  Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit
+  Ordinibus; læctatur eques, plauditque senator,
+  Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori.
+                                               CLAUD. DE LAUD. STILIC.
+
+  Esse aliquam in terris gentem quæ suâ impensâ, suo labore ac periculo
+  bella gerat pro libertate aliorum. Nec hoc finitimis, aut propinquæ
+  vicinitatis hominibus, aut terris continenti junctis præstet. Maria
+  trajiciat: ne quod toto orbe terrarum injustum imperium sit, et ubique
+  jus, fas, lex, potentissima sint.
+    LIV. HIST. lib. 36.
+
+  While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
+  Proud in their number to enrol your name;
+  While emperors to you commit their cause,
+  And Anna's praises crown the vast applause;
+  Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites,
+  That in ambitious verse attempts your fights.
+  Fired and transported with a theme so new,
+  Ten thousand wonders opening to my view
+  Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear,
+  And wars and conquests fill the important year,
+_10
+  Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain,
+  An Iliad rising out of one campaign.
+     The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride,
+  His ancient bounds enlarged on every side,
+  Pirene's lofty barriers were subdued,
+  And in the midst of his wide empire stood;
+  Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain,
+  Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain,
+  Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immured,
+  Behind their everlasting hills secured;
+_20
+  The rising Danube its long race began,
+  And half its course through the new conquests ran;
+  Amazed and anxious for her sovereign's fates,
+  Germania trembled through a hundred states;
+  Great Leopold himself was seized with fear;
+  He gazed around, but saw no succour near;
+  He gazed, and half abandoned to despair
+  His hopes on Heaven, and confidence in prayer.
+     To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes,
+  On her resolves the Western world relies,
+_30
+  Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms,
+  In Anna's councils and in Churchill's arms.
+  Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent,
+  To sit the guardian of the continent!
+  That sees her bravest son advanced so high,
+  And flourishing so near her prince's eye;
+  Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport,
+  Or from the crimes or follies of a court;
+  On the firm basis of desert they rise,
+  From long-tried, faith, and friendship's holy ties:
+_40
+  Their sovereign's well-distinguished smiles they share,
+  Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war;
+  The nation thanks them with a public voice,
+  By showers of blessings Heaven approves their choice;
+  Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,
+  And factions strive who shall applaud them most.
+     Soon as soft vernal breezes warm the sky,
+  Britannia's colours in the zephyrs fly;
+  Her chief already has his march begun,
+  Crossing the provinces himself had won,
+_50
+  Till the Moselle, appearing from afar,
+  Retards the progress of the moving war.
+  Delightful stream, had Nature bid her fall
+  In distant climes, far from the perjured Gaul;
+  But now a purchase to the sword she lies,
+  Her harvests for uncertain owners rise,
+  Each vineyard doubtful of its master grows,
+  And to the victor's bowl each vintage flows.
+  The discontented shades of slaughtered hosts,
+  That wandered on her banks, her heroes' ghosts,
+_60
+  Hoped, when they saw Britannia's arms appear,
+  The vengeance due to their great deaths was near.
+     Our godlike leader, ere the stream he passed,
+  The mighty scheme of all his labours cast,
+  Forming the wondrous year within his thought;
+  His bosom glowed with battles yet unfought.
+  The long, laborious march he first surveys,
+  And joins the distant Danube to the Mæse,
+  Between whose floods such pathless forests grow,
+  Such mountains rise, so many rivers flow:
+_70
+  The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes,
+  And danger serves but to enhance the prize.
+     Big with the fate of Europe, he renews
+  His dreadful course, and the proud foe pursues:
+  Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat,
+  The sultry gales round his chafed temples beat,
+  Till on the borders of the Maine he finds
+  Defensive shadows and refreshing winds.
+  Our British youth, with inborn freedom bold,
+  Unnumbered scenes of servitude behold,
+_80
+  Nations of slaves, with tyranny debased,
+  (Their Maker's image more than half defaced,)
+  Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil,
+  To prize their queen, and love their native soil.
+     Still to the rising sun they take their way
+  Through clouds of dust, and gain upon the clay;
+  When now the Neckar on its friendly coast
+  With cooling streams revives the fainting host,
+  That cheerfully its labours past forgets,
+  The midnight watches, and the noonday heats.
+_90
+     O'er prostrate towns and palaces they pass,
+  (Now covered o'er with weeds and hid in grass,)
+  Breathing revenge; whilst anger and disdain
+  Fire every breast, and boil in every vein:
+  Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far
+  Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war,
+  Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs,
+  Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes,
+     At length the fame of England's hero drew,
+  Eugenio to the glorious interview.
+_100
+  Great souls by instinct to each other turn,
+  Demand alliance, and in friendship burn;
+  A sudden friendship, while with stretched-out rays
+  They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze.
+  Polished in courts, and hardened in the field,
+  Renowned for conquest, and in council skilled,
+  Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood
+  Of mounting spirits, and fermenting blood:
+  Lodged in the soul, with virtue overruled,
+  Inflamed by reason, and by reason cooled,
+_110
+  In hours of peace content to be unknown,
+  And only in the field of battle shown:
+  To souls like these, in mutual friendship joined,
+  Heaven dares intrust the cause of humankind.
+     Britannia's graceful sons appear in arms,
+  Her harassed troops the hero's presence warms,
+  Whilst the high hills and rivers all around
+  With thundering peals of British shouts resound:
+  Doubling their speed, they march with fresh delight,
+  Eager for glory, and require the fight.
+_120
+  So the staunch hound the trembling deer pursues,
+  And smells his footsteps in the tainted dews,
+  The tedious track unravelling by degrees:
+  But when the scent comes warm in every breeze,
+  Fired at the near approach, he shoots away
+  On his full stretch, and bears upon his prey.
+     The march concludes, the various realms are past,
+  The immortal Schellenberg appears at last:
+  Like hills the aspiring ramparts rise on high,
+  Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie;
+_130
+  Batteries on batteries guard each fatal pass,
+  Threatening destruction; rows of hollow brass,
+  Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep,
+  Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep:
+  Great Churchill owns, charmed with the glorious sight,
+  His march o'erpaid by such a promised fight.
+     The western sun now shot a feeble ray,
+  And faintly scattered the remains of day;
+  Evening approached; but, oh! what hosts of foes
+  Were never to behold that evening close!
+_140
+  Thickening their ranks, and wedged in firm array,
+  The close-compacted Britons win their way:
+  In vain the cannon their thronged war defaced
+  With tracts of death, and laid the battle waste;
+  Still pressing forward to the fight, they broke
+  Through flames of sulphur, and a night of smoke,
+  Till slaughtered legions filled the trench below,
+  And bore their fierce avengers to the foe.
+     High on the works the mingling hosts engage;
+  The battle, kindled into tenfold rage
+_150
+  With showers of bullets and with storms of fire,
+  Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire;
+  Nations with nations mixed confus'dly die,
+  And lost in one promiscuous carnage lie.
+     How many generous Britons meet their doom,
+  New to the field, and heroes in the bloom!
+  The illustrious youths, that left their native shore
+  To march where Britons never marched before,
+  (O fatal love of fame! O glorious heat,
+  Only destructive to the brave and great!)
+_160
+  After such toils o'ercome, such dangers past,
+  Stretched on Bavarian ramparts breathe their last.
+  But hold, my Muse, may no complaints appear,
+  Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear:
+  While Marlborough lives, Britannia's stars dispense
+  A friendly light, and shine in innocence.
+  Plunging through seas of blood his fiery steed
+  Where'er his friends retire, or foes succeed;
+  Those he supports, these drives to sudden flight,
+  And turns the various fortune of the fight.
+_170
+     Forbear, great man, renowned in arms, forbear
+  To brave the thickest terrors of the war,
+  Nor hazard thus, confused in crowds of foes,
+  Britannia's safety, and the world's repose;
+  Let nations, anxious for thy life, abate
+  This scorn of danger and contempt of fate:
+  Thou liv'st not for thyself; thy queen demands
+  Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands;
+  Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join,
+  And Europe's destiny depends on thine.
+_180
+     At length the long-disputed pass they gain,
+  By crowded armies fortified in vain;
+  The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield,
+  And see their camp with British legions filled.
+  So Belgian mounds bear on their shattered sides
+  The sea's whole weight, increased with swelling tides;
+  But if the rushing wave a passage finds,
+  Enraged by watery moons, and warring winds,
+  The trembling peasant sees his country round
+  Covered with tempests, and in oceans drowned.
+_190
+     The few surviving foes dispersed in flight,
+  (Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight,)
+  In every rustling wind the victor hear,
+  And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear,
+  Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace
+  Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace.
+     To Donawert, with unresisted force,
+  The gay, victorious army bends its course.
+  The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields,
+  Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields,
+_200
+  (The Danube's great increase,) Britannia shares,
+  The food of armies, and support of wars:
+  With magazines of death, destructive balls,
+  And cannons doomed to batter Landau's walls,
+  The victor finds each hidden cavern stored,
+  And turns their fury on their guilty lord.
+     Deluded prince! how is thy greatness crossed,
+  And all the gaudy dream of empire lost,
+  That proudly set thee on a fancied throne,
+  And made imaginary realms thy own!
+_210
+  Thy troops that now behind the Danube join,
+  Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine,
+  Nor find it there: surrounded with alarms,
+  Thou hopest the assistance of the Gallic arms;
+  The Gallic arms in safety shall advance,
+  And crowd thy standards with the power of France,
+  While to exalt thy doom, the aspiring Gaul
+  Shares thy destruction, and adorns thy fall.
+     Unbounded courage and compassion joined,
+  Tempering each other in the victor's mind,
+_220
+  Alternately proclaim him good and great,
+  And make the hero and the man complete.
+  Long did he strive the obdurate foe to gain
+  By proffered grace, but long he strove in vain;
+  Till fired at length, he thinks it vain to spare
+  His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war.
+  In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand
+  With sword and fire, and ravages the land,
+  A thousand villages to ashes turns,
+  In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns.
+_230
+  To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat,
+  And mixed with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat;
+  Their trembling lords the common shade partake,
+  And cries of infants sound in every brake:
+  The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands,
+  Loth to obey his leader's just commands;
+  The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed,
+  To see his just commands so well obeyed.
+     But now the trumpet, terrible from far,
+  In shriller clangors animates the war,
+_240
+  Confederate drums in fuller consort beat,
+  And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat:
+  Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's joined,
+  Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind;
+  The daring prince his blasted hopes renews,
+  And while the thick embattled host he views
+  Stretched out in deep array, and dreadful length,
+  His heart dilates, and glories in his strength.
+     The fatal day its mighty course began,
+  That the grieved world had long desired in vain:
+_250
+  States that their new captivity bemoaned,
+  Armies of martyrs that in exile groaned,
+  Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard,
+  And prayers in bitterness of soul preferred,
+  Europe's loud cries, that Providence assailed,
+  And Anna's ardent vows, at length prevailed;
+  The day was come when heaven designed to show
+  His care and conduct of the world below.
+     Behold, in awful march and dread array
+  The long-expected squadrons shape their way!
+_260
+  Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
+  An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;
+  Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,
+  And thirst of glory quells the love of life.
+  No vulgar fears can British minds control:
+  Heat of revenge and noble pride of soul
+  O'erlook the foe, advantaged by his post,
+  Lessen his numbers, and contract his host.
+  Though fens and floods possessed the middle space,
+  That unprovoked they would have feared to pass,
+_270
+  Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands,
+  When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands.
+     But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find
+  To sing the furious troops in battle joined!
+  Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound
+  The victor's shouts and dying groans confound,
+  The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,
+  And all the thunder of the battle rise.
+  'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved,
+  That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved,
+_280
+  Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
+  Examined all the dreadful scenes of war;
+  In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed,
+  To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
+  Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
+  And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
+  So when an angel by divine command
+  With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,
+  Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,[6]
+  Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;
+_290
+  And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,
+  Hides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
+     But see the haughty household-troops advance!
+  The dread of Europe, and the pride of France.
+  The war's whole art each private soldier knows,
+  And with a general's love of conquest glows;
+  Proudly he marches on, and, void of fear,
+  Laughs at the shaking of the British spear:
+  Vain insolence! with native freedom brave,
+  The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave;
+_300
+  Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns,
+  Each nation's glory in each warrior burns,
+  Each fights, as in his arm the important day
+  And all the fate of his great monarch lay:
+  A thousand glorious actions, that might claim
+  Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame,
+  Confused in clouds of glorious actions lie,
+  And troops of heroes undistinguished die.
+  O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate,
+  And not the wonders of thy youth relate!
+_310
+  How can I see the gay, the brave, the young,
+  Fall in the cloud of war and lie unsung!
+  In joys of conquest he resigns his breath,
+  And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death.
+     The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run,
+  Compelled in crowds to meet the fate they shun;
+  Thousands of fiery steeds with wounds transfixed
+  Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixed,
+  Midst heaps of spears and standards driven around,
+  Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drowned,
+_320
+  Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soane,
+  Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhône,
+  Or where the Seine her flowery fields divides,
+  Or where the Loire through winding vineyards glides;
+  In heaps the rolling billows sweep away,
+  And into Scythian seas their bloated corps convey.
+  From Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild affright,
+  Beholds the various havoc of the fight;
+  His waving banners, that so oft had stood,
+  Planted in fields of death, and streams of blood,
+_330
+  So wont the guarded enemy to reach,
+  And rise triumphant in the fatal breach,
+  Or pierce the broken foe's remotest lines,
+  The hardy veteran with tears resigns.
+     Unfortunate Tallard![7] Oh, who can name
+  The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame,
+  That with mixed tumult in thy bosom swelled!
+  When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repelled,
+  Thine only son pierced with a deadly wound,
+  Choked in his blood, and gasping on the ground,
+_340
+  Thyself in bondage by the victor kept!
+  The chief, the father, and the captive wept.
+  An English Muse is touched with generous woe,
+  And in the unhappy man forgets the foe.
+  Greatly distressed! thy loud complaints forbear,
+  Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war;
+  Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own
+  The fatal field by such great leaders won,
+  The field whence famed Eugenio bore away
+  Only the second honours of the day.
+_350
+     With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell,
+  The marshes stagnate, and the rivers swell.
+  Mountains of slain lie heaped upon the ground,
+  Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drowned;
+  Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains
+  In painful bondage and inglorious chains;
+  Even those who'scape the fetters and the sword,
+  Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord,
+  Their raging king dishonours, to complete
+  Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeat.
+_360
+     From Memminghen's high domes, and Augsburg's walls,
+  The distant battle drives the insulting Gauls;
+  Freed by the terror of the victor's name,
+  The rescued states his great protection claim;
+  Whilst Ulm the approach of her deliverer waits,
+  And longs to open her obsequious gates.
+     The hero's breast still swells with great designs,
+  In every thought the towering genius shines:
+  If to the foe his dreadful course he bends,
+  O'er the wide continent his march extends;
+_370
+  If sieges in his labouring thoughts are formed,
+  Camps are assaulted, and an army stormed;
+  If to the fight his active soul is bent,
+  The fate of Europe turns on its event.
+  What distant land, what region, can afford
+  An action worthy his victorious sword?
+  Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat,
+  To make the series of his toils complete?
+     Where the swoln Rhine, rushing with all its force,
+  Divides the hostile nations in its course,
+_380
+  While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows,
+  Enlarged or straitened as the river flows,
+  On Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands,
+  That all the wide extended plain commands;
+  Twice, since the war was kindled, has it tried
+  The victor's rage, and twice has changed its side;
+  As oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoyed,
+  Have the long summer on its walls employed.
+  Hither our mighty chief his arms directs,
+  Hence future triumphs from the war expects;
+_390
+  And though the dog-star had its course begun,
+  Carries his arms still nearer to the sun:
+  Fixed on the glorious action, he forgets
+  The change of seasons, and increase of heats:
+  No toils are painful that can danger show,
+  No climes unlovely that contain a foe.
+     The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrained,
+  Learns to encamp within his native land,
+  But soon as the victorious host he spies,
+  From hill to hill, from stream to stream he flies:
+_400
+  Such dire impressions in his heart remain
+  Of Marlborough's sword, and Hochstet's fatal plain:
+  In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets
+  Their shady coverts, and obscure retreats;
+  They fly the conqueror's approaching fame,
+  That bears the force of armies in his name,
+     Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway
+  Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey,
+  Whose boasted ancestry so high extends
+  That in the pagan gods his lineage ends,
+_410
+  Comes from afar, in gratitude to own
+  The great supporter of his father's throne;
+  What tides of glory to his bosom ran,
+  Clasped in the embraces of the godlike man!
+  How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixed
+  To see such fire with so much sweetness mixed,
+  Such easy greatness, such a graceful port,
+  So turned and finished for the camp or court!
+  Achilles thus was formed with every grace,
+  And Nireus shone but in the second place;
+_420
+  Thus the great father of almighty Rome
+  (Divinely flushed with an immortal bloom,
+  That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestowed)
+  In all the charms of his bright mother glowed.
+  The royal youth by Marlborough's presence charmed,
+  Taught by his counsels, by his actions warmed,
+  On Landau with redoubled fury falls,
+  Discharges all his thunder on its walls,
+  O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight,
+  And learns to conquer in the hero's sight.
+_430
+     The British chief, for mighty toils renowned,
+  Increased in titles, and with conquests crowned,
+  To Belgian coasts his tedious march renews,
+  And the long windings of the Rhine pursues,
+  Clearing its borders from usurping foes,
+  And blessed by rescued nations as he goes.
+  Treves fears no more, freed from its dire alarms;
+  And Trærbach feels the terror of his arms,
+  Seated on rocks her proud foundations shake,
+  While Marlborough presses to the bold attack,
+_440
+  Plants all his batteries, bids his cannon roar,
+  And shows how Landau might have fallen before.
+  Scared at his near approach, great Louis fears
+  Vengeance reserved for his declining years,
+  Forgets his thirst of universal sway,
+  And scarce can teach his subjects to obey;
+  His arms he finds on vain attempts employed,
+  The ambitious projects for his race destroyed,
+  The work of ages sunk in one campaign,
+  And lives of millions sacrificed in vain.
+_450
+     Such are the effects of Anna's royal cares:
+  By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars,
+  Ranges through nations, wheresoo'er disjoined,
+  Without the wonted aid of sea and wind.
+  By her the unfettered Ister's states are free,
+  And taste the sweets of English liberty:
+  But who can tell the joys of those that lie
+  Beneath the constant influence of her eye!
+  Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall,
+  Like heaven's indulgence, and descend on all,
+_460
+  Secure the happy, succour the distressed,
+  Make every subject glad, and a whole people blessed.
+     Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,
+  In the smooth records of a faithful verse;
+  That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
+  May tell posterity the wondrous tale.
+  When actions, unadorned, are faint and weak,
+  Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
+  Gods may descend in factions from the skies,
+  And rivers from their oozy beds arise;
+_470
+  Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
+  And round the hero cast a borrowed blaze.
+  Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright,
+  And proudly shine in their own native light;
+  Raised of themselves, their genuine charms they boast,
+  And those who paint them truest praise them most.
+
+
+COWLEY'S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF.
+
+TRANSLATED BY MR ADDISON.
+
+  From life's superfluous cares enlarged,
+  His debt of human toil discharged,
+  Here Cowley lies! beneath this shed,
+  To every worldly interest dead;
+  With decent poverty content,
+  His hours of ease not idly spent;
+  To fortune's goods a foe profess'd,
+  And hating wealth by all caress'd.
+  'Tis true he's dead; for oh! how small
+
+  A spot of earth is now his all:
+_10
+  Oh! wish that earth may lightly lay,
+  And every care be far away;
+  Bring flowers; the short-lived roses bring,
+  To life deceased, fit offering:
+  And sweets around the poet strow,
+  Whilst yet with life his ashes glow.
+
+
+  PROLOGUE TO THE TENDER HUSBAND.[8]
+
+  SPOKEN BY MR WILKS.
+
+  In the first rise and infancy of Farce,
+  When fools were many, and when plays were scarce,
+  The raw, unpractised authors could, with ease,
+  A young and unexperienced audience please:
+  No single character had e'er been shown,
+  But the whole herd of fops was all their own;
+  Rich in originals, they set to view,
+  In every piece, a coxcomb that was new.
+     But now our British theatre can boast
+  Drolls of all kinds, a vast, unthinking host!
+_10
+  Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows
+  Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux;
+  Rough country knights are found of every shire;
+  Of every fashion gentle fops appear;
+  And punks of different characters we meet,
+  As frequent on the stage as in the pit.
+  Our modern wits are forced to pick and cull,
+  And here and there by chance glean up a fool:
+  Long ere they find the necessary spark,
+  They search the town, and beat about the Park;
+_20
+  To all his most frequented haunts resort,
+  Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court,
+  As love of pleasure or of place invites;
+  And sometimes catch him taking snuff at White's.
+     Howe'er, to do you right, the present age
+  Breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage;
+  That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod,
+  And wont be blockheads in the common road.
+  Do but survey this crowded house to-night:--
+  Here's still encouragement for those that write.
+_30
+     Our author, to divert his friends to-day,
+  Stocks with variety of fools his play;
+  And that there may be something gay and new,
+  Two ladies-errant has exposed to view:
+  The first a damsel, travelled in romance;
+  The t'other more refined; she comes from France:
+  Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger;
+  And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger.
+
+
+EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH
+
+ENCHANTERS.[9]
+
+  When Orpheus tuned his lyre with pleasing woe,
+  Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow,
+  While listening forests covered as he played,
+  The soft musician in a moving shade.
+  That this night's strains the same success may find,
+  The force of magic is to music joined;
+  Where sounding strings and artful voices fail,
+  The charming rod and muttered spells prevail.
+  Let sage Urganda wave the circling wand
+  On barren mountains, or a waste of sand,
+_10
+  The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow,
+  The birds to warble, and the springs to flow.
+     The same dull sights in the same landscape mixed,
+  Scenes of still life, and points for ever fixed,
+  A tedious pleasure on the mind bestow,
+  And pall the sense with one continued show;
+  But as our two magicians try their skill,
+  The vision varies, though the place stands still,
+  While the same spot its gaudy form renews,
+  Shifting the prospect to a thousand views.
+_20
+  Thus (without unity of place transgressed)
+  The enchanter turns the critic to a jest.
+     But howsoe'er, to please your wandering eyes,
+  Bright objects disappear and brighter rise:
+  There's none can make amends for lost delight,
+  While from that circle we divert your sight.
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO SMITH'S[10] PHÆDRA AND HIPPOLITUS.
+
+SPOKEN BY MR WILKS.
+
+  Long has a race of heroes fill'd the stage,
+  That rant by note, and through the gamut rage;
+  In songs and airs express their martial fire,
+  Combat in trills, and in a fugue expire:
+  While, lull'd by sound, and undisturb'd by wit,
+  Calm and serene you indolently sit,
+  And, from the dull fatigue of thinking free,
+  Hear the facetious fiddle's repartee:
+  Our home-spun authors must forsake the field,
+  And Shakspeare to the soft Scarletti yield.
+_10
+     To your new taste the poet of this day
+  Was by a friend advised to form his play.
+  Had Valentini, musically coy,
+  Shunn'd Phædra's arms, and scorn'd the proffer'd joy,
+  It had not moved your wonder to have seen
+  An eunuch fly from an enamour'd queen:
+  How would it please, should she in English speak,
+  And could Hippolitus reply in Greek!
+  But he, a stranger to your modish way,
+  By your old rules must stand or fall to-day,
+_20
+  And hopes you will your foreign taste command,
+  To bear, for once, with what you understand.
+
+
+HORACE.-ODE III., BOOK III.
+
+Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy, and make it the metropolis of the
+Roman empire, having closeted several senators on the project: Horace is
+supposed to have written the following Ode on this occasion.
+
+  The man resolved, and steady to his trust,
+  Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just,
+  May the rude rabble's insolence despise,
+  Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries;
+  The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles,
+  And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies,
+  And with superior greatness smiles.
+     Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms
+  Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms,
+  The stubborn virtue of his soul can move;
+_10
+  Not the red arm of angry Jove,
+  That flings the thunder from the sky,
+  And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly.
+     Should the whole frame of nature round him break,
+  In ruin and confusion hurled,
+  He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack,
+  And stand secure amidst a falling world.
+     Such were the godlike arts that led
+  Bright Pollux to the blest abodes;
+  Such did for great Alcides plead,
+_20
+  And gained a place among the gods;
+  Where now Augustus, mixed with heroes, lies,
+  And to his lips the nectar bowl applies:
+  His ruddy lips the purple tincture show,
+  And with immortal strains divinely glow.
+     By arts like these did young Lyæus [11] rise:
+  His tigers drew him to the skies,
+  Wild from the desert and unbroke:
+  In vain they foamed, in vain they stared,
+  In vain their eyes with fury glared;
+_30
+  He tamed them to the lash, and bent them to the yoke.
+     Such were the paths that Rome's great founder trod,
+  When in a whirlwind snatched on high,
+  He shook off dull mortality,
+  And lost the monarch in the god.
+  Bright Juno then her awful silence broke,
+  And thus the assembled deities bespoke.
+     'Troy,' says the goddess, 'perjured Troy has felt
+  The dire effects of her proud tyrant's guilt;
+  The towering pile, and soft abodes,
+_40
+  Walled by the hand of servile gods,
+  Now spreads its ruins all around,
+  And lies inglorious on the ground.
+  An umpire, partial and unjust,
+  And a lewd woman's impious lust,
+  Lay heavy on her head, and sunk her to the dust.
+     Since false Laomedon's tyrannic sway,
+  That durst defraud the immortals of their pay,
+  Her guardian gods renounced their patronage,
+  Nor would the fierce invading foe repel;
+_50
+  To my resentment, and Minerva's rage,
+  The guilty king and the whole people fell.
+     And now the long protracted wars are o'er,
+  The soft adulterer shines no more;
+  No more does Hector's force the Trojans shield,
+  That drove whole armies back, and singly cleared the field.
+     My vengeance sated, I at length resign
+  To Mars his offspring of the Trojan line:
+  Advanced to godhead let him rise,
+  And take his station in the skies;
+_60
+  There entertain his ravished sight
+  With scenes of glory, fields of light;
+  Quaff with the gods immortal wine,
+  And see adoring nations crowd his shrine:
+     The thin remains of Troy's afflicted host,
+  In distant realms may seats unenvied find,
+  And flourish on a foreign coast;
+  But far be Rome from Troy disjoined,
+  Removed by seas from the disastrous shore;
+  May endless billows rise between, and storms unnumbered roar.
+_70
+     Still let the cursed, detested place,
+  Where Priam lies, and Priam's faithless race,
+  Be cover'd o'er with weeds, and hid in grass.
+  There let the wanton flocks unguarded stray;
+  Or, while the lonely shepherd sings,
+  Amidst the mighty ruins play,
+  And frisk upon the tombs of kings.
+  May tigers there, and all the savage kind,
+  Sad, solitary haunts and silent deserts find;
+  In gloomy vaults, and nooks of palaces,
+_80
+  May the unmolested lioness
+  Her brinded whelps securely lay,
+  Or couched, in dreadful slumbers waste the day.
+     While Troy in heaps of ruins lies,
+  Rome and the Roman Capitol shall rise;
+  The illustrious exiles unconfined
+  Shall triumph far and near, and rule mankind.
+     In vain the sea's intruding tide
+  Europe from Afric shall divide,
+  And part the severed world in two:
+_90
+  Through Afric's sands their triumphs they shall spread,
+  And the long train of victories pursue
+  To Nile's yet undiscovered head.
+  Riches the hardy soldier shall despise,
+  And look on gold with undesiring eyes,
+  Nor the disbowelled earth explore
+  In search of the forbidden ore;
+  Those glittering ills concealed within the mine,
+  Shall lie untouched, and innocently shine.
+  To the last bounds that nature sets,
+_100
+  The piercing colds and sultry heats,
+  The godlike race shall spread their arms;
+  Now fill the polar circle with alarms,
+  Till storms and tempests their pursuits confine;
+  Now sweat for conquest underneath the line.
+     This only law the victor shall restrain,
+  On these conditions shall he reign;
+  If none his guilty hand employ
+  To build again a second Troy,
+  If none the rash design pursue,
+_110
+  Nor tempt the vengeance of the gods anew.
+     A curse there cleaves to the devoted place,
+  That shall the new foundations raze:
+  Greece shall in mutual leagues conspire
+  To storm the rising town with fire,
+  And at their armies' head myself will show
+  What Juno, urged to all her rage, can do.
+  Thrice should Apollo's self the city raise,
+  And line it round with walls of brass,
+  Thrice should my favourite Greeks his works confound,
+_120
+  And hew the shining fabric to the ground;
+  Thrice should her captive dames to Greece return,
+  And their dead sons and slaughtered husbands mourn.'
+     But hold, my Muse, forbear thy towering flight,
+  Nor bring the secrets of the gods to light:
+  In vain would thy presumptuous verse
+  The immortal rhetoric rehearse;
+  The mighty strains, in lyric numbers bound,
+  Forget their majesty, and lose their sound.
+
+
+
+  THE VESTAL.
+
+  FROM OVID DE FASTIS, LIB. III. EL. 1.
+
+  Blanda quies victis furtim subrepit ocellis, &c.
+
+  As the fair vestal to the fountain came,
+  (Let none be startled at a vestal's name)
+  Tired with the walk, she laid her down to rest,
+  And to the winds exposed her glowing breast,
+  To take the freshness of the morning-air,
+  And gather'd in a knot her flowing hair;
+  While thus she rested, on her arm reclined,
+  The hoary willows waving with the wind,
+  And feather'd choirs that warbled in the shade,
+  And purling streams that through the meadow stray'd,
+_10
+  In drowsy murmurs lull'd the gentle maid.
+  The god of war beheld the virgin lie,
+  The god beheld her with a lover's eye;
+  And by so tempting an occasion press'd,
+  The beauteous maid, whom he beheld, possess'd:
+  Conceiving as she slept, her fruitful womb
+  Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.
+
+
+
+  OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
+
+  BOOK II.
+
+  THE STORY OF PHÆTON.
+
+  The sun's bright palace, on high columns raised,
+  With burnished gold and flaming jewels blazed;
+  The folding gates diffused a silver light,
+  And with a milder gleam refreshed the sight;
+  Of polished ivory was the covering wrought:
+  The matter vied not with the sculptor's thought,
+  For in the portal was displayed on high
+  (The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky;
+  A waving sea the inferior earth embraced,
+  And gods and goddesses the waters graced.
+_10
+  Ægeon here a mighty whale bestrode;
+  Triton, and Proteus, (the deceiving god,)
+  With Doris here were carved, and all her train,
+  Some loosely swimming in the figured main,
+  While some on rocks their dropping hair divide,
+  And some on fishes through the waters glide:
+  Though various features did the sisters grace,
+  A sister's likeness was in every face.
+  On earth a different landscape courts the eyes,
+  Men, towns, and beasts, in distant prospects rise,
+_20
+  And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities.
+  O'er all, the heaven's refulgent image shines;
+  On either gate were six engraven signs.
+     Here Phaëton, still gaining on the ascent,
+  To his suspected father's palace went,
+  Till, pressing forward through the bright ahode,
+  He saw at distance the illustrious god:
+  He saw at distance, or the dazzling light
+  Had flashed too strongly on his aching sight.
+     The god sits high, exalted on a throne
+_30
+  Of blazing gems, with purple garments on:
+  The Hours, in order ranged on either hand,
+  And days, and months, and years, and ages, stand.
+  Here Spring appears with flowery chaplets bound;
+  Here Summer in her wheaten garland crowned;
+  Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
+  And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.
+     Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne;
+  That eye, which looks on all, was fixed on one.
+  He saw the boy's confusion in his face,
+_40
+  Surprised at all the wonders of the place;
+  And cries aloud, 'What wants my son? for know
+  My son thou art, and I must call thee so.'
+    'Light of the world,' the trembling youth replies,
+  'Illustrious parent! since you don't despise
+  The parent's name, some certain token give,
+  That I may Clymene's proud boast believe,
+  Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.'
+     The tender sire was touched with what he said.
+  And flung the blaze of glories from his head,
+_50
+  And bid the youth advance: 'My son,' said he,
+  'Come to thy father's arms! for Clymene
+  Has told thee true; a parent's name I own,
+  And deem thee worthy to be called my son.
+  As a sure proof, make some request, and I,
+  Whate'er it be, with that request comply;
+  By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night,
+  And roll impervious to my piercing sight.'
+     The youth transported, asks, without delay,
+  To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day.
+_60
+     The god repented of the oath he took,
+  For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook;
+  'My son,' says he, 'some other proof require,
+  Rash was my promise, rash is thy desire.
+  I'd fain deny this wish which thou hast made,
+  Or, what I can't deny, would fain dissuade.
+  Too vast and hazardous the task appears,
+  Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years.
+  Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly
+  Beyond the province of mortality:
+_70
+  There is not one of all the gods that dares
+  (However skilled in other great affairs)
+  To mount the burning axle-tree, but I;
+  Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky,
+  That hurls the three-forked thunder from above,
+  Dares try his strength; yet who so strong as Jove?
+  The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain:
+  And when the middle firmament they gain,
+  If downward from the heavens my head I bow,
+  And see the earth and ocean hang below;
+_80
+  Even I am seized with horror and affright,
+  And my own heart misgives me at the sight.
+  A mighty downfal steeps the evening stage,
+  And steady reins must curb the horses' rage.
+  Tethys herself has feared to see me driven
+  Down headlong from the precipice of heaven.
+  Besides, consider what impetuous force
+  Turns stars and planets in a different course:
+  I steer against their motions; nor am I 89
+  Born back by all the current of the sky.
+_90
+  But how could you resist the orbs that roll
+  In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole?
+  But you perhaps may hope for pleasing woods,
+  And stately domes, and cities filled with gods;
+  While through a thousand snares your progress lies,
+  Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies:
+  For, should you hit the doubtful way aright,
+  The Bull with stooping horns stands opposite;
+  Next him the bright Hæmonian Bow is strung;
+  And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung:
+_100
+  The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent,
+  And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent.
+  Nor would you find it easy to compose
+  The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils flows
+  The scorching fire, that in their entrails glows.
+  Even I their headstrong fury scarce restrain,
+  When they grow warm and restive to the rein.
+  Let not my son a fatal gift require,
+  But, oh! in time recall your rash desire;
+  You ask a gift that may your parent tell,
+_110
+  Let these my fears your parentage reveal;
+  And learn a father from a father's care:
+  Look on my face; or if my heart lay bare,
+  Could you but look, you'd read the father there.
+  Choose out a gift from seas, or earth, or skies,
+  For open to your wish all nature lies,
+  Only decline this one unequal task,
+  For 'tis a mischief, not a gift you ask;
+  You ask a real mischief, Phaëton:
+  Nay, hang not thus about my neck, my son:
+_120
+  I grant your wish, and Styx has heard my voice,
+  Choose what you will, but make a wiser choice.'
+     Thus did the god the unwary youth advise;
+  But he still longs to travel through the skies,
+  When the fond father (for in vain he pleads)
+  At length to the Vulcanian chariot leads.
+  A golden axle did the work uphold,
+  Gold was the beam, the wheels were orbed with gold.
+  The spokes in rows of silver pleased the sight,
+  The seat with party-coloured gems was bright;
+_130
+  Apollo shined amid the glare of light.
+  The youth with secret joy the work surveys;
+  When now the morn disclosed her purple rays;
+  The stars were fled; for Lucifer had chased
+  The stars away, and fled himself at last.
+  Soon as the father saw the rosy morn,
+  And the moon shining with a blunter horn,
+  He bid the nimble Hours without delay
+  Bring forth the steeds; the nimble Hours obey:
+  From their full racks the generous steeds retire,
+_140
+  Dropping ambrosial foams and snorting fire.
+  Still anxious for his son, the god of day,
+  To make him proof against the burning ray,
+  His temples with celestial ointment wet,
+  Of sovereign virtue to repel the heat;
+  Then fixed the beaming circle on his head,
+  And fetched a deep, foreboding sigh, and said,
+     'Take this at least, this last advice, my son:
+  Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on:
+  The coursers of themselves will run too fast,
+_150
+  Your art must be to moderate their haste.
+  Drive them not on directly through the skies,
+  But where the Zodiac's winding circle lies,
+  Along the midmost zone; but sally forth
+  Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north.
+  The horses' hoofs a beaten track will show,
+  But neither mount too high nor sink too low,
+  That no new fires or heaven or earth infest;
+  Keep the mid-way, the middle way is best.
+  Nor, where in radiant folds the Serpent twines,
+_160
+  Direct your course, nor where the Altar shines.
+  Shun both extremes; the rest let Fortune guide,
+  And better for thee than thyself provide!
+  See, while I speak the shades disperse away,
+  Aurora gives the promise of a day;
+  I'm called, nor can I make a longer stay.
+  Snatch up the reins; or still the attempt forsake,
+  And not my chariot, but my counsel take,
+  While yet securely on the earth you stand;
+  Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand.
+_170
+  Let me alone to light the world, while you
+  Enjoy those beams which you may safely view.'
+  He spoke in vain: the youth with active heat
+  And sprightly vigour vaults into the seat;
+  And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives
+  Those thanks his father with remorse receives.
+     Meanwhile the restless horses neighed aloud,
+  Breathing out fire, and pawing where they stood.
+  Tethys, not knowing what had passed, gave way,
+  And all the waste of heaven before them lay.
+_180
+  They spring together out, and swiftly bear
+  The flying youth through clouds and yielding air;
+  With wingy speed outstrip the eastern wind,
+  And leave the breezes of the morn behind.
+  The youth was light, nor could he fill the seat,
+  Or poise the chariot with its wonted weight:
+  But as at sea the unballast vessel rides,
+  Cast to and fro, the sport of winds and tides;
+  So in the bounding chariot tossed on high,
+  The youth is hurried headlong through the sky.
+_190
+  Soon as the steeds perceive it, they forsake
+  Their stated course, and leave the beaten track.
+  The youth was in a maze, nor did he know
+  Which way to turn the reins, or where to go;
+  Nor would the horses, had he known, obey.
+  Then the Seven Stars first felt Apollo's ray
+  And wished to dip in the forbidden sea.
+  The folded Serpent next the frozen pole,
+  Stiff and benumbed before, began to roll,
+  And raged with inward heat, and threatened war,
+_200
+  And shot a redder light from every star;
+  Nay, and 'tis said, Bootes, too, that fain
+  Thou wouldst have fled, though cumbered with thy wain.
+     The unhappy youth then, bending down his head,
+  Saw earth and ocean far beneath him spread:
+  His colour changed, he startled at the sight,
+  And his eyes darkened by too great a light.
+  Now could he wish the fiery steeds untried,
+  His birth obscure, and his request denied:
+  Now would he Merops for his father own,
+_210
+  And quit his boasted kindred to the Sun.
+     So fares the pilot, when his ship is tossed
+  In troubled seas, and all its steerage lost,
+  He gives her to the winds, and in despair
+  Seeks his last refuge in the gods and prayer.
+     What could he do? his eyes, if backward cast,
+  Find a long path he had already passed;
+  If forward, still a longer path they find:
+  Both he compares, and measures in his mind;
+  And sometimes casts an eye upon the east,
+_220
+  And sometimes looks on the forbidden west.
+  The horses' names he knew not in the fright:
+  Nor would he loose the reins, nor could he hold them tight.
+     Now all the horrors of the heavens he spies,
+  And monstrous shadows of prodigious size,
+  That, decked with stars, lie scattered o'er the skies.
+  There is a place above, where Scorpio, bent
+  In tail and arms, surrounds a vast extent;
+  In a wide circuit of the heavens he shines,
+  And fills the space of two celestial signs.
+_230
+  Soon as the youth beheld him, vexed with heat,
+  Brandish his sting, and in his poison sweat,
+  Half dead with sudden fear he dropped the reins;
+  The horses felt them loose upon their manes,
+  And, flying out through all the plains above,
+  Ran uncontrolled where'er their fury drove;
+  Rushed on the stars, and through a pathless way
+  Of unknown regions hurried on the day.
+  And now above, and now below they flew,
+  And near the earth the burning chariot drew.
+_240
+     The clouds disperse in fumes, the wondering Moon
+  Beholds her brother's steeds beneath her own;
+  The highlands smoke, cleft by the piercing rays,
+  Or, clad with woods, in their own fuel blaze.
+  Next o'er the plains, where ripened harvests grow,
+  The running conflagration spreads below.
+  But these are trivial ills; whole cities burn,
+  And peopled kingdoms into ashes turn.
+     The mountains kindle as the car draws near,
+  Athos and Tmolus red with fires appear;
+_250
+  Oeagrian Hæmus (then a single name)
+  And virgin Helicon increase the flame;
+  Taurus and Oete glare amid the sky,
+  And Ida, spite of all her fountains, dry.
+  Eryx, and Othrys, and Cithgeron, glow;
+  And Rhodope, no longer clothed in snow;
+  High Pindus, Mimas, and Parnassus sweat,
+  And Ætna rages with redoubled heat.
+  Even Scythia, through her hoary regions warmed,
+  In vain with all her native frost was armed.
+_260
+  Covered with flames, the towering Apennine,
+  And Caucasus, and proud Olympus, shine;
+  And, where the long extended Alps aspire,
+  Now stands a huge, continued range of fire.
+     The astonished youth, where'er his eyes could turn,
+  Beheld the universe around him burn:
+  The world was in a blaze; nor could he bear
+  The sultry vapours and the scorching air,
+  Which from below as from a furnace flowed,
+  And now the axle-tree beneath him glowed:
+_270
+  Lost in the whirling clouds, that round him broke,
+  And white with ashes, hovering in the smoke,
+  He flew where'er the horses drove, nor knew
+  Whither the horses drove, or where he flew.
+     'Twas then, they say, the swarthy Moor begun
+  To change his hue, and blacken in the sun.
+  Then Libya first, of all her moisture drained,
+  Became a barren waste, a wild of sand.
+  The water-nymphs lament their empty urns,
+  Boeotia, robbed of silver Dirce, mourns;
+_280
+  Corinth, Pyrene's wasted spring bewails,
+  And Argos grieves whilst Aniymone fails.
+     The floods are drained from every distant coast,
+  Even Tanaïs, though fixed in ice, was lost.
+  Enraged Caicus and Lycormas roar,
+  And Xanthus, fated to be burned once more.
+  The famed Meeander, that unwearied strays
+  Through mazy windings, smokes in every maze.
+  From his loved Babylon Euphrates flies;
+  The big-swoln Ganges and the Danube rise
+_290
+  In thickening fumes, and darken half the skies.
+  In flames Ismenos and the Phasis rolled,
+  And Tagus floating in his melted gold.
+  The swans, that on Cayster often tried
+  Their tuneful songs, now sung their last, and died.
+  The frighted Nile ran off, and under-ground
+  Concealed his head, nor can it yet be found:
+  His seven divided currents all are dry,
+  And where they rolled seven gaping trenches lie.
+  No more the Rhine or Rhone their course maintain,
+_300
+  Nor Tiber, of his promised empire vain.
+     The ground, deep cleft, admits the dazzling ray,
+  And startles Pluto with the flash of day.
+  The seas shrink in, and to the sight disclose
+  Wide, naked plains, where once their billows rose;
+  Their rocks are all discovered, and increase
+  The number of the scattered Cyclades.
+  The fish in shoals about the bottom creep,
+  Nor longer dares the crooked dolphin leap;
+  Gasping for breath, the unshapen phocæ die,
+_310
+  And on the boiling wave extended lie.
+  Nereus, and Doris with her virgin train,
+  Seek out the last recesses of the main;
+  Beneath unfathomable depths they faint,
+  And secret in their gloomy regions pant,
+  Stern Neptune thrice above the waves upheld
+  His face, and thrice was by the flames repelled.
+     The Earth at length, on every side embraced
+  With scalding seas, that floated round her waist,
+  When now she felt the springs and rivers come,
+_320
+  And crowd within the hollow of her womb.
+  Uplifted to the heavens her blasted head,
+  And clapped her hands upon her brows, and said;
+  (But first, impatient of the sultry heat,
+  Sunk deeper down, and sought a cooler seat:)
+  'If you, great king of gods, my death approve,
+  And I deserve it, let me die by Jove;
+  If I must perish by the force of fire,
+  Let me transfixed with thunderbolts expire.
+  See, whilst I speak, my breath the vapours choke,
+_330
+  (For now her face lay wrapt in clouds of smoke,)
+  See my singed hair, behold my faded eye
+  And withered face, where heaps of cinders lie!
+  And does the plough for this my body tear?
+  This the reward for all the fruits I bear,
+  Tortured with rakes, and harassed all the year?
+  That herbs for cattle daily I renew,
+  And food for man, and frankincense for you?
+  But grant me guilty; what has Neptune done?
+  Why are his waters boiling in the sun?
+_340
+  The wavy empire, which by lot was given,
+  Why does it waste, and further shrink from heaven?
+  If I nor lie your pity can provoke,
+  See your own heavens, the heavens begin to smoke!
+  Should once the sparkles catch those bright abodes,
+  Destruction seizes on the heavens and gods;
+  Atlas becomes unequal to his freight,
+  And almost faints beneath the glowing weight.
+  If heaven, and earth, and sea together burn,
+  All must again into their chaos turn.
+_350
+  Apply some speedy cure, prevent our fate,
+  And succour nature, e'er it be too late.'
+  She ceased; for, choked with vapours round her spread,
+  Down to the deepest shades she sunk her head.
+     Jove called to witness every power above,
+  And even the god whose son the chariot drove,
+  That what he acts he is compelled to do,
+  Or universal ruin must ensue.
+  Straight he ascends the high ethereal throne,
+  From whence he used to dart his thunder down,
+_360
+  From whence his showers and storms he used to pour,
+  But now could meet with neither storm nor shower.
+  Then aiming at the youth, with lifted hand,
+  Full at his head he hurled the forky brand,
+  In dreadful thunderings. Thus the almighty sire
+  Suppressed the raging of the fires with fire.
+     At once from life and from the chariot driven,
+  The ambitious boy fell thunder-struck from heaven.
+  The horses started with a sudden bound,
+  And flung the reins and chariot to the ground:
+_370
+  The studded harness from their necks they broke,
+  Here fell a wheel, and here a silver spoke,
+  Here were the beam and axle torn away;
+  And, scattered o'er the earth, the shining fragments lay.
+  The breathless Phaëton, with flaming hair,
+  Shot from the chariot, like a falling star,
+  That in a summer's evening from the top
+  Of heaven drops down, or seems at least to drop;
+  Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurled,
+  Far from his country, in the western world.
+_380
+
+
+  PHÆTON'S SISTERS TRANSFORMED INTO TREES.
+
+     The Latian nymphs came round him, and amazed
+  On the dead youth, transfixed with thunder, gazed;
+  And, whilst yet smoking from the bolt he lay,
+  His shattered body to a tomb convey;
+  And o'er the tomb an epitaph devise:
+  'Here he who drove the Sun's bright chariot lies;
+  His father's fiery steeds he could not guide,
+  But in the glorious enterprise he died.'
+     Apollo hid his face, and pined for grief,
+  And, if the story may deserve belief,
+_10
+  The space of one whole day is said to run,
+  From morn to wonted even, without a sun:
+  The burning ruins, with a fainter ray,
+  Supply the sun, and counterfeit a day,
+  A day that still did nature's face disclose:
+  This comfort from the mighty mischief rose.
+     But Clymene, enraged with grief, laments,
+  And, as her grief inspires, her passion vents:
+  Wild for her son, and frantic in her woes,
+  With hair dishevelled, round the world she goes,
+_20
+  To seek where'er his body might be cast;
+  Till, on the borders of the Po, at last
+  The name inscribed on the new tomb appears:
+  The dear, dear name she bathes in flowing tears,
+  Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to depart,
+  And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart.
+     Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn,
+  (A fruitless tribute to their brother's urn,)
+  And beat their naked bosoms, and complain,
+  And call aloud for Phaëton in vain:
+_30
+  All the long night their mournful watch they keep,
+  And all the day stand round the tomb, and weep.
+     Four times revolving the full moon returned;
+  So long the mother and the daughters mourned:
+  When now the eldest, Phaëthusa, strove
+  To rest her weary limbs, but could not move;
+  Lampetia would have helped her, but she found
+  Herself withheld, and rooted to the ground:
+  A third in wild affliction, as she grieves,
+  Would rend her hair, but fills her hands with leaves;
+_40
+  One sees her thighs transformed, another views
+  Her arms shot out, and branching into boughs.
+  And now their legs and breasts and bodies stood
+  Crusted with bark, and hardening into wood;
+  But still above were female heads displayed,
+  And mouths, that called the mother to their aid.
+  What could, alas! the weeping mother do?
+  From this to that with eager haste she flew,
+  And kissed her sprouting daughters as they grew.
+  She tears the bark that to each body cleaves,
+_50
+  And from their verdant fingers strips the leaves:
+  The blood came trickling, where she tore away
+  The leaves and bark: the maids were heard to say,
+  'Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear;
+  A wounded daughter in each tree you tear;
+  Farewell for ever.' Here the bark increased,
+  Closed on their faces, and their words suppressed.
+     The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
+  Which, hardened into value by the sun,
+  Distil for ever on the streams below:
+_60
+  The limpid streams their radiant treasure show,
+  Mixed in the sand; whence the rich drops conveyed,
+  Shine in the dress of the bright Latian maid.
+
+
+  THE TRANSFORMATION OF CYCNUS INTO A SWAN.
+
+     Cycnus beheld the nymphs transformed, allied
+  To their dead brother on the mortal side,
+  In friendship and affection nearer bound;
+  He left the cities and the realms he owned,
+  Through pathless fields and lonely shores to range,
+  And woods, made thicker by the sisters' change.
+  Whilst here, within the dismal gloom, alone,
+  The melancholy monarch made his moan,
+  His voice was lessened, as he tried to speak,
+  And issued through a long extended neck;
+_10
+  His hair transforms to down, his fingers mee
+  In skinny films, and shape his oary feet;
+  From both his sides the wings and feathers break;
+  And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak:
+  All Cycnus now into a swan was turned,
+  Who, still remembering how his kinsman burned,
+  To solitary pools and lakes retires,
+  And loves the waters as opposed to fires.
+     Meanwhile Apollo, in a gloomy shade
+  (The native lustre of his brows decayed)
+_20
+  Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight
+  Of his own sunshine, and abhors the light:
+  The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rise,
+  Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes,
+  As when some dusky orb obstructs his ray,
+  And sullies in a dim eclipse the day.
+     Now secretly with inward griefs he pined,
+  Now warm resentments to his grief he joined,
+  And now renounced his office to mankind.
+  'E'er since the birth of time,' said he, 'I've borne
+_30
+  A long, ungrateful toil without return;
+  Let now some other manage, if he dare,
+  The fiery steeds, and mount the burning car;
+  Or, if none else, let Jove his fortune try,
+  And learn to lay his murdering thunder by;
+  Then will he own, perhaps, but own too late,
+  My son deserved not so severe a fate.'
+     The gods stand round him, as he mourns, and pray
+  He would resume the conduct of the day,
+  Nor let the world be lost in endless night:
+_40
+  Jove too himself descending from his height,
+  Excuses what had happened, and entreats,
+  Majestically mixing prayers and threats.
+  Prevailed upon, at length, again he took
+  The harnessed steeds, that still with horror shook,
+  And plies them with the lash, and whips them on,
+  And, as he whips, upbraids them with his son.
+
+
+  THE STORY OF CALISTO.
+
+     The day was settled in its course; and Jove
+  Walked the wide circuit of the heavens above,
+  To search if any cracks or flaws were made;
+  But all was safe: the earth he then surveyed,
+  And cast an eye on every different coast,
+  And every land; but on Arcadia most.
+  Her fields he clothed, and cheered her blasted face
+  With running fountains, and with springing grass.
+  No tracks of heaven's destructive fire remain,
+  The fields and woods revive, and nature smiles again.
+_10
+     But as the god walked to and fro the earth,
+  And raised the plants, and gave the spring its birth,
+  By chance a fair Arcadian nymph he viewed,
+  And felt the lovely charmer in his blood.
+  The nymph nor spun, nor dressed with artful pride;
+  Her vest was gathered up, her hair was tied;
+  Now in her hand a slender spear she bore,
+  Now a light quiver on her shoulders wore;
+  To chaste Diana from her youth inclined,
+  The sprightly warriors of the wood she joined.
+_20
+  Diana too the gentle huntress loved,
+  Nor was there one of all the nymphs that roved
+  O'er Mænalus, amid the maiden throng,
+  More favoured once; but favour lasts not long.
+     The sun now shone in all its strength, and drove
+  The heated virgin panting to a grove;
+  The grove around a grateful shadow cast:
+  She dropped her arrows, and her bow unbraced;
+  She flung herself on the cool, grassy bed;
+  And on the painted quiver raised her head.
+_30
+  Jove saw the charming huntress unprepared,
+  Stretched on the verdant turf, without a guard.
+  'Here I am safe,' he cries, 'from Juno's eye;
+  Or should my jealous queen the theft descry,
+  Yet would I venture on a theft like this,
+  And stand her rage for such, for such a bliss!'
+  Diana's shape and habit straight he took,
+  Softened his brows, and smoothed his awful look,
+  And mildly in a female accent spoke.
+  'How fares my girl? How went the morning chase?'
+_40
+  To whom the virgin, starting from the grass,
+  'All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer
+  To Jove himself, though Jove himself were here.'
+  The god was nearer than she thought, and heard,
+  Well-pleased, himself before himself preferr'd.
+     He then salutes her with a warm embrace,
+  And, ere she half had told the morning chase,
+  With love inflamed, and eager on his bliss,
+  Smothered her words, and stopped her with a kiss;
+  His kisses with unwonted ardour glow'd,
+_50
+  Nor could Diana's shape conceal the god.
+  The virgin did whate'er a virgin could;
+  (Sure Juno must have pardoned, had she view'd;)
+  With all her might against his force she strove;
+  But how can mortal maids contend with Jove!
+     Possessed at length of what his heart desired,
+  Back to his heavens the exulting god retired.
+  The lovely huntress, rising from the grass,
+  With downcast eyes, and with a blushing face
+  By shame confounded, and by fear dismay'd,
+_60
+  Flew from the covert of the guilty shade,
+  And almost, in the tumult of her mind,
+  Left her forgotten bow and shafts behind.
+     But now Diana, with a sprightly train
+  Of quivered virgins, bounding over the plain,
+  Called to the nymph; the nymph began to fear
+  A second fraud, a Jove disguised in her;
+  But, when she saw the sister nymphs, suppress'd
+  Her rising fears, and mingled with the rest.
+     How in the look does conscious guilt appear!
+_70
+  Slowly she moved, and loitered in the rear;
+  Nor slightly tripped, nor by the goddess ran,
+  As once she used, the foremost of the train.
+  Her looks were flushed, and sullen was her mien,
+  That sure the virgin goddess (had she been
+  Aught but a virgin) must the guilt have seen.
+  'Tis said the nymphs saw all, and guessed aright:
+  And now the moon had nine times lost her light,
+  When Dian, fainting in the mid-day beams,
+  Found a cool covert, and refreshing streams
+_80
+  That in soft murmurs through the forest flow'd,
+  And a smooth bed of shining gravel show'd.
+     A covert so obscure, and streams so clear,
+  The goddess praised: 'And now no spies are near,
+  Let's strip, my gentle maids, and wash,' she cries.
+  Pleased with the motion, every maid complies;
+  Only the blushing huntress stood confused,
+  And formed delays, and her delays excused;
+  In vain excused; her fellows round her press'd,
+  And the reluctant nymph by force undress'd.
+_90
+  The naked huntress all her shame reveal'd,
+  In vain her hands the pregnant womb conceal'd;
+  'Begone!' the goddess cries with stern disdain,
+  'Begone! nor dare the hallowed stream to stain:'
+  She fled, for ever banished from the train.
+     This Juno heard, who long had watched her time
+  To punish the detested rival's crime:
+  The time was come; for, to enrage her more,
+  A lovely boy the teeming rival bore.
+  The goddess cast a furious look, and cried,
+_100
+  'It is enough! I'm fully satisfied!
+  This boy shall stand a living mark, to prove
+  My husband's baseness, and the strumpet's love:
+  But vengeance shall awake: those guilty charms,
+  That drew the Thunderer from Juno's arms,
+  No longer shall their wonted force retain,
+  Nor please the god, nor make the mortal vain.'
+     This said, her hand within her hair she wound,
+  Swung her to earth, and dragged her on the ground.
+  The prostrate wretch lifts up her arms in prayer;
+_110
+  Her arms grow shaggy, and deformed with hair,
+  Her nails are sharpened into pointed claws,
+  Her hands bear half her weight, and turn to paws;
+  Her lips, that once could tempt a god, begin
+  To grow distorted in an ugly grin.
+  And, lest the supplicating brute might reach
+  The ears of Jove, she was deprived of speech:
+  Her surly voice through a hoarse passage came
+  In savage sounds: her mind was still the same.
+  The furry monster fixed her eyes above,
+_120
+  And heaved her new unwieldy paws to Jove,
+  And begged his aid with inward groans; and though
+  She could not call him false, she thought him so.
+     How did she fear to lodge in woods alone,
+  And haunt the fields and meadows once her own!
+  How often would the deep-mouthed dogs pursue,
+  Whilst from her hounds the frighted huntress flew!
+  How did she fear her fellow-brutes, and shun
+  The shaggy bear, though now herself was one!
+  How from the sight of rugged wolves retire,
+_130
+  Although the grim Lycaon was her sire!
+     But now her son had fifteen summers told,
+  Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold;
+  When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey,
+  He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay.
+  She knew her son, and kept him in her sight,
+  And fondly gazed: the boy was in a fright,
+  And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast,
+  And would have slain his mother in the beast;
+  But Jove forbade, and snatched them through the air
+_140
+  In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed them there:
+  Where the new constellations nightly rise,
+  And add a lustre to the northern skies.
+     When Juno saw the rival in her height,
+  Spangled with stars, and circled round with light,
+  She sought old Ocean in his deep abodes,
+  And Tethys; both revered among the gods.
+  They ask what brings her there: 'Ne'er ask,' says she,
+  'What brings me here, heaven is no place for me.
+  You'll see, when night has covered all things o'er,
+_150
+  Jove's starry bastard and triumphant whore
+  Usurp the heavens; you 'll see them proudly roll
+  In their new orbs, and brighten all the pole.
+  And who shall now on Juno's altars wait,
+  When those she hates grow greater by her hate?
+  I on the nymph a brutal form impress'd,
+  Jove to a goddess has transformed the beast;
+  This, this was all my weak revenge could do:
+  But let the god his chaste amours pursue,
+  And, as he acted after Io's rape,
+_160
+  Restore the adulteress to her former shape.
+  Then may he cast his Juno off, and lead
+  The great Lycaon's offspring to his bed.
+  But you, ye venerable powers, be kind,
+  And, if my wrongs a due resentment find,
+  Receive not in your waves their setting beams,
+  Nor let the glaring strumpet taint your streams.'
+     The goddess ended, and her wish was given.
+  Back she returned in triumph up to heaven;
+  Her gaudy peacocks drew her through the skies,
+_170
+  Their tails were spotted with a thousand eyes;
+  The eyes of Argus on their tails were ranged,
+  At the same time the raven's colour changed.
+
+
+  THE STORY OF CORONIS, AND BIRTH OF ÆSCULAPIUS.
+
+  The raven once in snowy plumes was dress'd,
+  White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,
+  Fair as the guardian of the Capitol,
+  Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl;
+  His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quite
+  To sooty blackness from the purest white.
+     The story of his change shall here be told:
+  In Thessaly there lived a nymph of old,
+  Coronis named; a peerless maid she shined,
+  Confessed the fairest of the fairer kind.
+_10
+  Apollo loved her, till her guilt he knew,
+  While true she was, or whilst he thought her true.
+  But his own bird, the raven, chanced to find
+  The false one with a secret rival joined.
+  Coronis begged him to suppress the tale,
+  But could not with repeated prayers prevail.
+  His milk-white pinions to the god he plied;
+  The busy daw flew with him, side by side,
+  And by a thousand teasing questions drew
+  The important secret from him as they flew.
+_20
+  The daw gave honest counsel, though despised,
+  And, tedious in her tattle, thus advised:
+     'Stay, silly bird, the ill-natured task refuse,
+  Nor be the bearer of unwelcome news.
+  Be warned by my example: you discern
+  What now I am, and what I was shall learn.
+  My foolish honesty was all my crime;
+  Then hear my story. Once upon a time,
+  The two-shaped Ericthonius had his birth
+  (Without a mother) from the teeming earth;
+_30
+  Minerva nursed him, and the infant laid
+  Within a chest, of twining osiers made.
+  The daughters of King Cecrops undertook
+  To guard the chest, commanded not to look
+  On what was hid within. I stood to see
+  The charge obeyed, perched on a neighbouring tree.
+  The sisters Pandrosos and Herse keep
+  The strict command; Aglauros needs would peep,
+  And saw the monstrous infant in a fright,
+  And called her sisters to the hideous sight:
+_40
+  A boy's soft shape did to the waist prevail,
+  But the boy ended in a dragon's tail.
+  I told the stern Minerva all that passed,
+  But for my pains, discarded and disgraced,
+  The frowning goddess drove me from her sight,
+  And for her favourite chose the bird of night.
+  Be then no tell-tale; for I think my wrong
+  Enough to teach a bird to hold her tongue.
+     'But you, perhaps, may think I was removed,
+  As never by the heavenly maid beloved:
+_50
+  But I was loved; ask Pallas if I lie;
+  Though Pallas hate me now, she won't deny:
+  For I, whom in a feathered shape you view,
+  Was once a maid, (by heaven, the story's true,)
+  A blooming maid, and a king's daughter too.
+  A crowd of lovers owned my beauty's charms;
+  My beauty was the cause of all my harms;
+  Neptune, as on his shores I went to rove,
+  Observed me in my walks, and fell in love.
+  He made his courtship, he confessed his pain,
+_60
+  And offered force when all his arts were vain;
+  Swift he pursued: I ran along the strand,
+  Till, spent and wearied on the sinking sand,
+  I shrieked aloud, with cries I filled the air
+  To gods and men; nor god nor man was there:
+  A virgin goddess heard a virgin's prayer.
+  For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,
+  I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;
+  I strove to fling my garment to the ground;
+  My garment turned to plumes, and girt me round:
+_70
+  My hands to beat my naked bosom try;
+  Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I.
+  Lightly I tripped, nor weary as before
+  Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore;
+  Till, rising on my wings, I was preferred
+  To be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird:
+  Preferred in vain! I now am in disgrace:
+  Nyctimene, the owl, enjoys my place.
+     'On her incestuous life I need not dwell,
+  (In Lesbos still the horrid tale they tell,)
+_80
+  And of her dire amours you must have heard,
+  For which she now does penance in a bird,
+  That, conscious of her shame, avoids the light,
+  And loves the gloomy covering of the night;
+  The birds, where'er she flutters, scare away
+  The hooting wretch, and drive her from the day.'
+     The raven, urged by such impertinence,
+  Grew passionate, it seems, and took offence,
+  And cursed the harmless daw; the daw withdrew:
+  The raven to her injured patron flew,
+_90
+  And found him out, and told the fatal truth
+  Of false Coronis and the favoured youth.
+     The god was wroth; the colour left his look,
+  The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook:
+  His silver bow and feathered shafts he took,
+  And lodged an arrow in the tender breast,
+  That had so often to his own been pressed.
+  Down fell the wounded nymph, and sadly groaned,
+  And pulled his arrow reeking from the wound;
+  And weltering in her blood, thus faintly cried,
+_100
+  'Ah, cruel god! though I have justly died,
+  What has, alas! my unborn infant done,
+  That he should fall, and two expire in one?
+  This said, in agonies she fetched her breath.
+     The god dissolves in pity at her death;
+  He hates the bird that made her falsehood known,
+  And hates himself for what himself had done;
+  The feathered shaft, that sent her to the fates,
+  And his own hand that sent the shaft he hates.
+  Fain would he heal the wound, and ease her pain,
+_110
+  And tries the compass of his art in vain.
+  Soon as he saw the lovely nymph expire,
+  The pile made ready, and the kindling fire,
+  With sighs and groans her obsequies he kept,
+  And, if a god could weep, the god had wept.
+  Her corpse he kissed, and heavenly incense brought,
+  And solemnised the death himself had wrought.
+     But, lest his offspring should her fate partake,
+  Spite of the immortal mixture in his make,
+  He ripped her womb, and set the child at large,
+_120
+  And gave him to the centaur Chiron's charge:
+  Then in his fury blacked the raven o'er,
+  And bid him prate in his white plumes no more.
+
+  OCYRRHOE TRANSFORMED TO A MARE.
+
+     Old Chiron took the babe with secret joy,
+  Proud of the charge of the celestial boy.
+  His daughter too, whom on the sandy shore
+  The nymph Chariclo to the centaur bore,
+  With hair dishevelled on her shoulders came
+  To see the child, Ocyrrhöe was her name;
+  She knew her father's arts, and could rehearse
+  The depths of prophecy in sounding verse.
+  Once, as the sacred infant she surveyed,
+  The god was kindled in the raving maid,
+_10
+  And thus she uttered her prophetic tale;
+  'Hail, great physician of the world, all hail;
+  Hail, mighty infant, who in years to come
+  Shalt heal the nations and defraud the tomb;
+  Swift be thy growth! thy triumphs unconfined!
+  Make kingdoms thicker, and increase mankind.
+  Thy daring art shall animate the dead,
+  And draw the thunder on thy guilty head:
+  Then shalt thou die; but from the dark abode
+  Rise up victorious, and be twice a god.
+_20
+  And thou, my sire, not destined by thy birth
+  To turn to dust, and mix with common earth,
+  How wilt thou toss, and rave, and long to die,
+  And quit thy claim to immortality;
+  When thou shalt feel, enraged with inward pains,
+  The Hydra's venom rankling in thy veins'?
+  The gods, in pity, shall contract thy date,
+  And give thee over to the power of Fate.'
+     Thus, entering into destiny, the maid
+  The secrets of offended Jove betrayed;
+_30
+  More had she still to say; but now appears
+  Oppressed with sobs and sighs, and drowned in tears.
+     'My voice,' says she, 'is gone, my language fails;
+  Through every limb my kindred shape prevails:
+  Why did the god this fatal gift impart,
+  And with prophetic raptures swell my heart!
+  What new desires are these? I long to pace
+  O'er flowery meadows, and to feed on grass:
+  I hasten to a brute, a maid no more;
+  But why, alas! am I transformed all o'er?
+_40
+  My sire does half a human shape retain,
+  And in his upper parts preserves the man.'
+     Her tongue no more distinct complaints affords,
+  But in shrill accents and mishapen words
+  Pours forth such hideous wailings, as declare
+  The human form confounded in the mare:
+  Till by degrees accomplished in the beast,
+  She neighed outright, and all the steed expressed.
+  Her stooping body on her hands is borne,
+  Her hands are turned to hoofs, and shod in horn;
+_50
+  Her yellow tresses ruffle in a mane,
+  And in a flowing tail she frisks her train.
+  The mare was finished in her voice and look,
+  And a new name from the new figure took.
+
+  THE TRANSFORMATION OF BATTUS TO A TOUCHSTONE.
+
+     Sore wept the centaur, and to Phoebus prayed;
+  But how could Phoebus give the centaur aid?
+  Degraded of his power by angry Jove,
+  In Elis then a herd of beeves he drove;
+  And wielded in his hand a staff of oak,
+  And o'er his shoulders threw the shepherd's cloak;
+  On seven compacted reeds he used to play,
+  And on his rural pipe to waste the day.
+     As once, attentive to his pipe, he played,
+  The crafty Hermes from the god conveyed
+_10
+  A drove, that separate from their fellows strayed.
+  The theft an old insidious peasant viewed,
+  (They called him Battus in the neighbourhood,)
+  Hired by a wealthy Pylian prince to feed
+  His favourite mares, and watch the generous breed.
+  The thievish god suspected him, and took
+  The hind aside, and thus in whispers spoke:
+  'Discover not the theft, whoe'er thou be,
+  And take that milk-white heifer for thy fee.'
+  'Go, stranger,' cries the clown, 'securely on,
+_20
+  That stone shall sooner tell;' and showed a stone.
+     The god withdrew, but straight returned again,
+  In speech and habit like a country swain;
+  And cries out, 'Neighbour, hast thou seen a stray
+  Of bullocks and of heifers pass this way?
+  In the recovery of my cattle join,
+  A bullock and a heifer shall be thine.'
+  The peasant quick replies, 'You'll find 'em there,
+  In yon dark vale:' and in the vale they were.
+  The double bribe had his false heart beguiled:
+_30
+  The god, successful in the trial, smiled;
+  'And dost thou thus betray myself to me?
+  Me to myself dost thou betray?' says he:
+  Then to a touchstone turns the faithless spy,
+  And in his name records his infamy.
+
+THE STORY OF AGLAUROS, TRANSFORMED INTO A STATUE.
+
+     This done, the god flew up on high, and passed
+  O'er lofty Athens, by Minerva graced,
+  And wide Munichia, whilst his eyes survey
+  All the vast region that beneath him lay.
+     'Twas now the feast, when each Athenian maid
+  Her yearly homage to Minerva paid;
+  In canisters, with garlands covered o'er,
+  High on their heads their mystic gifts they bore;
+  And now, returning in a solemn train,
+  The troop of shining virgins filled the plain.
+_10
+     The god well-pleased beheld the pompous show,
+  And saw the bright procession pass below;
+  Then veered about, and took a wheeling flight,
+  And hovered o'er them: as the spreading kite,
+  That smells the slaughtered victim from on high,
+  Flies at a distance, if the priests are nigh,
+  And sails around, and keeps it in her eye;
+  So kept the god the virgin choir in view,
+  And in slow winding circles round them flew.
+     As Lucifer excels the meanest star,
+_20
+  Or as the full-orbed Phoebe, Lucifer,
+  So much did Herse all the rest outvie,
+  And gave a grace to the solemnity.
+  Hermes was fired, as in the clouds he hung:
+  So the cold bullet, that with fury slung
+  From Balearic engines mounts on high,
+  Glows in the whirl, and burns along the sky.
+  At length he pitched upon the ground, and showed
+  The form divine, the features of a god.
+  He knew their virtue o'er a female heart,
+_30
+  And yet he strives to better them by art.
+  He hangs his mantle loose, and sets to show
+  The golden edging on the seam below;
+  Adjusts his flowing curls, and in his hand
+  Waves with an air the sleep-procuring wand;
+  The glittering sandals to his feet applies,
+  And to each heel the well-trimmed pinion ties.
+     His ornaments with nicest art displayed,
+  He seeks the apartment of the royal maid.
+  The roof was all with polished ivory lined,
+_40
+  That, richly mixed, in clouds of tortoise shined.
+  Three rooms, contiguous, in a range were placed,
+  The midmost by the beauteous Herse graced;
+  Her virgin sisters lodged on either side.
+  Aglauros first the approaching god descried,
+  And as he crossed her chamber, asked his name,
+  And what his business was, and whence he came.
+  'I come,' replied the god, 'from heaven, to woo
+  Your sister, and to make an aunt of you;
+  I am the son and messenger of Jove,
+_50
+  My name is Mercury, my business, love;
+  Do you, kind damsel, take a lover's part,
+  And gain admittance to your sister's heart.'
+     She stared him in the face with looks amazed,
+  As when she on Minerva's secret gazed,
+  And asks a mighty treasure for her hire,
+  And, till he brings it, makes the god retire.
+  Minerva grieved to see the nymph succeed;
+  And now remembering the late impious deed,
+  When, disobedient to her strict command,
+_60
+  She touched the chest with an unhallowed hand;
+  In big-swoln sighs her inward rage expressed,
+  That heaved the rising Ægis on her breast;
+  Then sought out Envy in her dark abode,
+  Defiled with ropy gore and clots of blood:
+  Shut from the winds, and from the wholesome skies,
+  In a deep vale the gloomy dungeon lies,
+  Dismal and cold, where not a beam of light
+  Invades the winter, or disturbs the night.
+     Directly to the cave her course she steered;
+_70
+  Against the gates her martial lance she reared;
+  The gates flew open, and the fiend appeared.
+  A poisonous morsel in her teeth she chewed,
+  And gorged the flesh of vipers for her food.
+  Minerva loathing turned away her eye;
+  The hideous monster, rising heavily,
+  Came stalking forward with a sullen pace,
+  And left her mangled offals on the place.
+  Soon as she saw the goddess gay and bright,
+  She fetched a groan at such a cheerful sight.
+_80
+  Livid and meagre were her looks, her eye
+  In foul, distorted glances turned awry;
+  A hoard of gall her inward parts possessed,
+  And spread a greenness o'er her cankered breast;
+  Her teeth were brown with rust; and from her tongue,
+  In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung.
+  She never smiles but when the wretched weep,
+  Nor lulls her malice with a moment's sleep,
+  Restless in spite: while watchful to destroy,
+  She pines and sickens at another's joy;
+_90
+  Foe to herself, distressing and distressed,
+  She bears her own tormentor in her breast.
+  The goddess gave (for she abhorred her sight)
+  A short command: 'To Athens speed thy flight;
+  On cursed Aglauros try thy utmost art.
+  And fix thy rankest venoms in her heart.'
+  This said, her spear she pushed against the ground,
+  And mounting from it with an active bound,
+  Flew off to heaven: the hag with eyes askew
+  Looked up, and muttered curses as she flew;
+_100
+  For sore she fretted, and began to grieve
+  At the success which she herself must give.
+  Then takes her staff, hung round with wreaths of thorn,
+  And sails along, in a black whirlwind borne,
+  O'er fields and flowery meadows: where she steers
+  Her baneful course, a mighty blast appears,
+  Mildews and blights; the meadows are defaced,
+  The fields, the flowers, and the whole year laid waste;
+  On mortals next and peopled towns she falls,
+  And breathes a burning plague among their walls,
+_110
+     When Athens she beheld, for arts renowned,
+  With peace made happy, and with plenty crowned,
+  Scarce could the hideous fiend from tears forbear,
+  To find out nothing that deserved a tear.
+  The apartment now she entered, where at rest
+  Aglauros lay, with gentle sleep oppressed.
+  To execute Minerva's dire command,
+  She stroked the virgin with her cankered hand,
+  Then prickly thorns into her breast conveyed,
+  That stung to madness the devoted maid;
+_120
+  Her subtle venom still improves the smart,
+  Frets in the blood, and festers in the heart.
+     To make the work more sure, a scene she drew,
+  And placed before the dreaming virgin's view
+  Her sister's marriage, and her glorious fate:
+  The imaginary bride appears in state;
+  The bridegroom with unwonted beauty glows,
+  For Envy magnifies whate'er she shows.
+     Full of the dream, Aglauros pined away
+  In tears all night, in darkness all the day;
+_130
+  Consumed like ice, that just begins to run,
+  When feebly smitten by the distant sun;
+  Or like unwholesome weeds, that, set on fire,
+  Are slowly wasted, and in smoke expire.
+  Given up to Envy, (for in every thought,
+  The thorns, the venom, and the vision wrought).
+  Oft did she call on death, as oft decreed,
+  Rather than see her sister's wish succeed,
+  To tell her awful father what had passed:
+  At length before the door herself she cast;
+_140
+  And, sitting on the ground with sullen pride,
+  A passage to the love-sick god denied.
+  The god caressed, and for admission prayed,
+  And soothed, in softest words, the envenomed maid.
+  In vain he soothed; 'Begone!' the maid replies,
+  'Or here I keep my seat, and never rise.'
+  'Then keep thy seat for ever!' cries the god,
+  And touched the door, wide-opening to his rod.
+  Fain would she rise, and stop him, but she found
+  Her trunk too heavy to forsake the ground;
+_150
+  Her joints are all benumbed, her hands are pale,
+  And marble now appears in every nail.
+  As when a cancer in her body feeds,
+  And gradual death from limb to limb proceeds;
+  So does the dullness to each vital part
+  Spread by degrees, and creeps into her heart;
+  Till, hardening everywhere, and speechless grown,
+  She sits unmoved, and freezes to a stone.
+  But still her envious hue and sullen mien
+  Are in the sedentary figure seen.
+_160
+
+
+  EUROPA'S RAPE.
+
+    When now the god his fury had allayed,
+  And taken vengeance of the stubborn maid,
+  From where the bright Athenian turrets rise
+  He mounts aloft, and reascends the skies.
+  Jove saw him enter the sublime abodes,
+  And, as he mixed among the crowd of gods,
+  Beckoned him out, and drew him from the rest,
+  And in soft whispers thus his will expressed.
+     'My trusty Hermes, by whose ready aid
+  Thy sire's commands are through the world conveyed,
+_10
+  Resume thy wings, exert their utmost force,
+  And to the walls of Sidon speed they course;
+  There find a herd of heifers wandering o'er
+  The neighbouring hill, and drive them to the shore.'
+     Thus spoke the god, concealing his intent.
+  The trusty Hermes on his message went,
+  And found the herd of heifers wandering o'er
+  A neighbouring hill, and drove them to the shore;
+  Where the king's daughter, with a lovely train
+  Of fellow-nymphs, was sporting on the plain.
+_20
+     The dignity of empire laid aside,
+  (For love but ill agrees with kingly pride,)
+  The ruler of the skies, the thundering god,
+  Who shakes the world's foundations with a nod,
+  Among a herd of lowing heifers ran,
+  Frisked in a bull, and bellowed o'er the plain.
+  Large rolls of fat about his shoulders clung,
+  And from his neck the double dewlap hung.
+  His skin was whiter than the snow that lies
+  Unsullied by the breath of southern skies;
+_30
+  Small shining horns on his curled forehead stand,
+  As turned and polished by the workman's hand;
+  His eye-balls rolled, not formidably bright,
+  But gazed and languished with a gentle light.
+  His every look was peaceful, and expressed
+  The softness of the lover in the beast.
+     Agenor's royal daughter, as she played
+  Among the fields, the milk-white bull surveyed,
+  And viewed his spotless body with delight,
+  And at a distance kept him in her sight.
+_40
+  At length she plucked the rising flowers, and fed
+  The gentle beast, and fondly stroked his head.
+  He stood well pleased to touch the charming fair,
+  But hardly could confine his pleasure there.
+  And now he wantons o'er the neighbouring strand,
+  Now rolls his body on the yellow sand;
+  And now, perceiving all her fears decayed,
+  Comes tossing forward to the royal maid;
+  Gives her his breast to stroke, and downward turns
+  His grisly brow, and gently stoops his horns.
+_50
+  In flowery wreaths the royal virgin dressed
+  His bending horns, and kindly clapped his breast.
+  Till now grown wanton, and devoid of fear,
+  Not knowing that she pressed the Thunderer,
+  She placed herself upon his back, and rode
+  O'er fields and meadows, seated on the god.
+     He gently marched along, and by degrees
+  Left the dry meadow, and approached the seas;
+  Where now he dips his hoofs and wets his thighs,
+  Now plunges in, and carries off the prize.
+_60
+  The frighted nymph looks backward on the shore,
+  And hears the tumbling billows round her roar;
+  But still she holds him fast: one hand is borne
+  Upon his back, the other grasps a horn:
+  Her train of ruffling garments flies behind,
+  Swells in the air and hovers in the wind.
+     Through storms and tempests he the virgin bore,
+  And lands her safe on the Dictean shore;
+  Where now, in his divinest form arrayed,
+  In his true shape he captivates the maid;
+_70
+  Who gazes on him, and with wondering eyes
+  Beholds the new majestic figure rise,
+  His glowing features, and celestial light,
+  And all the god discovered to her sight.
+
+
+BOOK III.
+
+THE STORY OF CADMUS.
+
+  When now Agenor had his daughter lost,
+  He sent his son to search on every coast;
+  And sternly bid him to his arms restore
+  The darling maid, or see his face no more,
+  But live an exile in a foreign clime:
+  Thus was the father pious to a crime.
+     The restless youth searched all the world around;
+  But how can Jove in his amours be found?
+  When tired at length with unsuccessful toil,
+  To shun his angry sire and native soil,
+_10
+  He goes a suppliant to the Delphic dome;
+  There asks the god what new-appointed home
+  Should end his wanderings and his toils relieve.
+  The Delphic oracles this answer give:
+     'Behold among the fields a lonely cow,
+  Unworn with yokes, unbroken to the plough;
+  Mark well the place where first she lays her down,
+  There measure out thy walls, and build thy town,
+  And from thy guide, Boetia call the land,
+  In which the destined walls and town shall stand.'
+_20
+     No sooner had he left the dark abode,
+  Big with the promise of the Delphic god,
+  When in the fields the fatal cow he viewed,
+  Nor galled with yokes, nor worn with servitude:
+  Her gently at a distance he pursued;
+  And, as he walked aloof, in silence prayed
+  To the great power whose counsels he obeyed.
+  Her way through flowery Panope she took,
+  And now, Cephisus, crossed thy silver brook;
+  When to the heavens her spacious front she raised,
+_30
+  And bellowed thrice, then backward turning, gazed
+  On those behind, till on the destined place
+  She stooped, and couched amid the rising grass.
+     Cadmus salutes the soil, and gladly hails
+  The new-found mountains, and the nameless vales,
+  And thanks the gods, and turns about his eye
+  To see his new dominions round him lie;
+  Then sends his servants to a neighbouring grove
+  For living streams, a sacrifice to Jove.
+  O'er the wide plain there rose a shady wood
+_40
+  Of aged trees; in its dark bosom stood
+  A bushy thicket, pathless and unworn,
+  O'errun with brambles, and perplexed with thorn:
+  Amidst the brake a hollow den was found,
+  With rocks and shelving arches vaulted round.
+     Deep in the dreary den, concealed from day,
+  Sacred to Mars, a mighty dragon lay,
+  Bloated with poison to a monstrous size;
+  Fire broke in flashes when he glanced his eyes;
+  His towering crest was glorious to behold,
+_50
+  His shoulders and his sides were scaled with gold;
+  Three tongues he brandished when he charged his foes;
+  His teeth stood jagy in three dreadful rows.
+  The Tyrians in the den for water sought,
+  And with their urns explored the hollow vault:
+  From side to side their empty urns rebound,
+  And rouse the sleepy serpent with the sound.
+  Straight he bestirs him, and is seen to rise;
+  And now with dreadful hissings fills the skies,
+  And darts his forky tongues, and rolls his glaring eyes.
+_60
+  The Tyrians drop their vessels in their fright,
+  All pale and trembling at the hideous sight
+  Spire above spire upreared in air he stood,
+  And gazing round him, overlooked the wood:
+  Then floating on the ground, in circles rolled;
+  Then leaped upon them in a mighty fold.
+  Of such a bulk, and such a monstrous size,
+  The serpent in the polar circle lies,
+  That stretches over half the northern skies.
+  In vain the Tyrians on their arms rely,
+_70
+  In vain attempt to fight, in vain to fly:
+  All their endeavours and their hopes are vain;
+  Some die entangled in the winding train;
+  Some are devoured; or feel a loathsome death,
+  Swoln up with blasts of pestilential breath.
+     And now the scorching sun was mounted high,
+  In all its lustre, to the noonday sky;
+  When, anxious for his friends, and filled with cares,
+  To search the woods the impatient chief prepares.
+  A lion's hide around his loins he wore,
+_80
+  The well-poised javelin to the field he bore,
+  Inured to blood, the far-destroying dart,
+  And, the best weapon, an undaunted heart.
+     Soon as the youth approached the fatal place,
+  He saw his servants breathless on the grass;
+  The scaly foe amid their corps he viewed,
+  Basking at ease, and feasting in their blood,
+  'Such friends,' he cries, 'deserved a longer date;
+  But Cadmus will revenge, or share their fate.'
+  Then heaved a stone, and rising to the throw
+_90
+  He sent it in a whirlwind at the foe:
+  A tower, assaulted by so rude a stroke,
+  With all its lofty battlements had shook;
+  But nothing here the unwieldy rock avails,
+  Rebounding harmless from the plaited scales,
+  That, firmly joined, preserved him from a wound,
+  With native armour crusted all around.   97
+  The pointed javelin more successful flew,
+  Which at his back the raging warrior threw;
+  Amid the plaited scales it took its course,
+_100
+  And in the spinal marrow spent its force.
+  The monster hissed aloud, and raged in vain,
+  And writhed his body to and fro with pain;
+  And bit the spear, and wrenched the wood away;
+  The point still buried in the marrow lay.
+  And now his rage, increasing with his pain,
+  Reddens his eyes, and beats in every vein;
+  Churned in his teeth the foamy venom rose,
+  Whilst from his mouth a blast of vapours flows,
+  Such as the infernal Stygian waters cast;
+_110
+  The plants around him wither in the blast.
+  Now in a maze of rings he lies enrolled,
+  Now all unravelled, and without a fold;
+  Now, like a torrent, with a mighty force,
+  Bears down the forest in his boisterous course.
+  Cadmus gave back, and on the lion's spoil
+  Sustained the shock, then forced him to recoil;
+  The pointed javelin warded off his rage:
+  Mad with his pains, and furious to engage,
+  The serpent champs the steel, and bites the spear,
+_120
+  Till blood and venom all the point besmear.
+  But still the hurt he yet received was slight;
+  For, whilst the champion with redoubled might
+  Strikes home the javelin, his retiring foe
+  Shrinks from the wound, and disappoints the blow.
+     The dauntless hero still pursues his stroke,
+  And presses forward, till a knotty oak
+  Retards his foe, and stops him in the rear;
+  Full in his throat he plunged the fatal spear,
+  That in the extended neck a passage found,
+_130
+  And pierced the solid timber through the wound.
+  Fixed to the reeling trunk, with many a stroke
+  Of his huge tail, he lashed the sturdy oak;
+  Till spent with toil, and labouring hard for breath,
+  He now lay twisting in the pangs of death.
+     Cadmus beheld him wallow in a flood
+  Of swimming poison, intermixed with blood;
+  When suddenly a speech was heard from high,
+  (The speech was heard, nor was the speaker nigh,)
+  'Why dost thou thus with secret pleasure see,
+_140
+  Insulting man! what thou thyself shalt be?'
+  Astonished at the voice, he stood amazed,
+  And all around with inward horror gazed:
+  When Pallas, swift descending from the skies,
+  Pallas, the guardian of the bold and wise,
+  Bids him plough up the field, and scatter round
+  The dragon's teeth o'er all the furrowed ground;
+  Then tells the youth how to his wondering eyes
+  Embattled armies from the field should rise.
+     He sows the teeth at Pallas's command,
+_150
+  And flings the future people from his hand.
+  The clods grow warm, and crumble where he sows;
+  And now the pointed spears advance in rows;
+  Now nodding plumes appear, and shining crests,
+  Now the broad shoulders and the rising breasts:
+  O'er all the field the breathing harvest swarms,
+  A growing host, a crop of men and arms.
+     So through the parting stage a figure rears
+  Its body up, and limb by limb appears
+  By just degrees; till all the man arise,
+_160
+  And in his full proportion strikes the eyes.
+     Cadmus surprised, and startled at the sight
+  Of his new foes, prepared himself for fight:
+  When one cried out, 'Forbear, fond man, forbear
+  To mingle in a blind, promiscuous war.'
+  This said, he struck his brother to the ground,
+  Himself expiring by another's wound;
+  Nor did the third his conquest long survive,
+  Dying ere scarce he had begun to live.
+     The dire example ran through all the field,
+_170
+  Till heaps of brothers were by brothers killed;
+  The furrows swam in blood: and only five
+  Of all the vast increase were left alive.
+  Echion one, at Pallas's command,
+  Let fall the guiltless weapon from his hand;
+  And with the rest a peaceful treaty makes,
+  Whom Cadmus as his friends and partners takes:
+  So founds a city on the promised earth,
+  And gives his new Boeotian empire birth.
+     Here Cadmus reigned; and now one would have guessed
+_180
+  The royal founder in his exile blessed:
+  Long did he live within his new abodes,
+  Allied by marriage to the deathless gods;
+  And, in a fruitful wife's embraces old,
+  A long increase of children's children told:
+  But no frail man, however great or high,
+  Can be concluded blessed before he die.
+  Actæon was the first of all his race,
+  Who grieved his grandsire in his borrowed face;
+  Condemned by stern Diana to bemoan
+_190
+  The branching horns, and visage not his own;
+  To shun his once-loved dogs, to bound away,
+  And from their huntsman to become their prey.
+  And yet consider why the change was wrought,
+  You'll find it his misfortune, not his fault;
+  Or if a fault, it was the fault of chance:
+  For how can guilt proceed from ignorance?
+
+
+  THE TRANSFORMATION OF ACTÆON INTO A STAG.
+
+     In a fair chase a shady mountain stood,
+  Well stored with game, and marked with trails of blood.
+  Here did the huntsmen till the heat of day
+  Pursue the stag, and load themselves with prey;
+  When thus Actæon calling to the rest:
+  'My friends,' says he, 'our sport is at the best.
+  The sun is high advanced, and downward sheds
+  His burning beams directly on our heads;
+  Then by consent abstain from further spoils,
+  Call off the dogs, and gather up the toils;
+_10
+  And ere to-morrow's sun begins his race,
+  Take the cool morning to renew the chase.'
+  They all consent, and in a cheerful train
+  The jolly huntsmen, loaden with the slain,
+  Return in triumph from the sultry plain.
+     Down in a vale with pine and cypress clad,
+  Refreshed with gentle winds, and brown with shade,
+  The chaste Diana's private haunt, there stood
+  Full in the centre of the darksome wood
+  A spacious grotto, all around o'ergrown
+_20
+  With hoary moss, and arched with pumice-stone.
+  From out its rocky clefts the waters flow,
+  And trickling swell into a lake below.
+  Nature had everywhere so played her part,
+  That everywhere she seemed to vie with art.
+  Here the bright goddess, toiled and chafed with heat,
+  Was wont to bathe her in the cool retreat.
+     Here did she now with all her train resort,
+  Panting with heat, and breathless from the sport;
+  Her armour-bearer laid her bow aside,
+_30
+  Some loosed her sandals, some her veil untied;
+  Each busy nymph her proper part undressed;
+  While Crocale, more handy than the rest,
+  Gathered her flowing hair, and in a noose
+  Bound it together, whilst her own hung loose.
+  Five of the more ignoble sort by turns
+  Fetch up the water, and unlade their urns.
+     Now all undressed the shining goddess stood,
+  When young Actæon, wildered in the wood,
+  To the cool grot by his hard fate betrayed,
+_40
+  The fountains filled with naked nymphs surveyed.
+  The frighted virgins shrieked at the surprise,
+  (The forest echoed with their piercing cries,)
+  Then in a huddle round their goddess pressed:
+  She, proudly eminent above the rest,
+  With blushes glowed; such blushes as adorn
+  The ruddy welkin, or the purple morn;
+  And though the crowding nymphs her body hide,
+  Half backward shrunk, and viewed him from aside.
+  Surprised, at first she would have snatched her bow,
+_50
+  But sees the circling waters round her flow;
+  These in the hollow of her hand she took,
+  And dashed them in his face, while thus she spoke:
+  'Tell if thou canst the wondrous sight disclosed,
+  A goddess naked to thy view exposed.'
+     This said, the man began to disappear
+  By slow degrees, and ended in a deer.
+  A rising horn on either brow he wears,
+  And stretches out his neck, and pricks his ears;
+  Rough is his skin, with sudden hairs o'ergrown,
+_60
+  His bosom pants with fears before unknown.
+  Transformed at length, he flies away in haste,
+  And wonders why he flies away so fast.
+  But as by chance, within a neighbouring brook,
+  He saw his branching horns and altered look,
+  Wretched Actæon! in a doleful tone
+  He tried to speak, but only gave a groan;
+  And as he wept, within the watery glass
+  He saw the big round drops, with silent pace,
+  Run trickling down a savage hairy face.
+_70
+  What should he do? Or seek his old abodes,
+  Or herd among the deer, and skulk in woods?
+  Here shame dissuades him, there his fear prevails,
+  And each by turns his aching heart assails.
+     As he thus ponders, he behind him spies
+  His opening hounds, and now he hears their cries:
+  A generous pack, or to maintain the chase,
+  Or snuff the vapour from the scented grass.
+     He bounded off with fear, and swiftly ran
+  O'er craggy mountains, and the flowery plain;
+_80
+  Through brakes and thickets forced his way, and flew
+  Through many a ring, where once he did pursue.
+  In vain he oft endeavoured to proclaim
+  His new misfortune, and to tell his name;
+  Nor voice nor words the brutal tongue supplies;
+  From shouting men, and horns, and dogs he flies,
+  Deafened and stunned with their promiscuous cries.
+  When now the fleetest of the pack, that pressed
+  Close at his heels, and sprung before the rest,
+  Had fastened on him, straight another pair
+_90
+  Hung on his wounded haunch, and held him there,
+  Till all the pack came up, and every hound
+  Tore the sad huntsman, grovelling on the ground,
+  Who now appeared but one continued wound.
+  With dropping tears his bitter fate he moans,
+  And fills the mountain with his dying groans.
+  His servants with a piteous look he spies,
+  And turns about his supplicating eyes.
+  His servants, ignorant of what had chanced,
+  With eager haste and joyful shouts advanced,
+_100
+  And called their lord Actæon to the game:
+  He shook his head in answer to the name;
+  He heard, but wished he had indeed been gone,
+  Or only to have stood a looker-on.
+  But, to his grief, he finds himself too near,
+  And feels his ravenous dogs with fury tear
+  Their wretched master, panting in a deer.
+
+
+THE BIRTH OF BACCHUS.
+
+     Actæon's sufferings, and Diana's rage,
+  Did all the thoughts of men and gods engage;
+  Some called the evils which Diana wrought,
+  Too great, and disproportioned to the fault:
+  Others, again, esteemed Actæon's woes
+  Fit for a virgin goddess to impose.
+  The hearers into different parts divide,
+  And reasons are produced on either side.
+     Juno alone, of all that heard the news,
+  Nor would condemn the goddess, nor excuse:
+_10
+  She heeded not the justice of the deed,
+  But joyed to see the race of Cadmus bleed;
+  For still she kept Europa in her mind,
+  And, for her sake, detested all her kind.
+  Besides, to aggravate her hate, she heard
+  How Semele, to Jove's embrace preferred,
+  Was now grown big with an immortal load,
+  And carried in her womb a future god.
+  Thus terribly incensed, the goddess broke
+  To sudden fury, and abruptly spoke.
+_20
+     'Are my reproaches of so small a force?
+  'Tis time I then pursue another course:
+  It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die,
+  If I'm indeed the mistress of the sky;
+  If rightly styled among the powers above
+  The wife and sister of the thundering Jove,
+  (And none can sure a sister's right deny,)
+  It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die.
+  She boasts an honour I can hardly claim;
+  Pregnant, she rises to a mother's name;
+_30
+  While proud and vain she triumphs in her Jove,
+  And shows the glorious tokens of his love:
+  But if I'm still the mistress of the skies,
+  By her own lover the fond beauty dies.'
+  This said, descending in a yellow cloud,
+  Before the gates of Semele she stood.
+     Old Beroe's decrepit shape she wears,
+  Her wrinkled visage, and her hoary hairs;
+  Whilst in her trembling gait she totters on,
+  And learns to tattle in the nurse's tone.
+_40
+  The goddess, thus disguised in age, beguiled
+  With pleasing stories her false foster-child.
+  Much did she talk of love, and when she came
+  To mention to the nymph her lover's name,
+  Fetching a sigh, and holding down her head,
+  ''Tis well,' says she, 'if all be true that's said;
+  But trust me, child, I'm much inclined to fear
+  Some counterfeit in this your Jupiter.
+  Many an honest, well-designing maid,
+  Has been by these pretended gods betrayed.
+_50
+  But if he be indeed the thundering Jove,
+  Bid him, when next he courts the rites of love,
+  Descend, triumphant from the ethereal sky,
+  In all the pomp of his divinity;
+  Encompassed round by those celestial charms,
+  With which he fills the immortal Juno's arms.'
+     The unwary nymph, insnared with what she said,
+  Desired of Jove, when next he sought her bed,
+  To grant a certain gift which she would choose;
+  'Fear not,' replied the god, 'that I'll refuse
+_60
+  Whate'er you ask: may Styx confirm my voice,
+  Choose what you will, and you shall have your choice.'
+  'Then,' says the nymph, 'when next you seek my arms,
+  May you descend in those celestial charms,
+  With which your Juno's bosom you inflame,
+  And fill with transport heaven's immortal dame.'
+  The god surprised, would fain have stopped her voice:
+  But he had swrorn, and she had made her choice.
+     To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds
+  His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds;
+_70
+  Whilst all around, in terrible array,
+  His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play.
+  And yet, the dazzling lustre to abate,
+  He set not out in all his pomp and state,
+  Clad in the mildest lightning of the skies,
+  And armed with thunder of the smallest size:
+  Not those huge bolts, by which the giants slain,
+  Lay overthrown on the Phlegræan plain.
+  Twas of a lesser mould, and lighter weight;
+  They call it thunder of a second-rate.
+_80
+  For the rough Cyclops, who by Jove's command
+  Tempered the bolt, and turned it to his hand,
+  Worked up less flame and fury in its make,
+  And quenched it sooner in the standing lake.
+  Thus dreadfully adorned, with horror bright,
+  The illustrious god, descending from his height,
+  Came rushing on her in a storm of light.
+     The mortal dame, too feeble to engage
+  The lightning's flashes and the thunder's rage,
+  Consumed amidst the glories she desired,
+_90
+  And in the terrible embrace expired.
+     But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb,
+  Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb;
+  And, if on ancient tales we may rely,
+  Enclosed the abortive infant in his thigh.
+  Here, when the babe had all his time fulfilled,
+  Ino first took him for her foster-child;
+  Then the Niseans, in their dark abode,
+  Nursed secretly with milk the thriving god.
+
+
+THE TRANSFORMATION OF TIRESIAS.
+
+     'Twas now, while these transactions passed on earth,
+  And Bacchus thus procured a second birth,
+  When Jove, disposed to lay aside the weight
+  Of public empire and the cares of state,
+  As to his queen in nectar bowls he quaffed,
+  'In troth,' says he, and as he spoke he laughed,
+  'The sense of pleasure in the male is far
+  More dull and dead than what you females share.'
+  Juno the truth of what was said denied;
+  Tiresias therefore must the cause decide;
+_10
+  For he the pleasure of each sex had tried.
+     It happened once, within a shady wood,
+  Two twisted snakes he in conjunction viewed;
+  When with his staff their slimy folds he broke,
+  And lost his manhood at the fatal stroke.
+  But, after seven revolving years, he viewed
+  The self-same serpents in the self-same wood;
+  'And if,' says he, 'such virtue in you lie,
+  That he who dares your slimy folds untie
+  Must change his kind, a second stroke I'll try.'
+_20
+  Again he struck the snakes, and stood again
+  New-sexed, and straight recovered into man.
+  Him therefore both the deities create
+  The sovereign umpire in their grand debate;
+  And he declared for Jove; when Juno, fired
+  More than so trivial an affair required,
+  Deprived him, in her fury, of his sight,
+  And left him groping round in sudden night.
+  But Jove (for so it is in heaven decreed,
+  That no one god repeal another's deed)
+_30
+  Irradiates all his soul with inward light,
+  And with the prophet's art relieves the want of sight.
+
+
+THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO.
+
+     Famed far and near for knowing things to come,
+  From him the inquiring nations sought their doom;
+  The fair Liriope his answers tried,
+  And first the unerring prophet justified;
+  This nymph the god Cephisus had abused,
+  With all his winding waters circumfused,
+  And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,
+  Whom the soft maids even then beheld with joy.
+     The tender dame, solicitous to know
+  Whether her child should reach old age or no,
+_10
+  Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies,
+  'If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies.'
+  Long lived the dubious mother in suspense,
+  Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense.
+     Narcissus now his sixteenth year began,
+  Just turned of boy, and on the verge of man;
+  Many a friend the blooming youth caressed,
+  Many a love-sick maid her flame confessed:
+  Such was his pride, in vain the friend caressed,
+  The love-sick maid in vain her flame confessed.
+_20
+     Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase,
+  The babbling Echo had descried his face;
+  She, who in others' words her silence breaks,
+  Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.
+  Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
+  Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left,
+  Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
+  To sport with every sentence in the close.
+  Full often, when the goddess might have caught
+  Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
+_30
+  This nymph with subtle stories would delay
+  Her coming, till the lovers slipped away.
+  The goddess found out the deceit in time,
+  And then she cried, 'That tongue, for this thy crime,
+  Which could so many subtle tales produce,
+  Shall be hereafter but of little use.'
+  Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone,
+  With mimic sounds, and accents not her own.
+     This love-sick virgin, overjoyed to find
+  The boy alone, still followed him behind;
+_40
+  When, glowing warmly at her near approach,
+  As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
+  She longed her hidden passion to reveal,
+  And tell her pains, but had not words to tell:
+  She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
+  To catch his voice, and to return the sound.
+  The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
+  Still dashed with blushes for her slighted love,
+  Lived in the shady covert of the woods,
+  In solitary caves and dark abodes;
+_50
+  Where pining wandered the rejected fair,
+  Till harassed out, and worn away with care,
+  The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
+  Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
+  Her bones are petrified, her voice is found
+  In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.
+
+
+THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.
+
+     Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy,
+  He still was lovely, but he still was coy;
+  When one fair virgin of the slighted train
+  Thus prayed the gods, provoked by his disdain,
+  'Oh, may he love like me, and love like me in vain!'
+  Rhamnusia pitied the neglected fair,
+  And with just vengeance answered to her prayer.
+     There stands a fountain in a darksome wood,
+  Nor stained with falling leaves nor rising mud;
+  Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
+_10
+  Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts:
+  High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
+  And rising grass and cheerful greens below.
+  Pleased with the form and coolness of the place,
+  And over-heated by the morning chase,
+  Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies:
+  But whilst within the crystal fount he tries
+  To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.
+  For as his own bright image he surveyed,
+  He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
+_20
+  And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmoved,
+  Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved.
+  The well-turned neck and shoulders he descries,
+  The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
+  The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
+  And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
+  With all the purple youthfulness of face,
+  That gently blushes in the watery glass.
+  By his own flames consumed the lover lies,
+  And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
+_30
+  To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
+  Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
+  His arms, as often from himself he slips.
+  Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
+  With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
+  What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
+  What kindle in thee this unpitied love?
+  Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
+  With thee the coloured shadow comes and goes,
+  Its empty being on thyself relies;
+_40
+  Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.
+     Still o'er the fountain's watery gleam he stood,
+  Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food;
+  Still viewed his face, and languished as he viewed.
+  At length he raised his head, and thus began
+  To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain.
+  'You trees,' says he, 'and thou surrounding grove,
+  Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
+  Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie
+  A youth so tortured, so perplexed as I?
+_50
+  I who before me see the charming fair,
+  Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there:
+  In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost;
+  And yet no bulwarked town, nor distant coast,
+  Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
+  No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between.
+  A shallow water hinders my embrace;
+  And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
+  That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
+  My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
+_60
+  Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint,
+  Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
+  My charms an easy conquest have obtained
+  O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdained.
+  But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns
+  With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
+  Whene'er I stoop he offers at a kiss,
+  And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.
+  His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps,
+  He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.
+_70
+  Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear
+  To utter something, which I cannot hear.
+     'Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
+  To find out all the long-perplexed deceit;
+  It is myself I love, myself I see;
+  The gay delusion is a part of me.
+  I kindle up the fires by which I burn,
+  And my own beauties from the well return.
+  Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?
+  Enjoyment but produces my restraint,
+_80
+  And too much plenty makes me die for want.
+  How gladly would I from myself remove!
+  And at a distance set the thing I love.
+  My breast is warmed with such unusual fire,
+  I wish him absent whom I most desire.
+  And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;
+  In all the pride of blooming youth I die.
+  Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
+  Oh, might the visionary youth survive,
+  I should with joy my latest breath resign!
+_90
+  But oh! I see his fate involved in mine.'
+     This said, the weeping youth again returned
+  To the clear fountain, where again he burned;
+  His tears defaced the surface of the well
+  With circle after circle, as they fell:
+  And now the lovely face but half appears,
+  O'errun with wrinkles, and deformed with tears.
+  'All whither,' cries Narcissus, 'dost thou fly?
+  Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
+  Let me still see, though I'm no further blessed.'
+_100
+  Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast:
+  His naked bosom reddened with the blow,
+  In such a blush as purple clusters show,
+  Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine
+  Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
+  The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
+  And with a new redoubled passion dies.
+  As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
+  And trickle into drops before the sun;
+  So melts the youth, and languishes away,
+_110
+  His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
+  And none of those attractive charms remain,
+  To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.
+     She saw him in his present misery,
+  Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see.
+  She answered sadly to the lover's moan,
+  Sighed back his sighs, and groaned to every groan:
+  'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' Narcissus cries;
+  'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' the nymph replies.
+  'Farewell,' says he; the parting sound scarce fell
+_120
+  From his faint lips, but she replied, 'Farewell.'
+  Then on the unwholesome earth he gasping lies,
+  Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
+  To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
+  And in the Stygian waves itself admires.
+     For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
+  Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;
+  And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:
+  When, looking for his corpse, they only found
+  A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crowned.
+_130
+
+
+THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.
+
+     This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame,
+  Through Greece established in a prophet's name.
+     The unhallowed Pentheus only durst deride
+  The cheated people, and their eyeless guide,
+  To whom the prophet in his fury said,
+  Shaking the hoary honours of his head;
+  'Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee
+  If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me:
+  For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here,
+  When the young god's solemnities appear;
+_10
+  Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn,
+  Thy impious carcase, into pieces torn,
+  Shall strew the woods, and hang on every thorn.
+  Then, then, remember what I now foretell,
+  And own the blind Tiresias saw too well.'
+  Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill,
+  But time did all the promised threats fulfil.
+  For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchus rode,
+  Whilst howling matrons celebrate the god.
+  All ranks and sexes to his orgies ran,
+_20
+  To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train.
+  When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express'd;
+  'What madness, Thebans, has your soul possess'd?
+  Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout,
+  And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout,
+  Thus quell your courage? can the weak alarm
+  Of women's yells those stubborn souls disarm,
+  Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e'er could fright,
+  Nor the loud din and horror of a fight?
+  And you, our sires, who left your old abodes,
+_30
+  And fixed in foreign earth your country gods;
+  Will you without a stroke your city yield,
+  And poorly quit an undisputed field?
+  But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire
+  Heroic warmth, and kindle martial fire,
+  Whom burnished arms and crested helmets grace,
+  Not flowery garlands and a painted face;
+  Remember him to whom you stand allied:
+  The serpent for his well of waters died.
+  He fought the strong; do you his courage show,
+_40
+  And gain a conquest o'er a feeble foe.
+  If Thebes must fall, oh might the Fates afford
+  A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword!
+  Then might the Thebans perish with renown:
+  But now a beardless victor sacks the town;
+  Whom nor the prancing steed, nor ponderous shield,
+  Nor the hacked helmet, nor the dusty field,
+  But the soft joys of luxury and ease,
+  The purple vests, and flowery garlands, please.
+  Stand then aside, I'll make the counterfeit
+_50
+  Renounce his godhead, and confess the cheat.
+  Acrisius from the Grecian walls repelled
+  This boasted power; why then should Pentheus yield?
+  Go quickly, drag the audacious boy to me;
+  I'll try the force of his divinity.'
+  Thus did the audacious wretch those rites profane;
+  His friends dissuade the audacious wretch in vain;
+  In vain his grandsire urged him to give o'er
+  His impious threats; the wretch but raves the more.
+     So have I seen a river gently glide,
+_60
+  In a smooth course and inoffensive tide;
+  But if with dams its current we restrain,
+  It bears down all, and foams along the plain.
+     But now his servants came besmeared with blood,
+  Sent by their haughty prince to seize the god;
+  The god they found not in the frantic throng
+  But dragged a zealous votary along.
+
+
+THE MARINERS TRANSFORMED TO DOLPHINS.
+
+     Him Pentheus viewed with fury in his look,
+  And scarce withheld his hands, while thus he spoke:
+  'Vile slave! whom speedy vengeance shall pursue,
+  And terrify thy base, seditious crew:
+  Thy country and thy parentage reveal,
+  And why thou join'st in these mad orgies tell.'
+     The captive views him with undaunted eyes,
+  And, armed with inward innocence, replies.
+     'From high Meonia's rocky shores I came,
+  Of poor descent, Acætes is my name:
+_10
+  My sire was meanly born; no oxen ploughed
+  His fruitful fields, nor in his pastures lowed.
+  His whole estate within the waters lay;
+  With lines and hooks he caught the finny prey.
+  His art was all his livelihood; which he
+  Thus with his dying lips bequeathed to me:
+  In streams, my boy, and rivers, take thy chance;
+  There swims,' said he, 'thy whole inheritance.
+     'Long did I live on this poor legacy;
+  Till tired with rocks, and my own native sky,
+_20
+  To arts of navigation I inclined,
+  Observed the turns and changes of the wind:
+  Learned the fit havens, and began to note
+  The stormy Hyades, the rainy Goat,
+  The bright Täygete, and the shining Bears,
+  With all the sailor's catalogue of stars.
+     'Once, as by chance for Delos I designed,
+  My vessel, driven by a strong gust of wind,
+  Moored in a Chian creek; ashore I went,
+  And all the following night in Chios spent.
+_30
+  When morning rose, I sent my mates to bring
+  Supplies of water from a neighbouring spring,
+  Whilst I the motion of the winds explored;
+  Then summoned in my crew, and went aboard.
+  Opheltes heard my summons, and with joy
+  Brought to the shore a soft and lovely boy,
+  With more than female sweetness in his look,
+  Whom straggling in the neighbouring fields he took.
+  With fumes of wine the little captive glows,
+  And nods with sleep, and staggers as he goes.
+_40
+     'I viewed him nicely, and began to trace
+  Each heavenly feature, each immortal grace,
+  And saw divinity in all his face.
+  "I know not who," said I, "this god should be;
+  But that he is a god I plainly see:
+  And thou, whoe'er thou art, excuse the force
+  These men have used; and, oh! befriend our course!"
+  "Pray not for us," the nimble Dictys cried,
+  Dictys, that could the main-top-mast bestride,
+  And down the ropes with active vigour slide.
+_50
+  To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke,
+  Who overlooked the oars, and timed the stroke;
+  The same the pilot, and the same the rest;
+  Such impious avarice their souls possessed.
+  "Nay, heaven forbid that I should bear away
+  Within my vessel so divine a prey,"
+  Said I; and stood to hinder their intent:
+  When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent
+  From Tuscany, to suffer banishment,
+  With his clenched fist had struck me overboard,
+_60
+  Had not my hands, in falling, grasped a cord.
+     'His base confederates the fact approve;
+  When Bacchus (for 'twas he) began to move,
+  Waked by the noise and clamours which they raised;
+  And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gazed:
+  "What means this noise?" he cries; "am I betrayed?
+  All! whither, whither must I be conveyed?"
+  "Fear not," said Proreus, "child, but tell us where
+  You wish to land, and trust our friendly care."
+  "To Naxos then direct your course," said he;
+_70
+  "Naxos a hospitable port shall be
+  To each of you, a joyful home to me."
+  By every god that rules the sea or sky,
+  The perjured villains promise to comply,
+  And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship.
+  With eager joy I launch into the deep;
+  And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand:
+  They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand,
+  And give me signs, all anxious for their prey,
+  To tack about, and steer another way.
+_80
+  "Then let some other to my post succeed,"
+  Said I, "I'm guiltless of so foul a deed."
+  "What," says Ethalion, "must the ship's whole crew
+  Follow your humour, and depend on you?"
+  And straight himself he seated at the prore,
+  And tacked about, and sought another shore.
+     'The beauteous youth now found himself betrayed,
+  And from the deck the rising waves surveyed,
+  And seemed to weep, and as he wept he said;
+  "And do you thus my easy faith beguile?
+_90
+  Thus do you bear me to my native isle?
+  Will such a multitude of men employ
+  Their strength against a weak, defenceless boy?"
+     'In vain did I the godlike youth deplore,
+  The more I begged, they thwarted me the more.
+  And now by all the gods in heaven that hear
+  This solemn oath, by Bacchus' self, I swear,
+  The mighty miracle that did ensue,
+  Although it seems beyond belief, is true.
+  The vessel, fixed and rooted in the flood,
+_100
+  Unmoved by all the beating billows stood.
+  In vain the mariners would plough the main
+  With sails unfurled, and strike their oars in vain;
+  Around their oars a twining ivy cleaves,
+  And climbs the mast and hides the cords in leaves:
+  The sails are covered with a cheerful green,
+  And berries in the fruitful canvas seen.
+  Amidst the waves a sudden forest rears
+  Its verdant head, and a new spring appears.
+     'The god we now behold with open eyes;
+_110
+  A herd of spotted panthers round him lies
+  In glaring forms; the grapy clusters spread
+  On his fair brows, and dangle on his head.
+  And whilst he frowns, and brandishes his spear,
+  My mates, surprised with madness or with fear,
+  Leaped overboard; first perjured Madon found
+  Rough scales and fins his stiffening sides surround;
+  "Ah! what," cries one, "has thus transformed thy look?"
+  Straight his own mouth grew wider as he spoke;
+  And now himself he views with like surprise.
+_120
+  Still at his oar the industrious Libys plies;
+  But, as he plies, each busy arm shrinks in,
+  And by degrees is fashioned to a fin.
+  Another, as he catches at a cord,
+  Misses his arms, and, tumbling overboard,
+  With his broad fins and forky tail he laves
+  The rising surge, and flounces in the waves.
+  Thus all my crew transformed around the ship,
+  Or dive below, or on the surface leap,
+  And spout the waves, and wanton in the deep.
+_130
+  Full nineteen sailors did the ship convey,
+  A shoal of nineteen dolphins round her play.
+  I only in my proper shape appear,
+  Speechless with wonder, and half dead with fear,
+  Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more.
+  With him I landed on the Chian shore,
+  And him shall ever gratefully adore.'
+     'This forging slave,' says Pentheus, 'would prevail
+  O'er our just fury by a far-fetched tale:
+  Go, let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire,
+_140
+  And in the tortures of the rack expire.'
+  The officious servants hurry him away,
+  And the poor captive in a dungeon lay.
+  But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepared.
+  The gates fly open, of themselves unbarred;
+  At liberty the unfettered captive stands,
+  And flings the loosened shackles from his hands.
+
+
+THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS.
+
+     But Penthcus, grown more furious than before,
+  Resolved to send his messengers no more,
+  But went himself to the distracted throng,
+  Where high Cithæron echoed with their song.
+  And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground,
+  And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound;
+  Transported thus he heard the frantic rout,
+  And raved and maddened at the distant shout.
+     A spacious circuit on the hill there stood,
+  Level and wide, and skirted round with wood;
+_10
+  Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallowed eyes,
+  The howling dames and mystic orgies spies.
+  His mother sternly viewed him where he stood,
+  And kindled into madness as she viewed:
+  Her leafy javelin at her son she cast,
+  And cries, 'The boar that lays our country waste!
+  The boar, my sisters! aim the fatal dart,
+  And strike the brindled monster to the heart.'
+     Pentheus astonished heard the dismal sound,
+  And sees the yelling matrons gathering round:
+_20
+  He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate,
+  And begs for mercy, and repents too late.
+  'Help, help! my aunt Autonöe,' he cried;
+  'Remember how your own Actæon died.'
+  Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops
+  One stretched-out arm, the other Ino lops.
+  In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue,
+  And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view:
+  His mother howled; and heedless of his prayer,
+  Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair,
+_30
+  'And this,' she cried, 'shall be Agave's share,'
+  When from the neck his struggling head she tore,
+  And in her hands the ghastly visage bore,
+  With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey;
+  Then pulled and tore the mangled limbs away,
+  As starting in the pangs of death it lay.
+  Soon as the wood its leafy honours casts,
+  Blown off and scattered by autumnal blasts,
+  With such a sudden death lay Pentheus slain,
+  And in a thousand pieces strowed the plain.
+_40
+     By so distinguishing a judgment awed,
+  The Thebans tremble, and confess the god.
+
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+THE STORY OF SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITES.
+
+  How Salmacis, with weak enfeebling streams
+  Softens the body, and unnerves the limbs,
+  And what the secret cause, shall here be shown;
+  The cause is secret, but the effect is known.
+     The Naïads nursed an infant heretofore,
+  That Cytherea once to Hermes bore:
+  From both the illustrious authors of his race
+  The child was named; nor was it hard to trace
+  Both the bright parents through the infant's face.
+  When fifteen years, in Ida's cool retreat,
+_10
+  The boy had told, he left his native seat,
+  And sought fresh fountains in a foreign soil;
+  The pleasure lessened the attending toil.
+  With eager steps the Lycian fields he crossed,
+  And fields that border on the Lycian coast;
+  A river here he viewed so lovely bright,
+  It showed the bottom in a fairer light,
+  Nor kept a sand concealed from human sight.
+  The stream produced nor slimy ooze, nor weeds,
+  Nor miry rushes, nor the spiky reeds;
+_20
+  But dealt enriching moisture all around,
+  The fruitful banks with cheerful verdure crowned,
+  And kept the spring eternal on the ground.
+  A nymph presides, nor practised in the chase,
+  Nor skilful at the bow, nor at the race;
+  Of all the blue-eyed daughters of the main,
+  The only stranger to Diana's train:
+  Her sisters often, as 'tis said, would cry,
+  'Fie, Salmacis, what always idle! fie,
+  Or take thy quiver, or thy arrows seize,
+_30
+  And mix the toils of hunting with thy ease.'
+  Nor quiver she nor arrows e'er would seize,
+  Nor mix the toils of hunting with her ease.
+  But oft would bathe her in the crystal tide,
+  Oft with a comb her dewy locks divide;
+  Now in the limpid streams she viewed her face,
+  And dressed her image in the floating glass:
+  On beds of leaves she now reposed her limbs,
+  Now gathered flowers that grew about her streams:
+  And then by chance was gathering, as she stood
+_40
+  To view the boy, and longed for what she viewed.
+     Fain would she meet the youth with hasty feet,
+  She fain would meet him, but refused to meet
+  Before her looks were set with nicest care,
+  And well deserved to be reputed fair.
+  'Bright youth,' she cries, 'whom all thy features prove
+  A god, and, if a god, the god of love;
+  But if a mortal, bless'd thy nurse's breast,
+  Bless'd are thy parents, and thy sisters bless'd:
+  But, oh! how bless'd! how more than bless'd thy bride,
+_50
+  Allied in bliss, if any yet allied.
+  If so, let mine the stolen enjoyments be;
+  If not, behold a willing bride in me.'
+     The boy knew nought of love, and, touched with shame,
+  He strove, and blushed, but still the blush became:
+  In rising blushes still fresh beauties rose;
+  The sunny side of fruit such blushes shows,
+  And such the moon, when all her silver white
+  Turns in eclipses to a ruddy light.
+  The nymph still begs, if not a nobler bliss,
+_60
+  A cold salute at least, a sister's kiss:
+  And now prepares to take the lovely boy
+  Between her arms. He, innocently coy,
+  Replies, 'Or leave me to myself alone,
+  You rude, uncivil nymph, or I'll begone.'
+  'Fair stranger then,' says she, 'it shall be so;'
+  And, for she feared his threats, she feigned to go;
+  But hid within a covert's neighbouring green,
+  She kept him still in sight, herself unseen.
+  The boy now fancies all the danger o'er,
+_70
+  And innocently sports about the shore,
+  Playful and wanton to the stream he trips,
+  And dips his foot, and shivers as he dips.
+  The coolness pleased him, and with eager haste
+  His airy garments on the banks he cast;
+  His godlike features, and his heavenly hue,
+  And all his beauties were exposed to view.
+  His naked limbs the nymph with rapture spies,
+  While hotter passions in her bosom rise,
+  Flush in her cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes.
+_80
+  She longs, she burns to clasp him in her arms,
+  And looks, and sighs, and kindles at his charms.
+     Now all undressed upon the banks he stood,
+  And clapped his sides and leaped into the flood:
+  His lovely limbs the silver waves divide,
+  His limbs appear more lovely through the tide;
+  As lilies shut within a crystal case,
+  Receive a glossy lustre from the glass.
+  'He's mine, he's all my own,' the Naiad cries,
+  And flings off all, and after him she flies.
+_90
+  And now she fastens on him as he swims,
+  And holds him close, and wraps about his limbs.
+  The more the boy resisted, and was coy,
+  The more she clipped and kissed the struggling boy.
+  So when the wriggling snake is snatched on high
+  In eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky,
+  Around the foe his twirling tail he flings,
+  And twists her legs, and writhes about her wings.
+  The restless boy still obstinately strove
+  To free himself, and still refused her love.
+_100
+  Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs entwined,
+  'And why, coy youth,' she cries, 'why thus unkind!
+  Oh may the gods thus keep us ever joined!
+  Oh may we never, never part again!'
+  So prayed the nymph, nor did she pray in vain:
+  For now she finds him, as his limbs she pressed,
+  Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast;
+  Till, piercing each the other's flesh, they run
+  Together, and incorporate in one:
+  Last in one face are both their faces joined,
+_110
+  As when the stock and grafted twig combined
+  Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind:
+  Both bodies in a single body mix,
+  A single body with a double sex.
+     The boy, thus lost in woman, now surveyed
+  The river's guilty stream, and thus he prayed:
+  (He prayed, but wondered at his softer tone,
+  Surprised to hear a voice but half his own:)
+  You parent gods, whose heavenly names I bear,
+  Hear your Hermaphrodite, and grant my prayer;
+_120
+  Oh grant, that whomsoe'er these streams contain,
+  If man he entered, he may rise again
+  Supple, unsinewed, and but half a man!
+     The heavenly parents answered, from on high,
+  Their two-shaped son, the double votary;
+  Then gave a secret virtue to the flood,
+  And tinged its source to make his wishes good.
+
+
+
+TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES,[12]
+
+WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO, NOV. 1714.
+
+  The Muse that oft, with sacred raptures fired,
+  Has generous thoughts of liberty inspired,
+  And, boldly rising for Britannia's laws,
+  Engaged great Cato in her country's cause,
+  On you submissive waits, with hopes assured,
+  By whom the mighty blessing stands secured,
+  And all the glories that our age adorn,
+  Are promised to a people yet unborn.
+     No longer shall the widowed land bemoan
+  A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne;
+_10
+  But boast her royal progeny's increase,
+  And count the pledges of her future peace.
+  O, born to strengthen and to grace our isle!
+  While you, fair Princess, in your offspring smile,
+  Supplying charms to the succeeding age,
+  Each heavenly daughter's triumphs we presage;
+  Already see the illustrious youths complain,
+  And pity monarchs doomed to sigh in vain.
+     Thou too, the darling of our fond desires,
+  Whom Albion, opening wide her arms, requires,
+_20
+  With manly valour and attractive air
+  Shalt quell the fierce and captivate the fair.
+  O England's younger hope! in whom conspire
+  The mother's sweetness and the father's fire!
+  For thee perhaps, even now, of kingly race,
+  Some dawning beauty blooms in every grace,
+  Some Carolina, to heaven's dictates true,
+  Who, while the sceptred rivals vainly sue,
+  Thy inborn worth with conscious eyes shall see,
+  And slight the imperial diadem for thee.
+_30
+     Pleased with the prospect of successive reigns,
+  The tuneful tribe no more in daring strains
+  Shall vindicate, with pious fears oppressed,
+  Endangered rights, and liberty distressed:
+  To milder sounds each Muse shall tune the lyre,
+  And gratitude, and faith to kings inspire,
+  And filial love; bid impious discord cease,
+  And soothe the madding factions into peace;
+  Or rise ambitious in more lofty lays,
+  And teach the nation their new monarch's praise,
+_40
+  Describe his awful look and godlike mind,
+  And Cæsar's power with Cato's virtue joined.
+     Meanwhile, bright Princess, who, with graceful ease
+  And native majesty, are formed to please,
+  Behold those arts with a propitious eye,
+  That suppliant to their great protectress fly!
+  Then shall they triumph, and the British stage
+  Improve her manners and refine her rage,
+  More noble characters expose to view,
+  And draw her finished heroines from you.
+_50
+     Nor you the kind indulgence will refuse,
+  Skilled in the labours of the deathless Muse:
+  The deathless Muse with undiminished rays
+  Through distant times the lovely dame conveys:
+  To Gloriana[13] Waller's harp was strung;
+  The queen still shines, because the poet sung.
+  Even all those graces, in your frame combined,
+  The common fate of mortal charms may find,
+  (Content our short-lived praises to engage,
+  The joy and wonder of a single age,)
+_60
+  Unless some poet in a lasting song
+  To late posterity their fame prolong,
+  Instruct our sons the radiant form to prize.
+  And see your beauty with their fathers' eyes.
+
+
+
+TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER[14] ON HIS PICTURE OF THE KING.[15]
+
+  Kneller, with silence and surprise
+  We see Britannia's monarch rise,
+  A godlike form, by thee displayed
+  In all the force of light and shade;
+  And, awed by thy delusive hand,
+  As in the presence-chamber stand.
+     The magic of thy art calls forth
+  His secret soul and hidden worth,
+  His probity and mildness shows,
+  His care of friends and scorn of foes:
+_10
+  In every stroke, in every line,
+  Does some exalted virtue shine,
+  And Albion's happiness we trace
+  Through all the features of his face.
+     Oh may I live to hail the day,
+  When the glad nation shall survey
+  Their sovereign, through his wide command,
+  Passing in progress o'er the land!
+  Each heart shall bend, and every voice
+  In loud applauding shouts rejoice,
+_20
+  Whilst all his gracious aspect praise,
+  And crowds grow loyal as they gaze.
+     This image on the medal placed,
+  With its bright round of titles graced,
+  And stamped on British coins, shall live,
+  To richest ores the value give,
+  Or, wrought within the curious mould,
+  Shape and adorn the running gold.
+  To bear this form, the genial sun
+  Has daily, since his course begun,
+_30
+  Rejoiced the metal to refine,
+  And ripened the Peruvian mine.
+     Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,
+  The foremost of thy art, hast vied
+  With nature in a generous strife,
+  And touched the canvas into life.
+  Thy pencil has, by monarchs sought,
+  From reign to reign in ermine wrought,
+  And, in their robes of state arrayed,
+  The kings of half an age displayed.
+_40
+     Here swarthy Charles appears, and there
+  His brother with dejected air:
+  Triumphant Nassau here we find,
+  And with him bright Maria joined;
+  There Anna, great as when she sent
+  Her armies through the continent,
+  Ere yet her hero was disgraced:
+  Oh may famed Brunswick be the last,
+  (Though heaven should with my wish agree,
+  And long preserve thy art in thee,)
+_50
+  The last, the happiest British king,
+  Whom thou shalt paint, or I shall sing!
+     Wise Phidias, thus his skill to prove,
+  Through many a god advanced to Jove,
+  And taught the polished rocks to shine
+  With airs and lineaments divine;
+  Till Greece, amazed, and half afraid,
+  The assembled deities surveyed.
+     Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair,
+  And loved the spreading oak, was there;
+_60
+  Old Saturn too, with up-cast eyes,
+  Beheld his abdicated skies;
+  And mighty Mars, for war renowned,
+  In adamantine armour frowned;
+  By him the childless goddess rose,
+  Minerva, studious to compose
+  Her twisted threads; the web she strung,
+  And o'er a loom of marble hung:
+  Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen.
+  Matched with a mortal, next was seen,
+_70
+  Reclining on a funeral urn,
+  Her short-lived darling son to mourn.
+  The last was he, whose thunder slew
+  The Titan race, a rebel crew,
+  That, from a hundred hills allied
+  In impious leagues, their king defied.
+     This wonder of the sculptor's hand
+  Produced, his art was at a stand:
+  For who would hope new fame to raise,
+  Or risk his well-established praise,
+_80
+  That, his high genius to approve,
+  Had drawn a GEORGE, or carved a Jove!
+
+
+
+THE PLAY-HOUSE.
+
+  Where gentle Thames through stately channels glides,
+  And England's proud metropolis divides;
+  A lofty fabric does the sight invade,
+  And stretches o'er the waves a pompous shade;
+  Whence sudden shouts the neighbourhood surprise,
+  And thundering claps and dreadful hissings rise.
+    Here thrifty R----[16] hires monarchs by the day,
+  And keeps his mercenary kings in pay;
+  With deep-mouth'd actors fills the vacant scenes,
+  And rakes the stews for goddesses and queens:
+_10
+  Here the lewd punk, with crowns and sceptres graced,
+  Teaches her eyes a more majestic cast;
+  And hungry monarchs with a numerous train
+  Of suppliant slaves, like Sancho, starve and reign.
+     But enter in, my Muse; the stage survey,
+  And all its pomp and pageantry display;
+  Trap-doors and pit-falls, form the unfaithful ground,
+  And magic walls encompass it around:
+  On either side maim'd temples fill our eyes,
+  And intermixed with brothel-houses rise;
+_20
+  Disjointed palaces in order stand,
+  And groves obedient to the mover's hand
+  O'ershade the stage, and flourish at command.
+  A stamp makes broken towns and trees entire:
+  So when Amphion struck the vocal lyre,
+  He saw the spacious circuit all around,
+  With crowding woods and rising cities crown'd.
+     But next the tiring-room survey, and see
+  False titles, and promiscuous quality,
+  Confus'dly swarm, from heroes and from queens,
+_30
+  To those that swing in clouds and fill machines.
+  Their various characters they choose with art,
+  The frowning bully fits the tyrant's part:
+  Swoln cheeks and swaggering belly make an host,
+  Pale, meagre looks and hollow voice a ghost;
+  From careful brows and heavy downcast eyes,
+  Dull cits and thick-skull'd aldermen arise:
+  The comic tone, inspir'd by Congreve, draws
+  At every word, loud laughter and applause:
+  The whining dame continues as before,
+_40
+  Her character unchanged, and acts a whore.
+     Above the rest, the prince with haughty stalks
+  Magnificent in purple buskins walks:
+  The royal robes his awful shoulders grace,
+  Profuse of spangles and of copper-lace:
+  Officious rascals to his mighty thigh,
+  Guiltless of blood, the unpointed weapon tie:
+  Then the gay glittering diadem put on,
+  Ponderous with brass, and starr'd with Bristol-stone.
+  His royal consort next consults her glass,
+_50
+  And out of twenty boxes culls a face;
+  The whitening first her ghastly looks besmears,
+  All pale and wan the unfinish'd form appears;
+  Till on her cheeks the blushing purple glows,
+  And a false virgin-modesty bestows.
+  Her ruddy lips the deep vermilion dyes;
+  Length to her brows the pencil's arts supplies,
+  And with black bending arches shades her eyes.
+  Well pleased at length the picture she beholds,
+  And spots it o'er with artificial molds;
+_60
+  Her countenance complete, the beaux she warms
+  With looks not hers: and, spite of nature, charms.
+     Thus artfully their persons they disguise,
+  Till the last flourish bids the curtain rise.
+  The prince then enters on the stage in state;
+  Behind, a guard of candle-snuffers wait:
+  There swoln with empire, terrible and fierce,
+  He shakes the dome, and tears his lungs with verse:
+  His subjects tremble; the submissive pit,
+  Wrapt up in silence and attention, sit;
+_70
+  Till, freed at length, he lays aside the weight
+  Of public business and affairs of state:
+  Forgets his pomp, dead to ambitious fires,
+  And to some peaceful brandy-shop retires;
+  Where in full gills his anxious thoughts he drowns,
+  And quaffs away the care that waits on crowns.
+     The princess next her painted charms displays,
+  Where every look the pencil's art betrays;
+  The callow squire at distance feeds his eyes,
+  And silently for paint and washes dies:
+_80
+  But if the youth behind the scenes retreat,
+  He sees the blended colours melt with heat,
+  And all the trickling beauty run in sweat.
+  The borrow'd visage he admires no more,
+  And nauseates every charm he loved before:
+  So the famed spear, for double force renown'd,
+  Applied the remedy that gave the wound.
+     In tedious lists 'twere endless to engage,
+  And draw at length the rabble of the stage,
+  Where one for twenty years has given alarms,
+_90
+  And call'd contending monarchs to their arms;
+  Another fills a more important post,
+  And rises every other night a ghost;
+  Through the cleft stage his mealy face he rears,
+  Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears;
+  Others, with swords and shields, the soldier's pride,
+  More than a thousand times have changed their side,
+  And in a thousand fatal battles died.
+     Thus several persons several parts perform;
+  Soft lovers whine, and blustering heroes storm.
+_100
+  The stern exasperated tyrants rage,
+  Till the kind bowl of poison clears the stage.
+  Then honours vanish, and distinctions cease;
+  Then, with reluctance, haughty queens undress.
+  Heroes no more their fading laurels boast,
+  And mighty kings in private men are lost.
+  He, whom such titles swell'd, such power made proud,
+  To whom whole realms and vanquish'd nations bow'd,
+  Throws off the gaudy plume, the purple train,
+  And in his own vile tatters stinks again.
+_110
+
+
+
+ON THE LADY MANCHESTER.
+
+WRITTEN ON THE TOASTING-GLASSES OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB.
+
+  While haughty Gallia's dames, that spread
+  O'er their pale cheeks an artful red,
+  Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
+  In native charms divinely fair;
+  Confusion in their looks they show'd;
+  And with unborrow'd blushes glow'd.
+
+
+
+AN ODE.
+
+  1
+
+  The spacious firmament on high,
+  With all the blue ethereal sky,
+  And spangled Heavens, a shining frame,
+  Their great Original proclaim.
+  The unwearied Sun from day to day
+  Does his Creator's power display;
+  And publishes, to every land,
+  The work of an almighty hand.
+
+  2
+
+  Soon as the evening shades prevail,
+  The Moon takes up the wondrous tale;
+  And nightly, to the listening Earth,
+  Repeats the story of her birth:
+  Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
+  And all the planets, in their turn,
+  Confirm the tidings as they roll,
+  And spread the truth from pole to pole.
+
+  3
+
+  What though, in solemn silence, all
+  Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
+  What though no real voice, nor sound
+  Amidst their radiant orbs be found:
+  In reason's ear they all rejoice,
+  And utter forth a glorious voice;
+  For ever singing as they shine:
+  'The hand that made us is divine.'
+
+
+
+AN HYMN.
+
+  1
+     When all thy mercies, O my God,
+         My rising soul surveys;
+      Transported with the view, I'm lost
+          In wonder, love, and praise.
+
+  2
+     O how shall words with equal warmth
+         The gratitude declare,
+      That glows within my ravish'd heart!
+         But thou canst read it there.
+
+  3
+      Thy providence my life sustain'd,
+         And all my wants redress'd,
+       When in the silent womb I lay,
+         And hung upon the breast.
+
+  4
+      To all my weak complaints and cries
+          Thy mercy lent an ear,
+      Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
+          To form themselves in prayer.
+
+  5
+      Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
+          Thy tender care bestow'd,
+      Before my infant heart conceiv'd
+           From whence these comforts flow'd.
+
+  6
+      When in the slippery paths of youth
+          With heedless steps I ran,
+      Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe,
+          And led me up to man.
+
+  7
+      Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,
+           It gently clear'd my way;
+      And through the pleasing snares of vice,
+          More to be fear'd than they.
+
+  8
+      When worn with sickness, oft hast thou
+          With health renew'd my face;
+      And when in sins and sorrows sunk,
+          Reviv'd my soul with grace.
+
+  9
+       Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
+          Has made my cup run o'er,
+       And in a kind and faithful friend
+          Has doubled all my store.
+
+  10
+       Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
+          My daily thanks employ;
+       Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
+          That tastes those gifts with joy.
+
+  11
+       Through every period of my life,
+          Thy goodness I'll pursue;
+       And after death, in distant worlds,
+          The glorious theme renew.[17]
+
+  12
+       When nature fails, and day and night
+           Divide thy works no more,
+       My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
+           Thy mercy shall adore.
+
+  13
+       Through all eternity, to thee
+          A joyful song I'll raise;
+       For, oh! eternity's too short
+          To utter all thy praise.
+
+
+
+AN ODE.
+
+  1
+       How are thy servants blest, O Lord!
+           How sure is their defence!
+       Eternal wisdom is their guide,
+           Their help Omnipotence.
+
+  2
+       In foreign realms, and lands remote,
+            Supported by thy care,
+       Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
+            And breath'd in tainted air.
+
+  3
+       Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,
+            Made every region please;
+       The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd,
+            And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
+
+  4
+       Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
+           How, with affrighted eyes,
+       Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep
+           In all its horrors rise.
+
+  5
+       Confusion dwelt in every face,
+           And fear in every heart;
+       When waves on waves, and gulphs on gulphs,
+           O'ercame the pilot's art.
+
+  6
+       Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord,
+           Thy mercy set me free;
+       Whilst, in the confidence of prayer,
+           My soul took hold on thee.
+
+  7
+       For though in dreadful whirls we hung
+           High on the broken wave,
+       I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
+           Nor impotent to save.
+
+  8
+       The storm was laid, the winds retired,
+          Obedient to thy will;
+       The sea that roar'd at thy command,
+          At thy command was still.
+
+  9
+       In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
+           Thy goodness I'll adore;
+       And praise thee for thy mercies past,
+           And humbly hope for more.
+
+  10
+       My life, if thou preserv'st my life,
+           Thy sacrifice shall be;
+       And death, if death must be my doom,
+           Shall join my soul to thee.
+
+
+
+AN HYMN.
+
+  1
+      When rising from the bed of death,
+          O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
+       I see my Maker face to face;
+          O how shall I appear!
+
+  2
+       If yet, while pardon may be found,
+          And mercy may be sought,
+      My heart with inward horror shrinks,
+          And trembles at the thought:
+
+  3
+      When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
+          In majesty severe,
+      And sit in judgment on my soul;
+         O how shall I appear!
+
+  4
+      But thou hast told the troubled soul,
+         Who does her sins lament,
+      The timely tribute of her tears
+         Shall endless woe prevent.
+
+  5
+      Then see the sorrows of my heart,
+         Ere yet it be too late;
+      And add my Saviour's dying groans,
+         To give those sorrows weight.
+
+  6
+       For never shall my soul despair
+          Her pardon to procure,
+       Who knows thy only Son has died
+          To make that pardon sure.
+
+
+
+PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.
+
+  1
+
+  The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
+  And feed me with a shepherd's care;
+  His presence shall my wants supply,
+  And guard me with a watchful eye:
+  My noon-day walks he shall attend,
+  And all my midnight hours defend.
+
+  2
+
+  When in the sultry glebe I faint,
+  Or on the thirsty mountain pant;
+  To fertile vales and dewy meads
+  My weary wandering steps he leads:
+  Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
+  Amid the verdant landscape flow.
+
+  3
+
+  Though in the paths of death I tread,
+  With gloomy horrors overspread,
+  My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
+  For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
+  Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
+  And guide me through the dreadful shade.
+
+  4
+
+  Though in a bare and rugged way,
+  Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
+  Thy bounty shall my wants beguile:
+  The barren wilderness shall smile,
+  With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
+  And streams shall murmur all around.
+
+
+
+END OF ADDISON'S POEMS.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+[Footnote 2: 'Majesty:' King William.]
+
+[Footnote 3: 'Seneffe:' lost by William to the French in 1674.
+Claverhouse fought with him at this battle.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The four last lines of the second and third stanzas were
+added by Mr Tate.]
+
+[Footnote 5: 'Eridanus:' the Po.]
+
+[Footnote 6: 'Such as of late.' See Macaulay's 'Essay on Addison,' and
+the 'Life' in this volume, for an account of this extraordinary tempest.]
+
+[Footnote 7: 'Tallard,' or Tallart: an eminent French marshal, taken
+prisoner at Blenheim; he remained in England for seven years.]
+
+[Footnote 8: A comedy written by Sir Richard Steel.]
+
+[Footnote 9: A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown.]
+
+[Footnote 10: 'Smith:' Edmund, commonly called 'Rag;' see Johnson's
+'Poets.']
+
+[Footnote 11: 'Lyæus:' Bacchus.]
+
+[Footnote 12: 'Princess of Wales:' Willielinina Dorothea Carolina of
+Brandenburg-Anspach--afterwards Caroline, Queen of George II.; she
+figures in the 'Heart of Mid-Lothian.']
+
+[Footnote 13: 'Gloriana:' Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I. See our
+edition of Waller.]
+
+[Footnote 14: 'Sir Godfrey Kneller:' born at Lubeck in 1648; became a
+painter of portraits; visited England; was knighted by William III.; died
+in 1723; lies in Westminster Abbey.]
+
+[Footnote 15: This refers to a portrait of George I.]
+
+[Footnote 16: 'R----:' Rich.]
+
+[Footnote 17: Otherwise,
+                    'Thy goodness I'll proclaim;'
+              And,
+                    'Resume the glorious theme.' ]
+
+
+
+
+THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY.
+
+
+
+This ingenious poet and child-like man was born, in 1688, at Barnstable,
+in Devonshire. His family, who were of Norman origin, had long possessed
+the manor of Goldworthy, or Holdworthy, which came into their hands
+through Gilbert Le Gay. He obtained possession of this estate by
+intermarrying with the family of Curtoyse, and gave his name, too, to a
+place called Hampton Gay, in Northamptonshire. The author of the "Fables"
+was brought up at the Free School of Barnstable--Pope says under one
+William Rayner, who had been educated at Westminster School, and who was
+the author of a volume of Latin and English verse, although Dr Johnson
+and others maintain that his master's name was Luck. On leaving school,
+Gay was bound apprentice to a mercer in London--a trade not the most
+propitious to poetry, and which he did not long continue to prosecute. In
+1712, he published his "Rural Sports," and dedicated it to Pope, who was
+then rising toward the ascendant, having just published his brilliant
+tissue of centos, the "Essay on Criticism." Pope was pleased with the
+honour, and ever afterwards took a deep interest in Gay. In the same year
+Gay had been appointed domestic secretary to the Duchess of Monmouth.
+This lady was Anne Scott, the daughter and heiress of the Duke of
+Buccleuch, and widow of the well-known and hapless Duke of Monmouth, who
+had been beheaded in 1685. She plays a prominent part in the "Lay of the
+Last Minstrel," and of her a far greater poet than her secretary thus
+sings:--
+
+  "The Duchess mark'd his weary pace,
+  His timid mien, and reverend face,
+  And bade her page the menials tell
+  That they should tend the old man well:
+
+  For she had known adversity,
+  Though born in such a high degree;
+  In pride of power, in beauty's bloom,
+  Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb."
+
+Dr Johnson says of her, rather sarcastically, that she was "remarkable
+for her inflexible perseverance in her demand to be treated as a
+princess." One biographer of Gay asserts--but on what authority we know
+not--that this secretaryship was rewarded with a handsome salary. With
+her, however, our poet did not long agree. She was scarcely so kind to
+him as to the "Last Minstrel" who sung to her at Newark. By June 8th,
+1714, (see a letter of Arbuthnot's of that date,) she had "turned Gay
+off," having probably been provoked by his indolence of disposition and
+improvidence of conduct.
+
+Ere this, however, he had been admitted to the intimacy of Pope, and was
+hired or flattered by him to engage in the famous "Battle of the Wits,"
+springing from the publication of the "Pastorals" of Ambrose Philips.
+This agreeable but nearly forgotten writer published some pastorals,
+which Steele, with his usual rashness and fatal favouritism, commended in
+the "Guardian" as superior to all productions of the class, (including
+Pope's,) except those of Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Pope retorted
+in a style of inimitable irony, by a letter to the "Guardian," where he
+professedly gives the preference to Philips, but damages his claim by
+producing four specimens of his composition, and contrasting them with
+the better portions of his own. Not contented with this, he prevailed on
+Gay to satirise Philips in the "Shepherd's Week"--a poem which forms the
+_reductio ad absurdum_ of that writer's plan, and exhibits rural life in
+more than the vulgarity and grossness which the author of the "Pastorals"
+had ascribed to it.
+
+Gay shortly after wrote his "Fan," and his "Trivia, or the Art of Walking
+the Streets of London"--the former a mythological fiction, in three
+books, now entirely and deservedly neglected; the second still worthy of
+perusal on account of its fidelity to truth, in its pictures of the dirty
+London of 1713--a fidelity reminding you of Crabbe and of Swift; indeed,
+Gay is said to have been assisted in "Trivia" by the latter, who, we may
+not uncharitably suppose, supplied the filth of allusion and image which
+here and there taints the poem. In 1713, our author brought out on the
+stage a comedy, entitled the "Wife of Bath," which met with no success,
+and which, when reproduced seventeen years later, after the "Beggars'
+Opera" had taken the town by storm, fell as flat as before.
+
+Gay had now fairly found his way into the centre of that brilliant circle
+called the Wits of Queen Anne. That was certainly one of the most varied
+in intellect and attainment which the world has ever seen. Highest far
+among them--we refer to the Tory side--darkled the stern brow of the
+author of "Gulliver's Travels," who had a mind cast by nature in a form
+of naked force, like a gloomy crag without a particle of beauty or
+any vegetation, save what will grow on the most horrid rocks, and the
+condition of whose existence there, seems to be that it deepens
+the desolation--a mind unredeemed by virtue save in the shape of
+remorse--unvisited by weakness, until it came transmuted into the tiger
+of madness--whose very sermons were satires on God and man--whose very
+prayers had a twang of blasphemy--whose loves were more loathsome than
+his hatreds, and yet over whose blasted might and most miserable and
+withered heart men mourn, while they shudder, blend tears with anathemas,
+and agree that the awful mystery of man itself is deepened by its
+relation to the mystery of the wickedness, remorse, and wretchedness
+of Jonathan Swift. Superior to him in outward show and splendour, but
+inferior in real intellect, and, if possible, in moral calibre, shone,
+although with lurid brilliance, the "fell genius" of St John or Henry
+Bolingbroke. In a former paper we said that Edmund Burke reminded us less
+of a man than of a tutelar Angel; and so we can sometimes think of the
+"ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke," with his subtle intellect, his showy,
+sophistical eloquence, his power of intrigue, his consummate falsehood,
+his vice and his infidelity as a "superior fiend"--a kind of human
+Belial--
+
+                   "In act more graceful than humane:
+  A fairer person lost not heaven: he seem'd
+
+  For dignity composed and high exploit;
+  But all was false and hollow, though his tongue
+  Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
+  The better reason, to perplex and dash
+  Maturest counsels."
+
+These two were the giants of the Tory confederacy of wits. But little
+inferior to them in brilliance, if vastly less in intellectual size, was
+Pope, with his epigrammatic style, his compact sense--like stimulating
+essence contained in small smelling bottles--his pungent personalities,
+his elegant glitter, and his splendid simulation of moral indignation and
+moral purpose. Less known, but more esteemed than any of them where he
+was known, was Dr Arbuthnot--a physician of skill, as some extant medical
+works prove--a man of science, and author of an "Essay on the Usefulness
+of Mathematical Learning"--a scholar, as evinced by his examination of
+Woodward's "Account of the Deluge," his treatise on "Ancient Coins and
+Medals," and that on the "Altercation or Scolding of the Ancients"--a
+wit, whose grave irony, keen perception of the ridiculous, and magical
+power of turning the lead of learning into the most fine gold of humour,
+exhibited in his "Martinus Scriblerus," his "Epitaph on the notorious
+Colonel Chartres," and his "History of John Bull," still extract shouts,
+screams, and tears of mirth from thousands who scarce know the author's
+name--a politician without malice or self-seeking--and, best of all,
+a man without guile, and a Christian without cant. He, although a
+physician, was in effect the chaplain of the corps, and had enough to do
+in keeping them within due bounds; nay, is said on his deathbed to have
+called Pope to him, and given him serious advice in reference to the
+direction of his talents, and the restraint of his muse. Prior, though
+inferior to these, was no common man; and to learning, wit, and
+tale-telling power, added skill and energy in the conduct of public
+affairs. And last, (for Parnell, though beloved by this circle, could
+hardly be said to belong to it,) there was Gay, whom the others agreed
+to love and laugh at, who stood in much the same relation to the wits of
+Anne as Goldsmith did to those of George III., being at once their fool
+and their fondling; who, like Goldsmith, was
+
+  "In wit a man--simplicity a child;"
+
+and who though he could not stab and sneer, and create new worlds more
+laughable than even this, like Swift, nor declaim and sap faith, like
+Bolingbroke, nor rhyme and glitter like Pope, nor discourse on medals and
+write comical "Pilgrims' Progresses" like Arbuthnot, nor pour out floods
+of learning like Prior in "Alma," could do things which they in their
+turn never equalled, (even as in Emerson's poem, "The Mountain and the
+Squirrel," the latter wisely remarks to the former--
+
+  "I cannot carry forests on my back,
+  But neither can you crack a nut,")
+
+could give a fabulous excellence to the construction and management of
+the "Fable;" extract interest from street crossings and scavengers, and
+let fly into the literary atmosphere an immortal Opera, the "Beggars',"
+which, though feathered by the moultings of the very basest night-birds,
+has pursued a career of triumph ever since.
+
+To recur to the life of our poet. Losing his situation under the Duchess
+of Monmouth, he was patronised by the Earls of Oxford and Bolingbroke,
+and through them was appointed secretary to the Earl of Clarendon, who
+was going to Hanover as ambassador to that court. He was at this time so
+poor that, in order to equip himself with necessaries, such as shoes,
+stockings, and linen for the journey, he had to receive an advance of
+£100 from the treasury at Hanover. The Electoral Princess, afterwards
+Queen Caroline--wife of George II.--took some notice of Gay, and asked
+for a volume of his "Poems," when, as Arbuthnot remarks, "like a true
+poet," he was compelled to own that he had no copy in his possession. We
+suspect few poets, whether true or pretended, in our age would in this
+point resemble Gay.
+
+Lord Clarendon's embassy lasted precisely fifteen days--Queen Anne
+having died in the meantime--and the Tory Government being consequently
+dismissed in disgrace. Poor Gay, who had offended the Whigs by dedicating
+his "Shepherd's Week" to Bolingbroke, came home in a worse plight than
+before. He had left England in a state of poverty--he returned to it in a
+state of proscription--although he perhaps felt comforted by an epistle
+of welcome from Pope, which did not, it is likely, affect him as it does
+us with the notion that its tricksy author was laughing in his sleeve.
+
+Arbuthnot, who was a wiser friend, advised Gay to write an "Epistle on
+the Arrival of the Princess of Wales," which he did, and she and her lord
+were so far conciliated as to attend a play he now produced, entitled
+"What d'ye call it?"--a kind of hybrid between a farce and a
+tragedy--which, by the well-managed equivoque of its purpose, hit the
+house between wind and water; and not knowing "what" properly to "call
+it," and whether it should be applauded or damned, they gave the benefit
+of their doubts to the author. To its success, doubtless too, the
+presence and praise of the Prince and the Princess contributed. Gay now
+tried for a while the trade of a courtier--sooth to say, with little
+success. He was for this at once too sanguine and too simple. Pope said,
+with his usual civil sneer, in a letter to Swift, "the Doctor (Arbuthnot)
+goes to cards--Gay to court; the one loses money, the other time."
+It added to his chagrin, that having, in conjunction with Pope and
+Arbuthnot, produced, in 1717, a comedy, entitled "Three Months after
+Marriage," to satirise Dr Woodward, then famous as a fossilist; the
+piece, being personal and indecent, was not only hissed but hooted off
+the stage. The chief offence was taken at the introduction of a mummy and
+a crocodile on the stage. To divert his grief, he, at the suggestion of
+Lord Burlington, who paid his expenses, rambled into Devonshire, went
+next with Pultney to Aix, in France, and when afterwards on a visit to
+Lord Harcourt's seat, witnessed the incident of the two country lovers
+killed by lightning in each other's arms, to which Pope alludes in one of
+his letters, and Goldsmith in his "Vicar of Wakefield."
+
+In 1720 he published his "Poems" by subscription. The general kindness
+felt for Gay, notwithstanding his faults and feebleness, now found a
+vent. The Prince and Princess of Wales not only subscribed, but gave
+him a liberal present, and some of the nobility, who regarded him as an
+agreeable plaything and lapdog of genius, took a number of copies. The
+result was that he gained a thousand pounds. He asked the advice of his
+friends how to dispose of this sum, and, as usual, took his own. Lewis,
+steward to Lord Oxford, advised him to entrust it to the funds, and live
+on the interest; Arbuthnot, to live upon the principal; Pope and Swift,
+to buy an annuity. Gay preferred to sink it in the South-Sea Bubble, then
+in all its glory. At first he imagined himself master of £20,000, and
+when advised to sell out and purchase as much as his wise friend Elijah
+Fenton said would "procure him a clean shirt and a shoulder of mutton
+every day," rejected the counsel, and in fine lost every farthing, and
+nearly lost next, through vexation, either his life or his reason.
+
+Pope, who occasionally laughed at him, was now very kind, and partly
+through his assiduous attention, Gay recovered his health, spirits, and
+the use of his pen. He wrote a tragedy called the "Captives," and was
+invited to read it before the Princess of Wales. The sight of her and
+her assembled ladies frightened him, and in advancing he stumbled over a
+stool and overthrew a heavy japan screen. How he fared afterwards in the
+reading we are not informed; but as we are told that the Princess started
+and her ladies screamed, we fear it had been poorly. On this story
+Hawkesworth has founded an amusing story in the "Adventurer," and it was
+also, we think, in the eye of the author of the humorous tale, entitled
+"The Bashful Man." This unlucky play was afterwards acted seven nights,
+the author's third night being under the special patronage of her Royal
+Highness.
+
+At the request of the same illustrious lady, he, in 1726, undertook to
+write a volume of "Fables" for the young Duke of Cumberland, afterwards
+of Culloden notoriety, and when at last, in 1727, the Prince became
+George II., and the Princess Queen Caroline, Gay's hopes of promotion
+boiled as high as his hopes of gain had during the South-Sea scheme.
+But here, too, he was deceived; and having only received the paltry
+appointment (as he deemed it, though the salary was £200,) of
+gentleman-usher to the Princess Louisa, a girl of two years old, he
+thought himself insulted. He first sent a message to the Queen that he
+was too old for the place,--an excuse which he made for himself, but
+which, being only thirty-nine, he would not have borne any other to make
+for him. He next condescended to court Mrs Howard, the mistress of George
+II., and that "good Howard" commemorated in the "Heart of Mid-Lothian;"
+but this too was in vain, and then he retired from the attempt, growling
+out probably (if we can imagine him in fable, not as Queen Caroline
+called him the "Hare," but a Bear) the words, "Put not your faith in
+princes." He was the more excusable, as, two years before, Sir Robert
+Walpole had, for his surmised Toryism, turned him out of the office of
+"Commissioner of the Lottery," which had brought him in £150 a-year.
+
+But now for once Gay catches Fortune on the wheel. There is a lucky hour
+in almost all lives, provided it be waited for with patience, and with
+prudence improved. Swift had some years before observed to Gay, what an
+odd pretty sort of thing a Newgate pastoral would make. On this hint Gay
+acted, preferring, however, to expand it into a comedy. Hence came the
+"Beggars' Opera," a hit in literature second to none that ever occurred
+in that fluctuating region. It was first performed in 1728, although much
+of it had been written before, and only a few satirical strokes, founded
+on his disappointment at court, attested their recent origin. Swift and
+Pope watched its progress with interest, but without hope. Congreve
+pronounced that it would "either take greatly, or be damned
+confoundedly." Gibber at Drury Lane refused it; it was accepted by his
+rival Rich, and soon the _on dit_ ran that it had made Gay Rich, and Rich
+Gay. On its first night there was a brilliant assemblage. What painter
+shall give their heads and faces on that anxious evening--Swift's
+lowering front--Pope's bright eyes contrasting with the blind orbs
+of Congreve (if _he_ indeed were there)--Addison's quiet, thoughtful
+physiognomy, as of one retired into some "Vision of Mirza"--the Duke of
+Argyle, with his star and stately form and animated countenance--and
+poor Gay himself perhaps, like some other play-wrights in the same
+predicament, perspiring with trepidation, as if again about to recite the
+"Captives!" At first uncertainty prevails among the patron-critics, and
+strange looks are exchanged between Swift and Pope, till, by and by, the
+latter hears Argyle exclaim, "It will do, it must do! I see it in the
+eyes of 'em;" and then the critics breathe freely, and the applauses
+become incontrollable, and the curtain closes at last amidst thunders of
+applause; and Gay goes home triumphant, amidst a circle of friends,
+who do not know whether more to wonder at his success or at their own
+previous apprehensions. For sixty-three nights continuously the piece is
+acted in London; then it spreads through England, Scotland, Wales, and
+Ireland. Ladies sing its favourite songs, or carry them in their fans.
+Miss Fenton, who acted Polly, becomes a universal favourite, nay, a
+_furor_. Her pictures are engraved, her life written, and her sayings
+and jests published, and in fine, the Italian Opera, which the piece was
+intended to ridicule, is extinguished for a season. Notwithstanding this
+unparalleled success of the "Beggars' Opera," Gay gained only £400 by
+it, although by "Polly," the second part, (where Gay transports his
+characters to the colonies,) which the Lord Chamberlain suppressed, on
+account of its supposed immoral tendency, and which the author published
+in self-defence, he cleared nearly £1200.
+
+Altogether now worth above £3000, having been admitted by the Duke of
+Queensberry into his house, who generously undertook the care alike of
+the helpless being's purse and person, and still in the prime of life,
+Gay might have looked forward, humanly speaking, to long years of
+comfort, social happiness, and increased fame. _Dîs aliter visum est_. He
+had been delicate for some time, and on the 4th December 1732, at the age
+of 44, and in the course of a three days' attack of inflammation of the
+bowels, this irresolute but amiable and gifted person breathed his last,
+and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The last work he was occupied on was
+a second volume of "Fables," which was published after his death. He had
+become very popular, not merely for his powers, but for his presumed
+political principles, a "little Sacheverel," as Arbuthnot, his faithful
+friend and kind physician, calls him, and yet his modesty and simplicity
+of character remained entire, and he died while planning schemes of
+self-reformation, economy, and steady literary work. It is curious that
+Swift, when the letter arrived with the news of Gay's death, was so
+impressed with a presentiment of some coming evil, that he allowed it to
+lie five days unopened on his table. And when the Duke and Duchess of
+Queensberry erected a monument to his memory, Pope supplied an epitaph,
+familiar to most readers of poetry, and which is creditable to both. Two
+widow sisters survived Gay, amongst whom the profits of a posthumous
+opera, entitled "Achilles," as well as the small fortune which he left,
+were divided.
+
+Gay's works lie in narrow compass, and hardly require minute criticism.
+His "Beggars' Opera" has the charm of daring singularity of plan, of
+great liveliness of song, and has some touches of light hurrying sarcasm,
+worthy of any pen. Burke used to deny its merit, but he was probably
+trying it b too lofty and ideal a standard. Hazlitt, on the other hand,
+has praised it overmuch, and perhaps "monstered" some of its "nothings."
+That it has power is proved by its effects on literature. It did not, we
+believe, create many robbers, but it created a large robber school in
+the drama and the novel; for instance, Schiller's "Robbers," Ainsworth's
+"Rookwood," and "Jack Shepherd," and Bulwer's "Paul Clifford," and
+"Eugene Aram," not to speak of the innumerable French tales and plays of
+a similar kind. The intention of these generally is not, perhaps, after
+all, to make an apology, far less an apotheosis of crime, but to teach us
+how there is a "soul of goodness" in all things. And has not Shakspeare
+long taught and been commended for teaching a similar lesson, although
+we cannot say of Gay and his brethren that they have "bettered the
+instruction?" Of "Trivia," we have spoken incidentally before; of "Rural
+Sports," and the "Shepherd's Week," it is unnecessary to say more than
+that the first is juvenile, and the second odd, graphic, and amusing.
+None of them is equal to the "Fables," and therefore we have decided
+on omitting them from our edition. In the "Fables," Gay is happy in
+proportion to the innocence and simplicity of his nature. He understands
+animals, because he has more than an ordinary share of the animal in
+his own constitution. Æsop, so far as we know, though an astute, was an
+uneducated and simple-minded man. Phædrus was a myth, and we cannot,
+therefore, adduce him in point. But Fontaine was called the "Fable-tree,"
+and Gay is just the Fable-tree transplanted from France to England. In so
+doing we do not question our poet's originality, but merely indicate
+a certain resemblance in spirit between two originals. An original in
+Fable-writing Gay certainly was. He has copied, neither in story, spirit,
+nor moral, any previous writer. His "Fables" are always graceful in
+literary execution, often interesting in story; their versification is
+ever smooth and flowing; and sometimes, as in the "Court of Death," their
+moral darkens into sublimity. On the whole, these "Fables," along with
+the "Beggars' Opera," and the delectable songs of "'Twas when the Seas
+were Roaring," and "Black-eyed Susan," shall long preserve the memory
+of their author. We have appended these two songs because of their rare
+excellence.
+
+John Gay had his faults as a man and as a poet, and it were easy finding
+fault with him in both capacities. But
+
+  "Poor were the triumph o'er the timid hare;"
+
+and he was, by his own shewing, as well as Queen Caroline's, "the Hare
+with many friends." Let us, instead, drop a "tear over his fate," and pay
+a tribute, short, but sincere, to his true, though limited genius.
+
+
+
+GAY'S FABLES.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+PART I.
+
+
+THE SHEPHERD AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
+
+  Remote from cities lived a swain,
+  Unvexed with all the cares of gain;
+  His head was silvered o'er with age,
+  And long experience made him sage;
+  In summer's heat, and winter's cold,
+  He fed his flock and penned the fold;
+  His hours in cheerful labour flew,
+  Nor envy nor ambition knew:
+  His wisdom and his honest fame
+  Through all the country raised his name.
+_10
+     A deep philosopher (whose rules
+  Of moral life were drawn from schools)
+  The shepherd's homely cottage sought
+  And thus explored his reach of thought:
+     'Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
+  O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
+  Hast thou old Greece and Rome surveyed,
+  And the vast sense of Plato weighed?
+  Hath Socrates thy soul refined,
+  And hast thou fathomed Tully's mind?
+_20
+  Or like the wise Ulysses, thrown
+  By various fates, on realms unknown,
+  Hast thou through many cities strayed,
+  Their customs, laws, and manners weighed?'
+     The shepherd modestly replied,
+  'I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
+  Nor have I roamed in foreign parts
+  To read mankind, their laws and arts;
+  For man is practised in disguise,
+  He cheats the most discerning eyes;
+_30
+  Who by that search shall wiser grow,
+  When we ourselves can never know?
+  The little knowledge I have gained,
+  Was all from simple nature drained;
+  Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
+  Hence grew my settled hate to vice.
+  The daily labours of the bee
+  Awake my soul to industry.
+  Who can observe the careful ant,
+  And not provide for future want?
+_40
+  My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
+  With gratitude inflames my mind.
+  I mark his true, his faithful way,
+  And in my service copy Tray.
+  In constancy and nuptial love,
+  I learn my duty from the dove.
+  The hen, who from the chilly air,
+  With pious wing protects her care;
+  And every fowl that flies at large,
+  Instructs me in a parent's charge.
+_50
+     From nature too I take my rule,
+  To shun contempt and ridicule.
+  I never, with important air,
+  In conversation overbear.
+  Can grave and formal pass for wise,
+  When men the solemn owl despise?
+  My tongue within my lips I rein;
+  For who talks much, must talk in vain.
+  We from the wordy torrent fly:
+  Who listens to the chattering pye?
+_60
+  Nor would I, with felonious flight,
+  By stealth invade my neighbour's right;
+  Rapacious animals we hate:
+  Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate.
+  Do not we just abhorrence find
+  Against the toad and serpent kind?
+  But envy, calumny, and spite,
+  Bear stronger venom in their bite.
+  Thus every object of creation
+  Can furnish hints to contemplation;
+_70
+  And from the most minute and mean,
+  A virtuous mind can morals glean.'
+     'Thy fame is just,' the sage replies;
+  'Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
+  Pride often guides the author's pen,
+  Books as affected are as men:
+  But he who studies nature's laws,
+  From certain truth his maxims draws;
+  And those, without our schools, suffice
+  To make men moral, good, and wise.'
+_80
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+TO HIS HIGHNESS
+
+WILLIAM, DUXE OF CUMBERLAND.[1]
+
+
+FABLE I.
+
+THE LION, THE TIGER, AND THE TRAVELLER.
+
+  Accept, young Prince, the moral lay
+  And in these tales mankind survey;
+  With early virtues plant your breast,
+  The specious arts of vice detest.
+     Princes, like beauties, from their youth
+  Are strangers to the voice of truth;
+  Learn to contemn all praise betimes;
+  For flattery's the nurse of crimes;
+  Friendship by sweet reproof is shown,
+  (A virtue never near a throne);
+_10
+  In courts such freedom must offend,
+  There none presumes to be a friend.
+  To those of your exalted station
+  Each courtier is a dedication.
+  Must I too flatter like the rest,
+  And turn my morals to a jest?
+  The Muse disdains to steal from those
+  Who thrive in courts by fulsome prose.
+     But shall I hide your real praise,
+  Or tell you what a nation says?
+_20
+  They in your infant bosom trace
+  The virtues of your royal race;
+  In the fair dawning of your mind
+  Discern you generous, mild, and kind;
+  They see you grieve to hear distress,
+  And pant already to redress.
+  Go on, the height of good attain,
+  Nor let a nation hope in vain.
+  For hence we justly may presage
+  The virtues of a riper age.
+_30
+  True courage shall your bosom fire,
+  And future actions own you sire.
+  Cowards are cruel, but the brave
+  Love mercy, and delight to save.
+     A tiger roaming for his prey,
+  Sprung on a traveller in the way;
+  The prostrate game a lion spies,
+  And on the greedy tyrant flies;
+  With mingled roar resounds the wood,
+  Their teeth, their claws distil with blood;
+_40
+  Till vanquished by the lion's strength,
+  The spotted foe extends his length.
+  The man besought the shaggy lord,
+  And on his knees for life implored.
+  His life the generous hero gave,
+  Together walking to his cave,
+  The lion thus bespoke his guest:
+     'What hardy beast shall dare contest
+  My matchless strength! you saw the fight,
+  And must attest my power and right.
+_50
+  Forced to forego their native home,
+  My starving slaves at distance roam.
+  Within these woods I reign alone,
+  The boundless forest is my own.
+  Bears, wolves, and all the savage brood,
+  Have dyed the regal den with blood.
+  These carcases on either hand,
+  Those bones that whiten all the land,
+  My former deeds and triumphs tell,
+  Beneath these jaws what numbers fell.'
+_60
+     'True,' says the man, 'the strength I saw
+  Might well the brutal nation awe:
+  But shall a monarch, brave like you,
+  Place glory in so false a view?
+  Robbers invade their neighbours' right,
+  Be loved: let justice bound your might.
+  Mean are ambitious heroes' boasts
+  Of wasted lands and slaughtered hosts.
+  Pirates their power by murders gain,
+  Wise kings by love and mercy reign.
+_70
+  To me your clemency hath shown
+  The virtue worthy of a throne.
+  Heaven gives you power above the rest,
+  Like Heaven to succour the distress'd.'
+     'The case is plain,' the monarch said;
+  'False glory hath my youth misled;
+  For beasts of prey, a servile train,
+  Have been the flatterers of my reign.
+  You reason well: yet tell me, friend,
+  Did ever you in courts attend?
+_80
+  For all my fawning rogues agree,
+  That human heroes rule like me.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE II.
+
+THE SPANIEL AND THE CAMELEON.
+
+  A spaniel, bred with all the care
+  That waits upon a favourite heir,
+  Ne'er felt correction's rigid hand;
+  Indulged to disobey command,
+  In pampered ease his hours were spent;
+  He never knew what learning meant.
+  Such forward airs, so pert, so smart,
+  Were sure to win his lady's heart;
+  Each little mischief gained him praise;
+  How pretty were his fawning ways!
+_10
+     The wind was south, the morning fair,
+  He ventured forth to take the air.
+  He ranges all the meadow round,
+  And rolls upon the softest ground:
+  When near him a cameleon seen,
+  Was scarce distinguished from the green.
+     'Dear emblem of the flattering host,
+  What, live with clowns! a genius lost!
+  To cities and the court repair:
+  A fortune cannot fail thee there:
+_20
+  Preferment shall thy talents crown,
+  Believe me, friend; I know the town.'
+     'Sir,' says the sycophant, 'like you,
+  Of old, politer life I knew:
+  Like you, a courtier born and bred;
+  Kings leaned an ear to what I said.
+  My whisper always met success;
+  The ladies praised me for address,
+  I knew to hit each courtier's passion,
+  And flattered every vice in fashion.
+_30
+  But Jove, who hates the liar's ways,
+  At once cut short my prosperous days;
+  And, sentenced to retain my nature,
+  Transformed me to this crawling creature.
+  Doomed to a life obscure and mean,
+  I wander in the sylvan scene.
+  For Jove the heart alone regards;
+  He punishes what man rewards.
+  How different is thy case and mine!
+  With men at least you sup and dine;
+_40
+  While I, condemned to thinnest fare,
+  Like those I flattered feed on air.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE III.
+
+THE MOTHER, THE NURSE, AND THE FAIRY.
+
+  Give me a son! The blessing sent,
+  Were ever parents more content?
+  How partial are their doting eyes!
+  No child is half so fair and wise.
+     Waked to the morning's pleasing care,
+  The mother rose, and sought her heir.
+  She saw the nurse, like one possess'd,
+  With wringing hands, and sobbing breast.
+     'Sure some disaster hath befell:
+  Speak, nurse; I hope the boy is well.'
+_10
+     'Dear madam, think not me to blame;
+  Invisible the fairy came:
+  Your precious babe is hence conveyed,
+  And in the place a changeling laid.
+  Where are the father's mouth and nose,
+  The mother's eyes, as black as sloes?
+  See here a shocking awkward creature,
+  That speaks a fool in every feature.'
+     'The woman's blind,' the mother cries;
+  'I see wit sparkle in his eyes.'
+_20
+     'Lord! madam, what a squinting leer;
+  No doubt the fairy hath been here.'
+     Just as she spoke, a pigmy sprite
+  Pops through the key-hole, swift as light;
+  Perched on the cradle's top he stands,
+  And thus her folly reprimands:
+     'Whence sprung the vain conceited lie,
+  That we the world with fools supply?
+  What! give our sprightly race away,
+  For the dull helpless sons of clay!
+_30
+  Besides, by partial fondness shown,
+  Like you we doat upon our own.
+  Where yet was ever found a mother,
+  Who'd give her booby for another?
+  And should we change for human breed,
+  Well might we pass for fools indeed.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE IV.
+
+THE EAGLE, AND THE ASSEMBLY OF ANIMALS.
+
+  As Jupiter's all-seeing eye
+  Surveyed the worlds beneath the sky,
+  From this small speck of earth were sent,
+  Murmurs and sounds of discontent;
+  For every thing alive complained,
+  That he the hardest life sustained.
+  Jove calls his eagle. At the word
+  Before him stands the royal bird.
+  The bird, obedient, from heaven's height,
+  Downward directs his rapid flight;
+_10
+  Then cited every living thing,
+  To hear the mandates of his king.
+     'Ungrateful creatures, whence arise
+  These murmurs which offend the skies?
+  Why this disorder? say the cause:
+  For just are Jove's eternal laws.
+  Let each his discontent reveal;
+  To yon sour dog, I first appeal.'
+     'Hard is my lot,' the hound replies,
+  'On what fleet nerves the greyhound flies,
+_20
+  While I, with weary step and slow,
+  O'er plains and vales, and mountains go.
+  The morning sees my chase begun,
+  Nor ends it till the setting sun.'
+     'When,' says the greyhound, 'I pursue,
+  My game is lost, or caught in view;
+  Beyond my sight the prey's secure:
+  The hound is slow, but always sure.
+  And had I his sagacious scent,
+  Jove ne'er had heard my discontent.'
+_30
+     The lion craved the fox's art;
+  The fox, the lion's force and heart:
+  The cock implored the pigeon's flight,
+  Whose wings were rapid, strong, and light:
+  The pigeon strength of wing despised,
+  And the cock's matchless valour prized:
+  The fishes wished to graze the plain;
+  The beasts to skim beneath the main.
+  Thus, envious of another's state,
+  Each blamed the partial hand of Fate.
+_40
+     The bird of heaven then cried aloud,
+  'Jove bids disperse the murmuring crowd;
+  The god rejects your idle prayers.
+  Would ye, rebellious mutineers,
+  Entirely change your name and nature,
+  And be the very envied creature?
+  What, silent all, and none consent!
+  Be happy then, and learn content:
+  Nor imitate the restless mind,
+  And proud ambition, of mankind.'
+_50
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE V.
+
+THE WILD BOAR AND THE RAM.
+
+  Against an elm a sheep was tied,
+  The butcher's knife in blood was dyed:
+  The patient flock in silent fright,
+  From far beheld the horrid sight.
+  A savage boar, who near them stood,
+  Thus mocked to scorn the fleecy brood.
+     'All cowards should be served like you.
+  See, see, your murderer is in view:
+  With purple hands and reeking knife,
+  He strips the skin yet warm with life;
+_10
+  Your quartered sires, your bleeding dams,
+  The dying bleat of harmless lambs,
+  Call for revenge. O stupid race!
+  The heart that wants revenge is base.'
+     'I grant.' an ancient ram replies,
+  'We bear no terror in our eyes;
+  Yet think us not of soul so tame,
+  Which no repeated wrongs inflame;
+  Insensible of every ill,
+  Because we want thy tusks to kill.
+_20
+  Know, those who violence pursue,
+  Give to themselves the vengeance due;
+  For in these massacres we find
+  The two chief plagues that waste mankind:
+  Our skin supplies the wrangling bar,
+  It wakes their slumbering sons to war;
+  And well revenge may rest contented,
+  Since drums and parchment were invented.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE VI.
+
+THE MISER AND PLUTUS.
+
+  The wind was high, the window shakes,
+  With sudden start the miser wakes;
+  Along the silent room he stalks;
+  Looks back, and trembles as he walks!
+  Each lock and every bolt he tries,
+  In every creek and corner prys,
+  Then opes the chest with treasure stored,
+  And stands in rapture o'er his hoard;
+  But, now with sudden qualms possess'd,
+  He wrings his hands, he beats his breast.
+_10
+  By conscience stung, he wildly stares;
+  And thus his guilty soul declares:
+     'Had the deep earth her stores confined,
+  This heart had known sweet peace of mind.
+  But virtue's sold. Good gods, what price
+  Can recompense the pangs of vice!
+  O bane of good! seducing cheat!
+  Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
+  Gold banished honour from the mind,
+  And only left the name behind;
+_20
+  Gold sowed the world with every ill;
+  Gold taught the murderer's sword to kill:
+  'Twas gold instructed coward hearts,
+  In treachery's more pernicious arts.
+  Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
+  Virtue resides on earth no more!'
+  He spoke, and sighed. In angry mood,
+  Plutus, his god, before him stood.
+  The miser, trembling, locked his chest;
+  The vision frowned, and thus address'd:
+_30
+     'Whence is this vile ungrateful rant?
+  Each sordid rascal's daily cant.
+  Did I, base wretch, corrupt mankind?
+  The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
+  Because my blessings are abused,
+  Must I be censured, cursed, accused?
+  Even virtue's self by knaves is made
+  A cloak to carry on the trade;
+  And power (when lodged in their possession)
+  Grows tyranny, and rank oppression.
+_40
+  Thus, when the villain crams his chest,
+  Gold is the canker of the breast;
+  'Tis avarice, insolence, and pride,
+  And every shocking vice beside.
+  But when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
+  It blesses, like the dews of heaven:
+  Like Heaven, it hears the orphan's cries,
+  And wipes the tears from widows' eyes;
+  Their crimes on gold shall misers lay,
+  Who pawned their sordid souls for pay?
+_50
+  Let bravoes then (when blood is spilt)
+  Upbraid the passive sword with guilt.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE VII.
+
+THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE.
+
+  A lion, tired with state affairs,
+  Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares,
+  Resolved (remote from noise and strife)
+  In peace to pass his latter life.
+     It was proclaimed; the day was set;
+  Behold the general council met,
+  The fox was viceroy named. The crowd
+  To the new regent humbly bowed.
+  Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend,
+  And strive who most shall condescend.
+_10
+  He straight assumes a solemn grace,
+  Collects his wisdom in his face.
+  The crowd admire his wit, his sense:
+  Each word hath weight and consequence.
+  The flatterer all his art displays:
+  He who hath power, is sure of praise.
+  A fox stept forth before the rest,
+  And thus the servile throng address'd.
+     'How vast his talents, born to rule,
+  And trained in virtue's honest school:
+_20
+  What clemency his temper sways!
+  How uncorrupt are all his ways!
+  Beneath his conduct and command,
+  Rapine shall cease to waste the land.
+  His brain hath stratagem and art;
+  Prudence and mercy rule his heart;
+  What blessings must attend the nation
+  Under this good administration!'
+     He said. A goose who distant stood,
+  Harangued apart the cackling brood:
+_30
+     'W'hene'er I hear a knave commend,
+  He bids me shun his worthy friend.
+  What praise! what mighty commendation!
+  But 'twas a fox who spoke the oration.
+  Foxes this government may prize,
+  As gentle, plentiful, and wise;
+  If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain
+  We geese must feel a tyrant reign.
+  What havoc now shall thin our race,
+  When every petty clerk in place,
+_40
+  To prove his taste and seem polite,
+  Will feed on geese both noon and night!'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE VIII.
+
+THE LADY AND THE WASP.
+
+  What whispers must the beauty bear!
+  What hourly nonsense haunts her ear!
+  Where'er her eyes dispense their charms,
+  Impertinence around her swarms.
+  Did not the tender nonsense strike,
+  Contempt and scorn might soon dislike.
+  Forbidding airs might thin the place,
+  The slightest flap a fly can chase.
+  But who can drive the numerous breed?
+  Chase one, another will succeed.
+_10
+  Who knows a fool, must know his brother;
+  One fop will recommend another:
+  And with this plague she's rightly curs'd,
+  Because she listened to the first.
+     As Doris, at her toilet's duty,
+  Sat meditating on her beauty,
+  She now was pensive, now was gay,
+  And lolled the sultry hours away.
+  As thus in indolence she lies,
+  A giddy wasp around her flies.
+_20
+  He now advances, now retires,
+  Now to her neck and cheek aspires.
+  Her fan in vain defends her charms;
+  Swift he returns, again alarms;
+  For by repulse he bolder grew,
+  Perched on her lip, and sipp'd the dew.
+     She frowns, she frets. 'Good God!' she cries,
+  'Protect me from these teasing flies!
+  Of all the plagues that heaven hath sent,
+  A wasp is most impertinent.'
+_30
+     The hovering insect thus complained:
+  'Am I then slighted, scorned, disdained?
+  Can such offence your anger wake?
+  'Twas beauty caused the bold mistake.
+  Those cherry lips that breathe perfume,
+  That cheek so ripe with youthful bloom,
+  Made me with strong desire pursue
+  The fairest peach that ever grew.'
+     'Strike him not, Jenny,' Doris cries,
+  'Nor murder wasps like vulgar flies:
+_40
+  For though he's free (to do him right)
+  The creature's civil and polite.'
+  In ecstacies away he posts;
+  Where'er he came, the favour boasts;
+  Brags how her sweetest tea he sips,
+  And shows the sugar on his lips.
+     The hint alarmed the forward crew;
+  Sure of success, away they flew.
+  They share the dainties of the day,
+  Round her with airy music play;
+_50
+  And now they flutter, now they rest,
+  Now soar again, and skim her breast.
+  Nor were they banished, till she found
+  That wasps have stings, and felt the wound.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE IX.
+
+THE BULL AND THE MASTIFF.
+
+  Seek you to train your fav'rite boy?
+  Each caution, every care employ:
+  And ere you venture to confide,
+  Let his preceptor's heart be tried:
+  Weigh well his manners, life, and scope;
+  On these depends thy future hope.
+     As on a time, in peaceful reign,
+  A bull enjoyed the flowery plain,
+  A mastiff passed; inflamed with ire,
+  His eye-balls shot indignant fire;
+_10
+  He foamed, he raged with thirst of blood
+     Spurning the ground the monarch stood,
+  And roared aloud, 'Suspend the fight;
+  In a whole skin go sleep to-night:
+  Or tell me, ere the battle rage,
+  What wrongs provoke thee to engage?
+  Is it ambition fires thy breast,
+  Or avarice that ne'er can rest?
+  From these alone unjustly springs
+  The world-destroying wrath of kings.'
+_20
+     The surly mastiff thus returns:
+  'Within my bosom glory burns.
+  Like heroes of eternal name,
+  Whom poets sing, I fight for fame.
+  The butcher's spirit-stirring mind
+  To daily war my youth inclined;
+  He trained me to heroic deed;
+  Taught me to conquer, or to bleed.'
+     'Cursed dog,' the bull replied, 'no more
+  I wonder at thy thirst of gore;
+_30
+  For thou, beneath a butcher trained,
+  Whose hands with cruelty are stained;
+  His daily murders in thy view,
+  Must, like thy tutor, blood pursue.
+  Take then thy fate.' With goring wound,
+  At once he lifts him from the ground;
+  Aloft the sprawling hero flies,
+  Mangled he falls, he howls, and dies.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE X.
+
+THE ELEPHANT AND THE BOOKSELLER.
+
+  The man who, with undaunted toils,
+  Sails unknown seas to unknown soils,
+  With various wonders feasts his sight:
+  What stranger wonders does he write!
+  We read, and in description view
+  Creatures which Adam never knew:
+  For, when we risk no contradiction,
+  It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.
+  Those things that startle me or you,
+  I grant are strange; yet may be true.
+_10
+  Who doubts that elephants are found
+  For science and for sense renowned?
+  Borri records their strength of parts,
+  Extent of thought, and skill in arts;
+  How they perform the law's decrees,
+  And save the state the hangman's fees;
+  And how by travel understand
+  The language of another land.
+  Let those, who question this report,
+  To Pliny's ancient page resort;
+_20
+  How learn'd was that sagacious breed!
+  Who now (like them) the Greek can read!
+     As one of these, in days of yore,
+  Rummaged a shop of learning o'er;
+  Not, like our modern dealers, minding
+  Only the margin's breadth and binding;
+  A book his curious eye detains,
+  Where, with exactest care and pains,
+  Were every beast and bird portrayed,
+  That e'er the search of man surveyed,
+_30
+  Their natures and their powers were writ,
+  With all the pride of human wit.
+  The page he with attention spread,
+  And thus remarked on what he read:
+     'Man with strong reason is endowed;
+  A beast scarce instinct is allowed.
+  But let this author's worth be tried,
+  'Tis plain that neither was his guide.
+  Can he discern the different natures,
+  And weigh the power of other creatures
+_40
+  Who by the partial work hath shown
+  He knows so little of his own?
+  How falsely is the spaniel drawn!
+  Did man from him first learn to fawn?
+  A dog proficient in the trade!
+  He the chief flatterer nature made!
+  Go, man, the ways of courts discern,
+  You'll find a spaniel still might learn.
+  How can the fox's theft and plunder
+  Provoke his censure or his wonder;
+_50
+  From courtiers' tricks, and lawyers' arts,
+  The fox might well improve his parts.
+  The lion, wolf, and tiger's brood,
+  He curses, for their thirst of blood:
+  But is not man to man a prey?
+  Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.'
+     The bookseller, who heard him speak,
+  And saw him turn a page of Greek,
+  Thought, what a genius have I found!
+  Then thus addressed with bow profound:
+_60
+  'Learn'd sir, if you'd employ your pen
+  Against the senseless sons of men,
+  Or write the history of Siam, [2]
+  No man is better pay than I am;
+  Or, since you're learn'd in Greek, let's see
+  Something against the Trinity.'
+     When wrinkling with a sneer his trunk,
+  'Friend,' quoth the elephant, 'you're drunk;
+  E'en keep your money and be wise:
+  Leave man on man to criticise;
+_70
+  For that you ne'er can want a pen
+  Among the senseless sons of men.
+  They unprovoked will court the fray:
+  Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
+  No author ever spared a brother;
+  Wits are game-cocks to one another.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XI.
+
+THE PEACOCK, THE TURKEY, AND THE GOOSE.
+
+  In beauty faults conspicuous grow;
+  The smallest speck is seen on snow.
+     As near a barn, by hunger led,
+  A peacock with the poultry fed;
+  All viewed him with an envious eye,
+  And mocked his gaudy pageantry.
+  He, conscious of superior merit,
+  Contemns their base reviling spirit;
+  His state and dignity assumes,
+  And to the sun displays his plumes;
+_10
+  Which, like the heaven's o'er-arching skies,
+  Are spangled with a thousand eyes.
+  The circling rays, and varied light,
+  At once confound their dazzled sight:
+  On every tongue detraction burns,
+  And malice prompts their spleen by turns.
+     'Mark, with what insolence and pride
+  The creature takes his haughty stride!'
+  The turkey cries. 'Can spleen contain?
+  Sure never bird was half so vain!
+_20
+  But were intrinsic merit seen,
+  We turkeys have the whiter skin.'
+     From tongue to tongue they caught abuse;
+  And next was heard the hissing goose:
+  'What hideous legs! what filthy claws!
+  I scorn to censure little flaws!
+  Then what a horrid squalling throat!
+  Even owls are frighted at the note.'
+     'True; those are faults,' the peacock cries;
+  'My scream, my shanks you may despise:
+_30
+  But such blind critics rail in vain:
+  What, overlook my radiant train!
+  Know, did my legs (your scorn and sport)
+  The turkey or the goose support,
+  And did ye scream with harsher sound,
+  Those faults in you had ne'er been found!
+  To all apparent beauties blind,
+  Each blemish strikes an envious mind.'
+     Thus in assemblies have I seen
+  A nymph of brightest charms and mien,
+_40
+  Wake envy in each ugly face;
+  And buzzing scandal fills the place.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XII.
+
+CUPID, HYMEN, AND PLUTUS.
+
+  As Cupid in Cythera's grove
+  Employed the lesser powers of love;
+  Some shape the bow, or fit the string;
+  Some give the taper shaft its wing,
+  Or turn the polished quiver's mould,
+  Or head the dart with tempered gold.
+     Amidst their toil and various care,
+  Thus Hymen, with assuming air,
+  Addressed the god: 'Thou purblind chit,
+  Of awkward and ill-judging wit,
+_10
+  If matches are not better made,
+  At once I must forswear my trade.
+  You send me such ill-coupled folks,
+  That 'tis a shame to sell them yokes.
+  They squabble for a pin, a feather,
+  And wonder how they came together.
+  The husband's sullen, dogged, shy;
+  The wife grows flippant in reply:
+  He loves command and due restriction,
+  And she as well likes contradiction:
+_20
+  She never slavishly submits;
+  She'll have her will, or have her fits.
+  He this way tugs, she t'other draws:
+  The man grows jealous, and with cause.
+  Nothing can save him but divorce;
+  And here the wife complies of course.'
+     'When,' says the boy, 'had I to do
+  With either your affairs or you?
+  I never idly spent my darts;
+  You trade in mercenary hearts.
+_30
+  For settlements the lawyer's fee'd;
+  Is my hand witness to the deed?
+  If they like cat and dog agree,
+  Go, rail at Plutus, not at me.'
+     Plutus appeared, and said, ''Tis true,
+  In marriage gold is all their view:
+  They seek not beauty, wit, or sense;
+  And love is seldom the pretence.
+  All offer incense at my shrine,
+  And I alone the bargain sign.
+_40
+  How can Belinda blame her fate?
+  She only asked a great estate.
+  Doris was rich enough, 'tis true;
+  Her lord must give her title too:
+  And every man, or rich or poor,
+  A fortune asks, and asks no more.'
+     Av'rice, whatever shape it bears,
+  Must still be coupled with its cares.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XIII.
+
+THE TAME STAG.
+
+  As a young stag the thicket pass'd,
+  The branches held his antlers fast;
+  A clown, who saw the captive hung,
+  Across the horns his halter flung.
+     Now safely hampered in the cord,
+  He bore the present to his lord.
+  His lord was pleased; as was the clown,
+  When he was tipp'd with half-a-crown.
+  The stag was brought before his wife;
+  The tender lady begged his life.
+_10
+  'How sleek's the skin! how speck'd like ermine!
+  Sure never creature was so charming!'
+     At first within the yard confined,
+  He flies and hides from all mankind;
+  Now bolder grown, with fixed amaze,
+  And distant awe, presumes to gaze;
+  Munches the linen on the lines,
+  And on a hood or apron dines:
+  He steals my little master's bread,
+  Follows the servants to be fed:
+_20
+  Nearer and nearer now he stands,
+  To feel the praise of patting hands;
+  Examines every fist for meat,
+  And though repulsed, disdains retreat:
+  Attacks again with levelled horns;
+  And man, that was his terror, scorns.
+     Such is the country maiden's fright,
+  When first a red-coat is in sight;
+  Behind the door she hides her face;
+  Next time at distance eyes the lace;
+_30
+  She now can all his terrors stand,
+  Nor from his squeeze withdraws her hand.
+  She plays familiar in his arms,
+  And every soldier hath his charms.
+  From tent to tent she spreads her flame;
+  For custom conquers fear and shame.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XIV.
+
+THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN THE WORLD.
+
+  A Monkey, to reform the times,
+  Resolved to visit foreign climes:
+  For men in distant regions roam
+  To bring politer manners home,
+  So forth he fares, all toil defies:
+  Misfortune serves to make us wise.
+     At length the treach'rous snare was laid;
+  Poor Pug was caught, to town conveyed,
+  There sold. How envied was his doom,
+  Made captive in a lady's room!
+_10
+  Proud as a lover of his chains,
+  He day by day her favour gains.
+  Whene'er the duty of the day
+  The toilet calls; with mimic play
+  He twirls her knot, he cracks her fan,
+  Like any other gentleman.
+  In visits too his parts and wit,
+  When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
+  Proud with applause, he thought his mind
+  In every courtly art refined;
+_20
+  Like Orpheus burnt with public zeal,
+  To civilise the monkey weal:
+  So watched occasion, broke his chain,
+  And sought his native woods again.
+     The hairy sylvans round him press,
+  Astonished at his strut and dress.
+  Some praise his sleeve; and others gloat
+  Upon his rich embroidered coat;
+  His dapper periwig commending,
+  With the black tail behind depending;
+_30
+  His powdered back, above, below,
+  Like hoary frost, or fleecy snow;
+  But all with envy and desire,
+  His fluttering shoulder-knot admire.
+     'Hear and improve,' he pertly cries;
+  'I come to make a nation wise.
+  Weigh your own words; support your place,
+  The next in rank to human race.
+  In cities long I passed my days,
+  Conversed with men, and learnt their ways.
+_40
+  Their dress, their courtly manners see;
+  Reform your state and copy me.
+  Seek ye to thrive? in flattery deal;
+  Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal.
+  Seem only to regard your friends,
+  But use them for your private ends.
+  Stint not to truth the flow of wit;
+  Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit.
+  Bend all your force to spatter merit;
+  Scandal is conversation's spirit.
+_50
+  Boldly to everything attend,
+  And men your talents shall commend.
+  I knew the great. Observe me right;
+  So shall you grow like man polite.'
+     He spoke and bowed. With muttering jaws
+  The wondering circle grinned applause.
+  Now, warm with malice, envy, spite,
+  Their most obliging friends they bite;
+  And fond to copy human ways,
+  Practise new mischiefs all their days.
+_60
+     Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
+  With travel finishes the fool;
+  Studious of every coxcomb's airs,
+  He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and swears;
+  O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts,
+  For vice is fitted to his parts.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XV.
+
+THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE PHEASANTS.
+
+  The sage, awaked at early day,
+  Through the deep forest took his way;
+  Drawn by the music of the groves,
+  Along the winding gloom he roves:
+  From tree to tree, the warbling throats
+  Prolong the sweet alternate notes.
+  But where he pass'd, he terror threw,
+  The song broke short, the warblers flew;
+  The thrushes chattered with affright,
+  And nightingales abhorred his sight;
+_10
+  All animals before him ran,
+  To shun the hateful sight of man.
+     'Whence is this dread of every creature?
+  Fly they our figure or our nature?'
+     As thus he walked in musing thought,
+  His ear imperfect accents caught;
+  With cautious step he nearer drew,
+  By the thick shade concealed from view.
+  High on the branch a pheasant stood,
+  Around her all her listening brood;
+_20
+  Proud of the blessings of her nest,
+  She thus a mother's care expressed:
+  'No dangers here shall circumvent,
+  Within the woods enjoy content.
+  Sooner the hawk or vulture trust,
+  Than man; of animals the worst:
+  In him ingratitude you find,
+  A vice peculiar to the kind.
+  The sheep whose annual fleece is dyed,
+  To guard his health, and serve his pride,
+_30
+  Forced from his fold and native plain,
+  Is in the cruel shambles slain.
+  The swarms, who, with industrious skill,
+  His hives with wax and honey fill,
+  In vain whole summer days employed,
+  Their stores are sold, their race destroyed.
+  What tribute from the goose is paid!
+  Does not her wing all science aid!
+  Does it not lovers' hearts explain,
+  And drudge to raise the merchant's gain?
+_40
+  What now rewards this general use?
+  He takes the quills, and eats the goose.
+  Man then avoid, detest his ways;
+  So safety shall prolong your days.
+  When services are thus acquitted,
+  Be sure we pheasants must be spitted.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XVI.
+
+THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE.
+
+  A pin, who long had served a beauty,
+  Proficient in the toilet's duty,
+  Had formed her sleeve, confined her hair,
+  Or given her knot a smarter air,
+  Now nearest to her heart was placed,
+  Now in her mantua's tail disgraced:
+  But could she partial fortune blame,
+  Who saw her lovers served the same?
+     At length from all her honours cast;
+  Through various turns of life she pass'd;
+_10
+  Now glittered on a tailor's arm;
+  Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
+  Now, ranged within a miser's coat,
+  Contributes to his yearly groat;
+  Now, raised again from low approach,
+  She visits in the doctor's coach;
+  Here, there, by various fortune toss'd,
+  At last in Gresham Hall[3] was lost.
+  Charmed with the wonders of the show,
+  On every side, above, below,
+_20
+  She now of this or that enquires,
+  What least was understood admires.
+  'Tis plain, each thing so struck her mind.
+  Her head's of virtuoso kind.
+     'And pray what's this, and this, dear sir?'
+  'A needle,' says the interpreter.
+  She knew the name. And thus the fool
+  Addressed her as a tailor's tool:
+     'A needle with that filthy stone,
+  Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown!
+_30
+  You better might employ your parts,
+  And aid the sempstress in her arts.
+  But tell me how the friendship grew
+  Between that paltry flint and you?'
+     'Friend,' says the needle, 'cease to blame;
+  I follow real worth and fame.
+  Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,
+  That virtue virtues can impart?
+  Of all his talents I partake,
+  Who then can such a friend forsake?
+_40
+  'Tis I directs the pilot's hand
+  To shun the rocks and treacherous sand:
+  By me the distant world is known,
+  And either India is our own.
+  Had I with milliners been bred,
+  What had I been? the guide of thread,
+  And drudged as vulgar needles do,
+  Of no more consequence than you.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XVII.
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.
+
+  A wolf, with hunger fierce and bold,
+  Ravaged the plains, and thinned the fold:
+  Deep in the wood secure he lay,
+  The thefts of night regaled the day.
+  In vain the shepherd's wakeful care
+  Had spread the toils, and watched the snare:
+  In vain the dog pursued his pace,
+  The fleeter robber mocked the chase.
+     As Lightfoot ranged the forest round,
+  By chance his foe's retreat he found.
+_10
+     'Let us awhile the war suspend,
+  And reason as from friend to friend.'
+     'A truce?' replies the wolf. 'Tis done.
+  The dog the parley thus begun:
+     'How can that strong intrepid mind
+  Attack a weak defenceless kind?
+  Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
+  And drink the boar's and lion's blood;
+  Great souls with generous pity melt,
+  Which coward tyrants never felt.
+_20
+  How harmless is our fleecy care!
+  Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.'
+     'Friend,' says the wolf, 'the matter weigh;
+  Nature designed us beasts of prey;
+  As such when hunger finds a treat,
+  'Tis necessary wolves should eat.
+  If mindful of the bleating weal,
+  Thy bosom burn with real zeal;
+  Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech;
+  To him repeat the moving speech;
+_30
+  A wolf eats sheep but now and then,
+  Ten thousands are devoured by men.
+  An open foe may prove a curse,
+  But a pretended friend is worse.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XVIII.
+
+THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY.
+
+  Lest men suspect your tale untrue,
+  Keep probability in view.
+  The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
+  The credit of his book confounds.
+  Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
+  Makes even his real courage doubted:
+  But flattery never seems absurd;
+  The flattered always take your word:
+  Impossibilities seem just;
+  They take the strongest praise on trust.
+_10
+  Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
+  Will still come short of self-conceit.
+     So very like a painter drew,
+  That every eye the picture knew;
+  He hit complexion, feature, air,
+  So just, the life itself was there.
+  No flattery with his colours laid,
+  To bloom restored the faded maid;
+  He gave each muscle all its strength,
+  The mouth, the chin, the nose's length.
+_20
+  His honest pencil touched with truth,
+  And marked the date of age and youth.
+  He lost his friends, his practice failed;
+  Truth should not always be revealed;
+  In dusty piles his pictures lay,
+  For no one sent the second pay.
+  Two busts, fraught with every grace
+  A Venus' and Apollo's face,
+  He placed in view; resolved to please,
+  Whoever sat, he drew from these,
+_30
+  From these corrected every feature,
+  And spirited each awkward creature.
+     All things were set; the hour was come,
+  His pallet ready o'er his thumb,
+  My lord appeared; and seated right
+  In proper attitude and light,
+  The painter looked, he sketched the piece,
+  Then dipp'd his pencil, talked of Greece,
+  Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;
+  'Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there
+_40
+  Might well a Raphael's hand require,
+  To give them all the native fire;
+  The features fraught with sense and wit,
+  You'll grant are very hard to hit;
+  But yet with patience you shall view
+  As much as paint and art can do.
+  Observe the work.' My lord replied:
+  'Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
+  Besides, my mouth is somewhat long;
+  Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young.'
+_50
+     'Oh! pardon me,' the artist cried,
+  'In this, the painters must decide.
+  The piece even common eyes must strike,
+  I warrant it extremely like.'
+     My lord examined it anew;
+  No looking-glass seemed half so true.
+     A lady came, with borrowed grace
+  He from his Venus formed her face.
+  Her lover praised the painter's art;
+  So like the picture in his heart!
+_60
+  To every age some charm he lent;
+  Even beauties were almost content.
+  Through all the town his art they praised;
+  His custom grew, his price was raised.
+  Had he the real likeness shown,
+  Would any man the picture own?
+  But when thus happily he wrought,
+  Each found the likeness in his thought.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XIX.
+
+THE LION AND THE CUB.
+
+  How fond are men of rule and place,
+  Who court it from the mean and base!
+  These cannot bear an equal nigh,
+  But from superior merit fly.
+  They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
+  And lose their hours in ale and smoke.
+  There o'er some petty club preside;
+  So poor, so paltry is their pride!
+  Nay, even with fools whole nights will sit,
+  In hopes to be supreme in wit.
+_10
+  If these can read, to these I write,
+  To set their worth in truest light.
+     A lion-cub, of sordid mind,
+  Avoided all the lion kind;
+  Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
+  Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;
+  With asses all his time he spent,
+  Their club's perpetual president.
+  He caught their manners, looks, and airs;
+  An ass in every thing, but ears!
+_20
+  If e'er his highness meant a joke,
+  They grinned applause before he spoke;
+  But at each word what shouts of praise!
+  Good gods! how natural he brays!
+     Elate with flattery and conceit,
+  He seeks his royal sire's retreat;
+  Forward, and fond to show his parts,
+  His highness brays; the lion starts.
+     'Puppy, that cursed vociferation
+  Betrays thy life and conversation:
+_30
+
+  Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,
+  Are trumpets of their own disgrace.'
+     'Why so severe?' the cub replies;
+  'Our senate always held me wise.'
+     'How weak is pride!' returns the sire;
+  'All fools are vain, when fools admire!
+  But know what stupid asses prize,
+  Lions and noble beasts despise.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XX.
+
+THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK.
+
+  Restrain your child; you'll soon believe
+  The text which says, we sprung from Eve.
+     As an old hen led forth her train,
+  And seemed to peck to shew the grain;
+  She raked the chaff, she scratched the ground,
+  And gleaned the spacious yard around.
+  A giddy chick, to try her wings,
+  On the well's narrow margin springs,
+  And prone she drops. The mother's breast
+  All day with sorrow was possess'd.
+_10
+     A cock she met; her son she knew;
+  And in her heart affection grew.
+     'My son,' says she, 'I grant your years
+  Have reached beyond a mother's cares;
+  I see you vig'rous, strong, and bold;
+  I hear with joy your triumphs told.
+  Tis not from cocks thy fate I dread;
+  But let thy ever-wary tread
+  Avoid yon well; that fatal place
+  Is sure perdition to our race.
+_20
+  Print this my counsel on thy breast;
+  To the just gods I leave the rest.'
+     He thanked her care; yet day by day
+  His bosom burned to disobey;
+  And every time the well he saw,
+  Scorned in his heart the foolish law:
+  Near and more near each day he drew,
+  And longed to try the dangerous view.
+     'Why was this idle charge?' he cries;
+  'Let courage female fears despise.
+_30
+  Or did she doubt my heart was brave,
+  And therefore this injunction gave?
+  Or does her harvest store the place,
+  A treasure for her younger race?
+  And would she thus my search prevent?
+  I stand resolved, and dare the event.'
+     Thus said. He mounts the margin's round,
+  And pries into the depth profound.
+  He stretched his neck; and from below
+  With stretching neck advanced a foe:
+_40
+  With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears,
+  The foe with ruffled plumes appears:
+  Threat answered threat, his fury grew,
+  Headlong to meet the war he flew,
+  But when the watery death he found,
+  He thus lamented as he drowned:
+     'I ne'er had been in this condition,
+  But for my mother's prohibition.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXI.
+
+THE RAT-CATCHER AND CATS.
+
+  The rats by night such mischief did,
+  Betty was every morning chid.
+  They undermined whole sides of bacon,
+  Her cheese was sapped, her tarts were taken.
+  Her pasties, fenced with thickest paste,
+  Were all demolished, and laid waste.
+  She cursed the cat for want of duty,
+  Who left her foes a constant booty.
+  An engineer, of noted skill,
+  Engaged to stop the growing ill.
+_10
+     From room to room he now surveys
+  Their haunts, their works, their secret ways;
+  Finds where they 'scape an ambuscade,
+  And whence the nightly sally's made.
+     An envious cat from place to place,
+  Unseen, attends his silent pace.
+  She saw, that if his trade went on,
+  The purring race must be undone;
+  So, secretly removes his baits,
+  And every stratagem defeats.
+_20
+     Again he sets the poisoned toils,
+  And puss again the labour foils.
+     'What foe (to frustrate my designs)
+  My schemes thus nightly countermines?'
+  Incensed, he cries: 'this very hour
+  This wretch shall bleed beneath my power.'
+     So said. A pond'rous trap he brought,
+  And in the fact poor puss was caught.
+     'Smuggler,' says he, 'thou shalt be made
+  A victim to our loss of trade.'
+_30
+     The captive cat, with piteous mews,
+  For pardon, life, and freedom sues:
+  'A sister of the science spare;
+  One interest is our common care.'
+     'What insolence!' the man replied;
+  'Shall cats with us the game divide?
+  Were all your interloping band
+  Extinguished, of expelled the land,
+  We rat-catchers might raise our fees,
+  Sole guardians of a nation's cheese!'
+_40
+     A cat, who saw the lifted knife,
+  Thus spoke, and saved her sister's life:
+    'In every age and clime we see,
+  Two of a trade can ne'er agree.
+  Each hates his neighbour for encroaching;
+  Squire stigmatises squire for poaching;
+  Beauties with beauties are in arms,
+  And scandal pelts each other's charms;
+  Kings too their neighbour kings dethrone,
+  In hope to make the world their own.
+_50
+  But let us limit our desires;
+  Nor war like beauties, kings, and squires!
+  For though we both one prey pursue,
+  There's game enough for us and you.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXII.
+
+THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEARD.
+
+  'Tis certain, that the modish passions
+  Descend among the crowd, like fashions.
+  Excuse me then, if pride, conceit,
+  (The manners of the fair and great)
+  I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
+  Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs.
+  I say that these are proud. What then?
+  I never said they equal men.
+     A goat (as vain as goat can be)
+  Affected singularity.
+_10
+  Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
+  He rolled upon the fragrant ground;
+  And then with fond attention stood,
+  Fixed o'er his image in the flood.
+     'I hate my frowsy beard,' he cries;
+  'My youth is lost in this disguise.
+  Did not the females know my vigour,
+  Well might they loathe this reverend figure.'
+     Resolved to smoothe his shaggy face,
+  He sought the barber of the place.
+_20
+  A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
+  Hard by, professed the dapper art;
+  His pole with pewter basins hung,
+  Black rotten teeth in order strung,
+  Ranged cups that in the window stood,
+  Lined with red rags, to look like blood,
+  Did well his threefold trade explain,
+  Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.
+     The goat he welcomes with an air,
+  And seats him in his wooden chair:
+_30
+  Mouth, nose, and cheek the lather hides:
+  Light, smooth, and swift the razor glides.
+     'I hope your custom, sir,' says pug.
+  'Sure never face was half so smug.'
+     The goat, impatient for applause,
+  Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws:
+  The shaggy people grinned and stared.
+     'Heyday! what's here? without a beard!
+  Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace?
+  What envious hand hath robbed your face?'
+_40
+     When thus the fop with smiles of scorn:
+  'Are beards by civil nations worn?
+  Even Muscovites have mowed their chins.
+  Shall we, like formal Capuchins,
+  Stubborn in pride, retain the mode,
+  And bear about the hairy load?
+  Whene'er we through the village stray,
+  Are we not mocked along the way;
+  Insulted with loud shouts of scorn,
+  By boys our beards disgraced and torn?'
+_50
+     'Were you no more with goats to dwell,
+  Brother, I grant you reason well,'
+  Replies a bearded chief. 'Beside,
+  If boys can mortify thy pride,
+  How wilt thou stand the ridicule
+  Of our whole flock? Affected fool!
+  Coxcombs, distinguished from the rest,
+  To all but coxcombs are a jest.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXIII.
+
+THE OLD WOMAN AND HER CATS.
+
+  Who friendship with a knave hath made,
+  Is judged a partner in the trade.
+  The matron who conducts abroad
+  A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
+  And if a modest girl is seen
+  With one who cures a lover's spleen,
+  We guess her not extremely nice,
+  And only wish to know her price.
+  'Tis thus that on the choice of friends
+  Our good or evil name depends.
+_10
+     A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
+  Beside a little smoky flame
+  Sate hovering, pinched with age and frost;
+  Her shrivelled hands, with veins embossed,
+  Upon her knees her weight sustains,
+  While palsy shook her crazy brains:
+  She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
+  An untamed scold of fourscore years.
+  About her swarmed a numerous brood
+  Of cats, who, lank with hunger, mewed.
+_20
+     Teased with their cries, her choler grew,
+  And thus she sputtered: 'Hence, ye crew.
+  Fool that I was, to entertain
+  Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
+  Had ye been never housed and nursed,
+  I, for a witch had ne'er been cursed.
+  To you I owe, that crowds of boys
+  Worry me with eternal noise;
+  Straws laid across, my pace retard,
+  The horse-shoe's nailed (each threshold's guard),
+_30
+  The stunted broom the wenches hide,
+  For fear that I should up and ride;
+  They stick with pins my bleeding seat,
+  And bid me show my secret teat.'
+     'To hear you prate would vex a saint;
+  Who hath most reason of complaint?'
+  Replies a cat. 'Let's come to proof.
+  Had we ne'er starved beneath your roof,
+  We had, like others of our race,
+  In credit lived as beasts of chase.
+_40
+  'Tis infamy to serve a hag;
+  Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
+  And boys against our lives combine,
+  Because, 'tis said, you cats have nine.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXIV.
+
+THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL.
+
+  All upstarts insolent in place,
+  Remind us of their vulgar race.
+  As, in the sunshine of the morn,
+  A butterfly (but newly born)
+  Sat proudly perking on a rose;
+  With pert conceit his bosom glows;
+  His wings (all-glorious to behold)
+  Bedropp'd with azure, jet, and gold,
+  Wide he displays; the spangled dew
+  Reflects his eyes, and various hue.
+_10
+     His now-forgotten friend, a snail,
+  Beneath his house, with slimy trail
+  Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
+  In wrath he to the gard'ner cries:
+     'What means yon peasant's daily toil,
+  From choking weeds to rid the soil?
+  Why wake you to the morning's care,
+  Why with new arts correct the year,
+  Why glows the peach with crimson hue,
+  And why the plum's inviting blue;
+_20
+  Were they to feast his taste design'd,
+  That vermin of voracious kind?
+  Crush then the slow, the pilfering race;
+  So purge thy garden from disgrace.'
+     'What arrogance!' the snail replied;
+  'How insolent is upstart pride!
+  Hadst thou not thus with insult vain,
+  Provoked my patience to complain,
+  I had concealed thy meaner birth,
+  Nor traced thee to the scum of earth.
+_30
+  For scarce nine suns have waked the hours,
+  To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
+  Since I thy humbler life surveyed,
+  In base, in sordid guise arrayed;
+  A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
+  You dragged a slow and noisome train;
+  And from your spider-bowels drew
+  Foul film, and spun the dirty clew.
+  I own my humble life, good friend;
+  Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
+_40
+  And what's a butterfly? At best,
+  He's but a caterpillar, dress'd;
+  And all thy race (a numerous seed)
+  Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXV.
+
+THE SCOLD AND THE PARROT.
+
+  The husband thus reproved his wife:
+  'Who deals in slander, lives in strife.
+  Art thou the herald of disgrace,
+  Denouncing war to all thy race?
+  Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
+  Which spares no friend, nor sex, nor age?
+  That vixen tongue of yours, my dear,
+  Alarms our neighbours far and near.
+  Good gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
+  That murmuring flows, and flows for ever!
+_10
+  Ne'er tired, perpetual discord sowing!
+  Like fame, it gathers strength by going.'
+     'Heyday!' the flippant tongue replies,
+  How solemn is the fool, how wise!
+  Is nature's choicest gift debarred?
+  Nay, frown not; for I will be heard.
+  Women of late are finely ridden,
+  A parrot's privilege forbidden!
+  You praise his talk, his squalling song;
+  But wives are always in the wrong.'
+_20
+     Now reputations flew in pieces,
+  Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces.
+  She ran the parrot's language o'er,
+  Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slattern, whore;
+  On all the sex she vents her fury,
+  Tries and condemns without a jury.
+     At once the torrent of her words
+  Alarmed cat, monkey, dogs, and birds:
+  All join their forces to confound her;
+  Puss spits, the monkey chatters round her;
+_30
+  The yelping cur her heels assaults;
+  The magpie blabs out all her faults;
+  Poll, in the uproar, from his cage,
+  With this rebuke out-screamed her rage:
+     'A parrot is for talking prized,
+  But prattling women are despised.
+  She who attacks another's honour,
+  Draws every living thing upon her.
+  Think, madam, when you stretch your lungs,
+  That all your neighbours too have tongues.
+_40
+  One slander must ten thousand get,
+  The world with interest pays the debt.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXVI.
+
+THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF.
+
+  A sneaking cur, the master's spy,
+  Rewarded for his daily lie,
+  With secret jealousies and fears
+  Set all together by the ears.
+  Poor puss to-day was in disgrace,
+  Another cat supplied her place;
+  The hound was beat, the mastiff chid,
+  The monkey was the room forbid;
+  Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
+  And none could tell the reason why.
+_10
+     A plan to rob the house was laid,
+  The thief with love seduced the maid;
+  Cajoled the cur, and stroked his head,
+  And bought his secrecy with bread.
+  He next the mastiff's honour tried,
+  Whose honest jaws the bribe defied.
+  He stretched his hand to proffer more;
+  The surly dog his fingers tore.
+     Swift ran the cur; with indignation
+  The master took his information.
+_20
+  'Hang him, the villain's cursed,' he cries;
+  And round his neck the halter ties.
+     The dog his humble suit preferred,
+  And begged in justice to be heard.
+  The master sat. On either hand
+  The cited dogs confronting stand;
+  The cur the bloody tale relates,
+  And, like a lawyer, aggravates.
+     'Judge not unheard,' the mastiff cried,
+  'But weigh the cause on either side.
+_30
+  Think not that treachery can be just,
+  Take not informers' words on trust.
+  They ope their hand to every pay,
+  And you and me by turns betray.'
+     He spoke. And all the truth appeared,
+  The cur was hanged, the mastiff cleared.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXVII.
+
+THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.
+
+  'Is there no hope?' the sick man said.
+  The silent doctor shook his head,
+  And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
+  Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
+     When thus the man with gasping breath;
+  'I feel the chilling wound of death:
+  Since I must bid the world adieu,
+  Let me my former life review.
+  I grant, my bargains well were made,
+  But all men over-reach in trade;
+_10
+
+  'Tis self-defence in each profession,
+  Sure self-defence is no transgression.
+  The little portion in my hands,
+  By good security on lands,
+  Is well increased. If unawares,
+  My justice to myself and heirs,
+  Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
+  For want of good sufficient bail;
+  If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
+  Reduced a family to need,
+_20
+  My will hath made the world amends;
+  My hope on charity depends.
+  When I am numbered with the dead,
+  And all my pious gifts are read,
+  By heaven and earth 'twill then be known
+  My charities were amply shown'
+     An angel came. 'Ah, friend!' he cried,
+  'No more in flattering hope confide.
+  Can thy good deeds in former times
+  Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
+_30
+  What widow or what orphan prays
+  To crown thy life with length of days?
+  A pious action's in thy power,
+  Embrace with joy the happy hour.
+  Now, while you draw the vital air,
+  Prove your intention is sincere.
+  This instant give a hundred pound;
+  Your neighbours want, and you abound.'
+    'But why such haste?' the sick man whines;
+  'Who knows as yet what Heaven designs?
+_40
+  Perhaps I may recover still;
+  That sum and more are in my will?
+     'Fool,' says the vision, 'now 'tis plain,
+  Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain,
+  From every side, with all your might,
+  You scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
+  And after death would fain atone,
+  By giving what is not your own.'
+     'While there is life, there's hope,' he cried;
+  'Then why such haste?' so groaned and died.
+_50
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXVIII.
+
+THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.
+
+  Is there a bard whom genius fires,
+  Whose every thought the god inspires?
+  When Envy reads the nervous lines,
+  She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines;
+  Her hissing snakes with venom swell;
+  She calls her venal train from hell:
+  The servile fiends her nod obey,
+  And all Curl's[4] authors are in pay,
+  Fame calls up calumny and spite.
+  Thus shadow owes its birth to light.
+_10
+     As prostrate to the god of day,
+  With heart devout, a Persian lay,
+  His invocation thus begun:
+     'Parent of light, all-seeing Sun,
+  Prolific beam, whose rays dispense
+  The various gifts of providence,
+  Accept our praise, our daily prayer,
+  Smile on our fields, and bless the year.'
+     A cloud, who mocked his grateful tongue,
+  The day with sudden darkness hung;
+_20
+  With pride and envy swelled, aloud
+  A voice thus thundered from the cloud:
+     'Weak is this gaudy god of thine,
+  Whom I at will forbid to shine.
+  Shall I nor vows, nor incense know?
+  Where praise is due, the praise bestow.'
+     With fervent zeal the Persian moved,
+  Thus the proud calumny reproved:
+     'It was that god, who claims my prayer,
+  Who gave thee birth, and raised thee there;
+_30
+  When o'er his beams the veil is thrown,
+  Thy substance is but plainer shown.
+  A passing gale, a puff of wind
+  Dispels thy thickest troops combined.'
+     The gale arose; the vapour toss'd
+  (The sport of winds) in air was lost;
+  The glorious orb the day refines.
+  Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXIX.
+
+THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
+
+  A fox, in life's extreme decay,
+  Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay;
+  All appetite had left his maw,
+  And age disarmed his mumbling jaw.
+  His numerous race around him stand
+  To learn their dying sire's command:
+  He raised his head with whining moan,
+  And thus was heard the feeble tone:
+     'Ah, sons! from evil ways depart:
+  My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
+_10
+     See, see, the murdered geese appear!
+  Why are those bleeding turkeys here?
+  Why all around this cackling train,
+  Who haunt my ears for chicken slain?
+     The hungry foxes round them stared,
+  And for the promised feast prepared.
+     'Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer?
+  Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here.
+  These are the phantoms of your brain,
+  And your sons lick their lips in vain.'
+_20
+     'O gluttons!' says the drooping sire,
+  'Restrain inordinate desire.
+  Your liqu'rish taste you shall deplore,
+  When peace of conscience is no more.
+  Does not the hound betray our pace,
+  And gins and guns destroy our race?
+  Thieves dread the searching eye of power,
+  And never feel the quiet hour.
+  Old age (which few of us shall know)
+  Now puts a period to my woe.
+_30
+  Would you true happiness attain,
+  Let honesty your passions rein;
+  So live in credit and esteem,
+  And the good name you lost, redeem.'
+     'The counsel's good,' a fox replies,
+  'Could we perform what you advise.
+  Think what our ancestors have done;
+  A line of thieves from son to son:
+  To us descends the long disgrace,
+  And infamy hath marked our race.
+_40
+  Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed,
+  Honest in thought, in word, and deed;
+  Whatever henroost is decreased,
+  We shall be thought to share the feast.
+  The change shall never be believed,
+  A lost good name is ne'er retrieved.'
+     'Nay, then,' replies the feeble fox,
+  '(But hark! I hear a hen that clocks)
+  Go, but be moderate in your food;
+  A chicken too might do me good.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXX.
+
+  THE SETTING-DOG AND THE PARTRIDGE.
+
+  The ranging dog the stubble tries,
+  And searches every breeze that flies;
+  The scent grows warm; with cautious fear
+  He creeps, and points the covey near;
+  The men, in silence, far behind,
+  Conscious of game, the net unbind.
+     A partridge, with experience wise,
+  The fraudful preparation spies:
+  She mocks their toils, alarms her brood;
+  The covey springs, and seeks the wood;
+_10
+  But ere her certain wing she tries,
+  Thus to the creeping spaniel cries:
+     'Thou fawning slave to man's deceit,
+  Thou pimp of luxury, sneaking cheat,
+  Of thy whole species thou disgrace,
+  Dogs shall disown thee of their race!
+  For if I judge their native parts,
+  They're born with open, honest hearts;
+  And, ere they serve man's wicked ends,
+  Were generous foes, or real friends.'
+_20
+     When thus the dog, with scornful smile:
+  'Secure of wing, thou dar'st revile.
+  Clowns are to polished manners blind,
+  How ignorant is the rustic mind!
+  My worth, sagacious courtiers see,
+  And to preferment rise, like me.
+  The thriving pimp, who beauty sets,
+  Hath oft enhanced a nation's debts:
+  Friend sets his friend, without regard;
+  And ministers his skill reward:
+_30
+  Thus trained by man, I learnt his ways,
+  And growing favour feasts my days.'
+    'I might have guessed,' the partridge said,
+  'The place where you were trained and fed;
+  Servants are apt, and in a trice
+  Ape to a hair their master's vice.
+  You came from court, you say. Adieu,'
+  She said, and to the covey flew.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXXI.
+
+  THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION.
+
+  A rake, by every passion ruled,
+  With every vice his youth had cooled;
+  Disease his tainted blood assails;
+  His spirits droop, his vigour fails;
+  With secret ills at home he pines,
+  And, like infirm old age, declines.
+     As, twinged with pain, he pensive sits,
+  And raves, and prays, and swears by fits,
+  A ghastly phantom, lean and wan,
+  Before him rose, and thus began:
+_10
+    'My name, perhaps, hath reached your ear;
+  Attend, and be advised by Care.
+  Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power,
+  Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
+  When health is lost. Be timely wise:
+  With health all taste of pleasure flies.'
+     Thus said, the phantom disappears.
+  The wary counsel waked his fears:
+  He now from all excess abstains,
+  With physic purifies his veins;
+_20
+  And, to procure a sober life,
+  Resolves to venture on a wife.
+     But now again the sprite ascends,
+  Where'er he walks his ear attends;
+  Insinuates that beauty's frail,
+  That perseverance must prevail;
+  With jealousies his brain inflames,
+  And whispers all her lovers' names.
+  In other hours she represents
+  His household charge, his annual rents,
+_30
+  Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
+  And nothing for his younger sons.
+     Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
+  And with the thirst of lucre burns.
+  But when possessed of fortune's store,
+  The spectre haunts him more and more;
+  Sets want and misery in view,
+  Bold thieves, and all the murd'ring crew,
+  Alarms him with eternal frights,
+  Infests his dream, or wakes his nights.
+_40
+  How shall he chase this hideous guest?
+  Power may perhaps protect his rest.
+  To power he rose. Again the sprite
+  Besets him, morning, noon, and night!
+  Talks of ambition's tottering seat,
+  How envy persecutes the great,
+  Of rival hate, of treacherous friends,
+  And what disgrace his fall attends.
+     The Court he quits to fly from Care,
+  And seeks the peace of rural air:
+_50
+  His groves, his fields, amused his hours;
+  He pruned his trees, he raised his flowers.
+  But Care again his steps pursues;
+  Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
+  Of plund'ring insects, snails, and rains,
+  And droughts that starved the laboured plains.
+  Abroad, at home, the spectre's there:
+  In vain we seek to fly from Care.
+  At length he thus the ghost address'd:
+  'Since thou must be my constant guest,
+_60
+  Be kind, and follow me no more;
+  For Care by right should go before.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXII.
+
+THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW.
+
+  Two formal owls together sat,
+  Conferring thus in solemn chat:
+  'How is the modern taste decayed!
+  Where's the respect to wisdom paid?
+  Our worth the Grecian sages knew;
+  They gave our sires the honour due;
+  They weighed the dignity of fowls,
+  And pried into the depth of owls.
+  Athens, the seat of learned fame,
+  With general voice revered our name;
+_10
+  On merit, title was conferred,
+  And all adored the Athenian bird.'
+    'Brother, you reason well,' replies
+  The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes;
+  'Right. Athens was the seat of learning,
+  And truly wisdom is discerning.
+  Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit,
+  The type and ornament of wit:
+  But now, alas! we're quite neglected,
+  And a pert sparrow's more respected.'
+_20
+     A sparrow, who was lodged beside,
+  O'erhears them soothe each other's pride,
+  And thus he nimbly vents his heat:
+     'Who meets a fool must find conceit.
+  I grant, you were at Athens graced,
+  And on Minerva's helm were placed;
+  But every bird that wings the sky,
+  Except an owl, can tell you why.
+  From hence they taught their schools to know
+  How false we judge by outward show;
+_30
+  That we should never looks esteem,
+  Since fools as wise as you might seem.
+  Would ye contempt and scorn avoid,
+  Let your vain-glory be destroyed:
+  Humble your arrogance of thought,
+  Pursue the ways by Nature taught;
+  So shall you find delicious fare,
+  And grateful farmers praise your care:
+  So shall sleek mice your chase reward,
+  And no keen cat find more regard.'
+_40
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXIII.
+
+THE COURTIER AND PROTEUS.
+
+  Whene'er a courtier's out of place
+  The country shelters his disgrace;
+     Where, doomed to exercise and health,
+  His house and gardens own his wealth,
+  He builds new schemes in hopes to gain
+  The plunder of another reign;
+  Like Philip's son, would fain be doing,
+  And sighs for other realms to ruin.
+     As one of these (without his wand)
+  Pensive, along the winding strand
+_10
+  Employed the solitary hour,
+  In projects to regain his power;
+  The waves in spreading circles ran,
+  Proteus arose, and thus began:
+     'Came you from Court? For in your mien
+  A self-important air is seen.
+     He frankly owned his friends had tricked him
+  And how he fell his party's victim.
+     'Know,' says the god, 'by matchless skill
+  I change to every shape at will;
+_20
+  But yet I'm told, at Court you see
+  Those who presume to rival me.'
+     Thus said. A snake with hideous trail,
+  Proteus extends his scaly mail.
+     'Know,' says the man, 'though proud in place,
+  All courtiers are of reptile race.
+  Like you, they take that dreadful form,
+  Bask in the sun, and fly the storm;
+  With malice hiss, with envy gloat,
+  And for convenience change their coat;
+_30
+  With new-got lustre rear their head,
+  Though on a dunghill born and bred.'
+     Sudden the god a lion stands;
+  He shakes his mane, he spurns the sands;
+  Now a fierce lynx, with fiery glare,
+  A wolf, an ass, a fox, a bear.
+     'Had I ne'er lived at Court,' he cries,
+  'Such transformation might surprise;
+  But there, in quest of daily game,
+  Each able courtier acts the same.
+_40
+  Wolves, lions, lynxes, while in place,
+  Their friends and fellows are their chase.
+  They play the bear's and fox's part;
+  Now rob by force, now steal with art.
+  They sometimes in the senate bray;
+  Or, changed again to beasts of prey,
+  Down from the lion to the ape,
+  Practise the frauds of every shape.'
+     So said, upon the god he flies,
+  In cords the struggling captive ties.
+_50
+     'Now, Proteus, now, (to truth compelled)
+  Speak, and confess thy art excelled.
+  Use strength, surprise, or what you will,
+  The courtier finds evasions still:
+  Not to be bound by any ties,
+  And never forced to leave his lies.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXIV.
+
+THE MASTIFFS.
+
+  Those who in quarrels interpose,
+  Must often wipe a bloody nose.
+     A mastiff, of true English blood,
+  Loved fighting better than his food.
+  When dogs were snarling for a bone,
+  He longed to make the war his own,
+  And often found (when two contend)
+  To interpose obtained his end;
+  He gloried in his limping pace;
+  The scars of honour seamed his face;
+_10
+  In every limb a gash appears,
+  And frequent fights retrenched his ears.
+     As, on a time, he heard from far
+  Two dogs engaged in noisy war,
+  Away he scours and lays about him,
+  Resolved no fray should be without him.
+     Forth from his yard a tanner flies,
+  And to the bold intruder cries:
+     'A cudgel shall correct your manners,
+  Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners?
+_20
+  While on my dog you vent your spite,
+  Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite.'
+  To see the battle thus perplexed,
+  With equal rage a butcher vexed,
+  Hoarse-screaming from the circled crowd,
+  To the cursed mastiff cries aloud:
+     'Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone
+  The combats of my dog have known.
+  He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted,
+  Attacks in public, to be parted.
+_30
+  Think not, rash fool, to share his fame:
+  Be his the honour, or the shame.'
+     Thus said, they swore, and raved like thunder;
+  Then dragged their fastened dogs asunder;
+  While clubs and kicks from every side
+  Rebounded from the mastiff's hide.
+     All reeking now with sweat and blood,
+  Awhile the parted warriors stood,
+  Then poured upon the meddling foe;
+  Who, worried, howled and sprawled below.
+_40
+  He rose; and limping from the fray,
+  By both sides mangled, sneaked away.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXV.
+
+THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.
+
+  How many saucy airs we meet
+  From Temple Bar to Aldgate Street!
+  Proud rogues, who shared the South-Sea prey,
+  And sprung like mushrooms in a day!
+  They think it mean, to condescend
+  To know a brother or a friend;
+  They blush to hear their mother's name,
+  And by their pride expose their shame.
+     As cross his yard, at early day,
+  A careful farmer took his way,
+_10
+  He stopped, and leaning on his fork,
+  Observed the flail's incessant work.
+  In thought he measured all his store,
+  His geese, his hogs, he numbered o'er;
+  In fancy weighed the fleeces shorn,
+  And multiplied the next year's corn.
+     A Barley-mow, which stood beside,
+  Thus to its musing master cried:
+     'Say, good sir, is it fit or right
+  To treat me with neglect and slight?
+_20
+  Me, who contribute to your cheer,
+  And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
+  Why thus insulted, thus disgraced,
+  And that vile dunghill near me placed?
+  Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
+  That filthy sight, that nauseous fume,
+  Meet objects here? Command it hence:
+  A thing so mean must give offence'
+     The humble dunghill thus replied:
+  'Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride:
+_30
+  Insult not thus the meek and low;
+  In me thy benefactor know;
+  My warm assistance gave thee birth,
+  Or thou hadst perished low in earth;
+  But upstarts, to support their station,
+  Cancel at once all obligation.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXXVI.
+
+  PYTHAGORAS AND THE COUNTRYMAN.
+
+  Pythag'ras rose at early dawn,
+  By soaring meditation drawn,
+  To breathe the fragrance of the day,
+  Through flowery fields he took his way.
+  In musing contemplation warm,
+  His steps misled him to a farm,
+  Where, on the ladder's topmost round,
+  A peasant stood; the hammer's sound
+  Shook the weak barn. 'Say, friend, what care
+  Calls for thy honest labour there?'
+_10
+     The clown, with surly voice replies,
+  'Vengeance aloud for justice cries.
+  This kite, by daily rapine fed,
+  My hens' annoy, my turkeys' dread,
+  At length his forfeit life has paid;
+  See on the wall his wings displayed,
+  Here nailed, a terror to his kind,
+  My fowls shall future safety find;
+  My yard the thriving poultry feed,
+  And my barn's refuse fat the breed.'
+_20
+     'Friend,' says the sage, 'the doom is wise;
+  For public good the murderer dies.
+  But if these tyrants of the air
+  Demand a sentence so severe,
+  Think how the glutton man devours;
+  What bloody feasts regale his hours!
+  O impudence of power and might,
+  Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
+  When thou, perhaps, carniv'rous sinner,
+  Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!'
+_30
+     'Hold,' cried the clown, with passion heated,
+  'Shall kites and men alike be treated?
+  When Heaven the world with creatures stored,
+  Man was ordained their sovereign lord.'
+     'Thus tyrants boast,' the sage replied,
+  'Whose murders spring from power and pride.
+  Own then this man-like kite is slain
+  Thy greater luxury to sustain;
+  For "Petty rogues submit to fate,
+  That great ones may enjoy their state."'[5]
+_40
+
+
+
+
+FABLE XXXVII.
+
+THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN.
+
+  'Why are those tears? why droops your head?
+  Is then your other husband dead?
+  Or does a worse disgrace betide?
+  Hath no one since his death applied?'
+     'Alas! you know the cause too well:
+  The salt is spilt, to me it fell.
+  Then, to contribute to my loss,
+  My knife and fork were laid across;
+  On Friday too! the day I dread!
+  Would I were safe at home in bed!
+_10
+  Last night (I vow to heaven 'tis true)
+  Bounce from the fire a coffin flew.
+  Next post some fatal news shall tell,
+  God send my Cornish friends be well!'
+     'Unhappy widow, cease thy tears,
+  Nor feel affliction in thy fears,
+  Let not thy stomach be suspended;
+  Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended;
+  And when the butler clears the table,
+  For thy desert, I'll read my fable.'
+_20
+     Betwixt her swagging panniers' load
+  A farmer's wife to market rode,
+  And, jogging on, with thoughtful care
+  Summed up the profits of her ware;
+  When, starting from her silver dream,
+  Thus far and wide was heard her scream:
+     'That raven on yon left-hand oak
+  (Curse on his ill-betiding croak)
+  Bodes me no good.' No more she said,
+  When poor blind Ball, with stumbling tread,
+_30
+  Fell prone; o'erturned the pannier lay,
+  And her mashed eggs bestrewed the way.
+     She, sprawling in the yellow road,
+  Railed, swore and cursed: 'Thou croaking toad,
+  A murrain take thy whoreson throat!
+  I knew misfortune in the note.'
+     'Dame,' quoth the raven, 'spare your oaths,
+  Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes.
+  But why on me those curses thrown?
+  Goody, the fault was all your own;
+_40
+  For had you laid this brittle ware,
+  On Dun, the old sure-footed mare,
+  Though all the ravens of the hundred,
+  With croaking had your tongue out-thundered,
+  Sure-footed Dun had kept his legs,
+  And you, good woman, saved your eggs.'
+
+
+
+  FABLE XXXVIII.
+
+  THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.
+
+  In other men we faults can spy,
+  And blame the mote that dims their eye,
+  Each little speck and blemish find,
+  To our own stronger errors blind.
+     A turkey, tired of common food,
+  Forsook the barn, and sought the wood;
+  Behind her ran her infant train,
+  Collecting here and there a grain.
+     'Draw near, my birds,' the mother cries,
+  'This hill delicious fare supplies;
+_10
+  Behold, the busy negro race,
+  See, millions blacken all the place!
+  Fear not. Like me with freedom eat;
+  An ant is most delightful meat.
+  How bless'd, how envied were our life,
+  Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife!
+  But man, cursed man, on turkeys preys,
+  And Christmas shortens all our days:
+  Sometimes with oysters we combine,
+  Sometimes assist the savoury chine.
+_20
+  From the low peasant to the lord,
+  The turkey smokes on every board.
+  Sure men for gluttony are cursed,
+  Of the seven deadly sins the worst.'
+     An ant, who climbed beyond his reach,
+  Thus answered from the neighbouring beech:
+     'Ere you remark another's sin,       27
+  Bid thy own conscience look within;
+  Control thy more voracious bill,
+  Nor for a breakfast nations kill.'
+_30
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXXIX.
+
+  THE FATHER AND JUPITER.
+
+
+  The man to Jove his suit preferred;
+  He begged a wife. His prayer was heard,
+  Jove wondered at his bold addressing:
+  For how precarious is the blessing!
+  A wife he takes. And now for heirs
+  Again he worries heaven with prayers.
+  Jove nods assent. Two hopeful boys
+  And a fine girl reward his joys.
+  Now, more solicitous he grew,
+  And set their future lives in view;
+_10
+  He saw that all respect and duty
+  Were paid to wealth, to power, and beauty.
+  'Once more,' he cries, 'accept my prayer;
+  Make my loved progeny thy care.
+  Let my first hope, my favourite boy,
+  All fortune's richest gifts enjoy.
+  My next with strong ambition fire:
+  May favour teach him to aspire;
+  Till he the step of power ascend,
+  And courtiers to their idol bend.
+_20
+  With every grace, with every charm,
+  My daughter's perfect features arm.
+  If heaven approve, a father's bless'd.'
+  Jove smiles, and grants his full request.
+     The first, a miser at the heart,
+  Studious of every griping art,
+  Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain;
+  And all his life devotes to gain.
+  He feels no joy, his cares increase,
+  He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace;
+_30
+  In fancied want (a wretch complete)
+  He starves, and yet he dares not eat.
+     The next to sudden honours grew:
+  The thriving art of Courts he knew:
+  He reached the height of power and place;
+  Then fell, the victim of disgrace.
+     Beauty with early bloom supplies
+  His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes.
+  The vain coquette each suit disdains,
+  And glories in her lover's pains.
+_40
+  With age she fades, each lover flies;
+  Contemned, forlorn, she pines and dies.
+     When Jove the father's grief surveyed,
+  And heard him Heaven and Fate upbraid,
+  Thus spoke the god: 'By outward show,
+  Men judge of happiness and woe:
+  Shall ignorance of good and ill
+  Dare to direct the eternal will?
+  Seek virtue; and, of that possess'd,
+  To Providence resign the rest'
+_50
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XL.
+
+  THE TWO MONKEYS.
+
+  The learned, full of inward pride,
+  The Fops of outward show deride:
+  The Fop, with learning at defiance,
+  Scoffs at the pedant, and the science:
+  The Don, a formal, solemn strutter,
+  Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter;
+  While Monsieur mocks the formal fool,
+  Who looks, and speaks, and walks by rule.
+  Britain, a medley of the twain,
+  As pert as France, as grave as Spain;
+_10
+  In fancy wiser than the rest,
+  Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
+  Is not the poet's chiming close
+  Censured by all the sons of prose?
+  While bards of quick imagination
+  Despise the sleepy prose narration.
+  Men laugh at apes, they men contemn;
+  For what are we, but apes to them?
+     Two monkeys went to Southwark fair,
+  No critics had a sourer air:
+_20
+  They forced their way through draggled folks,
+  Who gaped to catch jack-pudding's jokes;
+  Then took their tickets for the show,
+  And got by chance the foremost row.
+  To see their grave, observing face,
+  Provoked a laugh throughout the place.
+     'Brother,' says Pug, and turned his head,
+  'The rabble's monstrously ill bred.'
+     Now through the booth loud hisses ran;
+  Nor ended till the show began.
+_30
+  The tumbler whirls the flap-flap round,
+  With somersets he shakes the ground;
+  The cord beneath the dancer springs;
+  Aloft in air the vaulter swings;
+  Distorted now, now prone depends,
+  Now through his twisted arms ascends:
+  The crowd, in wonder and delight,
+  With clapping hands applaud the sight.
+     With smiles, quoth Pug, 'If pranks like these
+  The giant apes of reason please,
+_40
+  How would they wonder at our arts!
+  They must adore us for our parts.
+  High on the twig I've seen you cling;
+  Play, twist and turn in airy ring:
+  How can those clumsy things, like me,
+  Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
+  But yet, by this applause, we find
+  These emulators of our kind
+  Discern our worth, our parts regard,
+  Who our mean mimics thus reward.'
+_50
+     'Brother,' the grinning mate replies,
+  'In this I grant that man is wise.
+  While good example they pursue,
+  We must allow some praise is due;
+  But when they strain beyond their guide,
+  I laugh to scorn the mimic pride,
+  For how fantastic is the sight,
+  To meet men always bolt upright,
+  Because we sometimes walk on two!
+  I hate the imitating crew.'
+_60
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XLI.
+
+  THE OWL AND THE FARMER.
+
+  An owl of grave deport and mien,
+  Who (like the Turk) was seldom seen,
+  Within a barn had chose his station,
+  As fit for prey and contemplation.
+  Upon a beam aloft he sits,
+  And nods, and seems to think by fits.
+  So have I seen a man of news,
+  Or _Post-boy_, or _Gazette_ peruse;
+  Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound,
+  And fix the fate of Europe round.
+_10
+  Sheaves piled on sheaves, hid all the floor;
+  At dawn of morn, to view his store
+  The farmer came. The hooting guest
+  His self-importance thus express'd:
+     'Reason in man is mere pretence:
+  How weak, how shallow is his sense!
+  To treat with scorn the bird of night,
+  Declares his folly, or his spite.
+  Then too, how partial is his praise!
+  The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays
+_20
+  To his ill-judging ears are fine;
+  And nightingales are all divine.
+  But the more knowing feathered race
+  See wisdom stamped upon my face.
+  Whene'er to visit light I deign,
+  What flocks of fowl compose my train!
+  Like slaves they crowd my flight behind,
+  And own me of superior kind.'
+     The farmer laughed, and thus replied:
+  'Thou dull important lump of pride,
+_30
+  Dar'st thou with that harsh grating tongue,
+  Depreciate birds of warbling song?
+  Indulge thy spleen. Know, men and fowl
+  Regard thee, as thou art an owl.
+  Besides, proud blockhead, be not vain,
+  Of what thou call'st thy slaves and train.
+  Few follow wisdom or her rules;
+  Fools in derision follow fools.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XLII.
+
+THE JUGGLERS.
+
+  A juggler long through all the town
+  Had raised his fortune and renown;
+  You'd think (so far his art transcends)
+  The devil at his fingers' ends.
+     Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
+  Convinced of his inferior skill,
+  She sought his booth, and from the crowd
+  Defied the man of art aloud:
+     'Is this, then, he so famed for sleight?
+  Can this slow bungler cheat your sight!
+_10
+  Dares he with me dispute the prize?
+  I leave it to impartial eyes.'
+     Provoked, the juggler cried, ''tis done.
+  In science I submit to none.'
+     Thus said, the cups and balls he played;
+  By turns, this here, that there, conveyed.
+  The cards, obedient to his words,
+  Are by a fillip turned to birds.
+  His little boxes change the grain:
+  Trick after trick deludes the train.
+_20
+  He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
+  His fingers spreads, and nothing there;
+  Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
+  And now his ivory eggs are told.
+  But when from thence the hen he draws,
+  Amazed spectators hum applause.
+     Vice now stept forth, and took the place
+  With all the forms of his grimace.
+     'This magic looking-glass,' she cries,
+  (There, hand it round) 'will charm your eyes.'
+_30
+  Each eager eye the sight desired,
+  And every man himself admired.
+     Next to a senator addressing:
+  'See this bank-note; observe the blessing,
+  Breathe on the bill.' Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone.
+  Upon his lips a padlock shone.
+  A second puff the magic broke,
+  The padlock vanished, and he spoke.
+     Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
+  All full, with heady liquor stored,
+_40
+  By clean conveyance disappear,
+  And now two bloody swords are there.
+     A purse she to a thief exposed,
+  At once his ready fingers closed;
+  He opes his fist, the treasure's fled;
+  He sees a halter in its stead.
+     She bids ambition hold a wand;
+  He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
+     A box of charity she shows,
+  'Blow here;' and a churchwarden blows,
+_50
+  'Tis vanished with conveyance neat,
+  And on the table smokes a treat.
+     She shakes the dice, the boards she knocks,
+  And from all pockets fills her box.
+     She next a meagre rake address'd:
+  'This picture see; her shape, her breast!
+  What youth, and what inviting eyes!
+  Hold her, and have her.' With surprise,
+  His hand exposed a box of pills,
+  And a loud laugh proclaimed his ills.
+_60
+     A counter, in a miser's hand,
+  Grew twenty guineas at command.
+  She bids his heir the sum retain,
+  And 'tis a counter now again.
+  A guinea with her touch you see
+  Take every shape, but charity;
+  And not one thing you saw, or drew,
+  But changed from what was first in view.
+     The juggler now in grief of heart,
+  With this submission owned her art:
+_70
+  'Can I such matchless sleight withstand?
+  How practice hath improved your hand!
+  But now and then I cheat the throng;
+  You every day, and all day long.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XLIII.
+
+  THE COUNCIL OF HORSES.
+
+  Upon a time a neighing steed,
+  Who grazed among a numerous breed,
+  With mutiny had fired the train,
+  And spread dissension through the plain.
+  On matters that concerned the state
+  The council met in grand debate.
+  A colt, whose eye-balls flamed with ire,
+  Elate with strength and youthful fire,
+  In haste stept forth before the rest,
+  And thus the listening throng addressed:
+_10
+     'Good gods! how abject is our race,
+  Condemned to slavery and disgrace!
+  Shall we our servitude retain,
+  Because our sires have borne the chain?
+  Consider, friends, your strength and might;
+  'Tis conquest to assert your right.
+  How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
+  The pride of man is our reproach.
+  Were we designed for daily toil,
+  To drag the ploughshare through, the soil,
+_20
+  To sweat in harness through the road,
+  To groan beneath the carrier's load?
+  How feeble are the two-legged kind!
+  What force is in our nerves combined!
+  Shall then our nobler jaws submit
+  To foam and champ the galling bit?
+  Shall haughty man my back bestride?
+  Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
+  Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein;
+  Your shame, your infamy disdain.
+_30
+  Let him the lion first control,
+  And still the tiger's famished growl.
+  Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
+  And make him tremble at our name.'
+     A general nod approved the cause,
+  And all the circle neighed applause.
+     When, lo! with grave and solemn pace,
+  A steed advanced before the race,
+  With age and long experience wise;
+  Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
+_40
+  And, to the murmurs of the train,
+  Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain:
+     'When I had health and strength, like you,
+  The toils of servitude I knew;
+  Now grateful man rewards my pains,
+  And gives me all these wide domains.
+  At will I crop the year's increase
+  My latter life is rest and peace.
+  I grant, to man we lend our pains,
+  And aid him to correct the plains.
+_50
+  But doth not he divide the care,
+  Through all the labours of the year?
+  How many thousand structures rise,
+  To fence us from inclement skies!
+  For us he bears the sultry day,
+  And stores up all our winter's hay.
+  He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain;
+  We share the toil, and share the grain.
+  Since every creature was decreed
+  To aid each other's mutual need,
+_60
+  Appease your discontented mind,
+  And act the part by heaven assigned.'
+     The tumult ceased. The colt submitted,
+  And, like his ancestors, was bitted.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  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 prone,
+  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 passed along,
+  But had a sample of his song.
+_20
+     Soon as the trotting steed he hears,
+  He starts, he cocks his dapper ears;
+  Away he scours, assaults 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 passing 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 coxcombs 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 asserts 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.
+     The hog with stutt'ring speech returns:
+  'Explain, sir, why your anger burns.
+_40
+  See there, untouched, your tulips strown,
+  For I devoured the roots alone.'
+     At this the gard'ner's passion grows;
+  From oaths and threats he fell to blows.
+  The stubborn brute the blow sustains;
+  Assaults his leg, and tears the veins.
+     Ah! foolish swain, too late you find
+  That sties were for such friends designed!
+     Homeward he limps with painful pace,
+  Reflecting thus on past disgrace:
+_50
+  Who cherishes a brutal mate
+  Shall mourn the folly soon or late.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XLIX.
+
+  THE MAN AND THE FLEA.
+
+
+  Whether on earth, in air, or main,
+  Sure everything alive is vain!
+  Does not the hawk all fowls survey,
+  As destined only for his prey?
+  And do not tyrants, prouder things,
+  Think men were born for slaves to kings?
+     When the crab views the pearly strands,
+  Or Tagus, bright with golden sands;
+  Or crawls beside the coral grove,
+  And hears the ocean roll above;
+_10
+  'Nature is too profuse,' says he,
+  'Who gave all these to pleasure me!'
+  When bordering pinks and roses bloom,
+  And every garden breathes perfume;
+  When peaches glow with sunny dyes,
+  Like Laura's cheek, when blushes rise;
+  When with huge figs the branches bend,
+  When clusters from the vine depend;
+  The snail looks round on flower and tree,
+  And cries, 'All these were made for me!'
+_20
+     'What dignity's in human nature!'
+  Says man, the most conceited creature,
+  As from a cliff he cast his eye,
+  And viewed the sea and arched sky;
+  The sun was sunk beneath the main,
+  The moon and all the starry train
+  Hung the vast vault of heaven. The man
+  His contemplation thus began:
+     'When I behold this glorious show,
+  And the wide watery world below,
+_30
+  The scaly people of the main,
+  The beasts that range the wood or plain,
+  The winged inhabitants of air,
+  The day, the night, the various year,
+  And know all these by heaven design'd
+  As gifts to pleasure human kind;
+  I cannot raise my worth too high;
+  Of what vast consequence am I!'
+     'Not of the importance you suppose,'
+  Replies a flea upon his nose.
+_40
+  'Be humble, learn thyself to scan;
+  Know, pride was never made for man.
+  'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.
+  What, heaven and earth for thee designed!
+  For thee, made only for our need,
+  That more important fleas might feed.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE L.
+
+  THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
+
+  Friendship, like love, is but a name,
+  Unless to one you stint the flame.
+  The child, whom many fathers share,
+  Hath seldom known a father's care.
+  Tis thus in friendships; who depend
+  On many, rarely find a friend.
+     A hare, who in a civil way,
+  Complied with everything, like Gay,
+  Was known by all the bestial train
+  Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.
+_10
+  Her care was never to offend,
+  And every creature was her friend.
+     As forth she went at early dawn,
+  To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
+  Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
+  And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.
+  She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
+  She hears the near advance of death;
+  She doubles to mislead the hound,
+  And measures back her mazy round;
+_20
+  Till fainting in the public way,
+  Half-dead with fear, she gasping lay.
+  What transport in her bosom grew,
+  When first the horse appeared in view!
+     'Let me,' says she, 'your back ascend,
+  And owe my safety to a friend.
+  You know my feet betray my flight;
+  To friendship every burden's light.'
+     The horse replied--'Poor honest puss,
+  It grieves my heart to see thee thus;
+_30
+  Be comforted, relief is near;
+  For all your friends are in the rear.'
+     She next the stately bull implored;
+  And thus replied the mighty lord--
+  'Since every beast alive can tell
+  That I sincerely wish you well,
+  I may, without offence, pretend
+  To take the freedom of a friend.
+  Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
+  Expects me near yon barley mow:
+_40
+  And when a lady's in the case,
+  You know all other things give place.
+  To leave you thus might seem unkind;
+  But see, the goat is just behind.'
+     The goat remarked her pulse was high,
+  Her languid head, her heavy eye;
+  'My back,' says she, 'may do you harm;
+  The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.'
+     The sheep was feeble, and complained
+  His sides a load of wool sustained:
+_50
+  Said he was slow, confessed his fears;
+  For hounds cat sheep, as well as hares.
+     She now the trotting calf addressed,
+  To save from death a friend distressed.
+     'Shall I,' says he, 'of tender age,
+  In this important care engage?
+  Older and abler passed you by;
+  How strong are those! how weak am I!
+  Should I presume to bear you hence,
+  Those friends of mine may take offence.
+_60
+  Excuse me then. You know my heart,
+  But dearest friends, alas! must part.
+  How shall we all lament! Adieu!
+  For see the hounds are just in view.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+PART II.
+
+PUBLISHED AFTER GAY'S DEATH, BY THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.
+
+
+FABLE I.
+
+THE DOG AND THE FOX.
+
+TO A LAWYER.
+
+  I know you lawyers can with ease
+  Twist words and meanings as you please;
+  That language, by your skill made pliant,
+  Will bend to favour every client;
+  That 'tis the fee directs the sense,
+  To make out either side's pretence.
+  When you peruse the clearest case,
+  You see it with a double face:
+  For scepticism's your profession;
+  You hold there's doubt in all expression.
+_10
+     Hence is the bar with fees supplied,
+  Hence eloquence takes either side.
+  Your hand would have but paltry gleaning
+  Could every man express his meaning.
+  Who dares presume to pen a deed.
+  Unless you previously are fee'd?
+  'Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost,
+  In dull prolixity engrossed.
+  And now we're well secured by law,
+  Till the next brother find a flaw.
+_20
+  Read o'er a will. Was't ever known,
+  But you could make the will your own;
+  For when you read,'tis with intent
+  To find out meanings never meant.
+  Since things are thus, _se defendendo_,
+  I bar fallacious innuendo.
+     Sagacious Porta's[6] skill could trace
+  Some beast or bird in every face.
+  The head, the eye, the nose's shape,
+  Proved this an owl, and that an ape.
+_30
+  When, in the sketches thus designed,
+  Resemblance brings some friend to mind,
+  You show the piece, and give the hint,
+  And find each feature in the print:
+  So monstrous like the portrait's found,
+  All know it, and the laugh goes round.
+  Like him I draw from general nature;
+  Is't I or you then fix the satire?
+     So, sir, I beg you spare your pains
+  In making comments on my strains.
+_40
+  All private slander I detest,
+  I judge not of my neighbour's breast:
+  Party and prejudice I hate,
+  And write no libels on the state.
+     Shall not my fable censure vice,
+  Because a knave is over-nice?
+  And, lest the guilty hear and dread,
+  Shall not the decalogue be read?
+  If I lash vice in general fiction,
+  Is't I apply, or self-conviction?
+_50
+  Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame,
+  If men in morals are the same?
+  I no man call an ape or ass:
+  Tis his own conscience holds the glass;
+  Thus void of all offence I write;
+  Who claims the fable, knows his right.
+     A shepherd's dog unskilled in sports,
+  Picked up acquaintance of all sorts:
+  Among the rest, a fox he knew;
+  By frequent chat their friendship grew.
+_60
+     Says Reynard--' 'Tis a cruel case,
+  That man should stigmatise our race,
+  No doubt, among us rogues you find,
+  As among dogs, and human kind;
+  And yet (unknown to me and you)
+  There may be honest men and true.
+  Thus slander tries, whate'er it can,
+  To put us on the foot with man,
+  Let my own actions recommend;
+  No prejudice can blind a friend:
+_70
+  You know me free from all disguise;
+  My honour as my life I prize.'
+     By talk like this, from all mistrust
+  The dog was cured, and thought him just.
+     As on a time the fox held forth
+  On conscience, honesty, and worth,
+  Sudden he stopp'd; he cocked his ear;
+  And dropp'd his brushy tail with fear.
+     'Bless us! the hunters are abroad--
+  What's all that clatter on the road?'
+_80
+     'Hold,' says the dog, 'we're safe from harm;
+  'Twas nothing but a false alarm.
+  At yonder town, 'tis market day;
+  Some farmer's wife is on the way;
+  'Tis so, (I know her pyebald mare)
+  Dame Dobbins, with her poultry ware.'
+     Reynard grew huff. Says he, 'This sneer
+  From you I little thought to hear.
+  Your meaning in your looks I see;
+  Pray, what's Dame Dobbins, friend, to me?
+_90
+  Did I e'er make her poultry thinner?
+  Prove that I owe the Dame a dinner.'
+  'Friend,' quoth the cur, 'I meant no harm;
+  Then, why so captious? why so warm?
+  My words in common acceptation,
+  Could never give this provocation.
+  No lamb (for ought I ever knew)
+  May be more innocent than you.'
+     At this, galled Reynard winced and swore
+  Such language ne'er was given before:
+_100
+     'What's lamb to me? the saucy hint--
+  Show me, base knave, which way you squint,
+  If t'other night your master lost
+  Three lambs, am I to pay the cost?
+  Your vile reflections would imply
+  That I'm the thief. You dog, you lie.'
+     'Thou knave, thou fool,' the dog replied,
+  'The name is just, take either side;
+  Thy guilt these applications speak;
+  Sirrah,'tis conscience makes you squeak.'
+_110
+     So saying, on the fox he flies,
+  The self-convicted felon dies.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE II.
+
+THE VULTURE, THE SPARROW, AND OTHER BIRDS.
+
+  TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY.
+
+  Ere I begin, I must premise
+  Our ministers are good and wise;
+  So, though malicious tongues apply,
+  Pray what care they, or what care I?
+     If I am free with courts; be't known,
+  I ne'er presume to mean our own.
+  If general morals seem to joke
+  On ministers, and such like folk,
+  A captious fool may take offence;
+  What then? he knows his own pretence.
+_10
+  I meddle with no state affairs,
+  But spare my jest to save my ears.
+  Our present schemes are too profound,
+  For Machiavel himself to sound:
+  To censure them I've no pretension;
+  I own they're past my comprehension.
+     You say your brother wants a place,
+  ('Tis many a younger brother's case,)
+  And that he very soon intends
+  To ply the Court, and tease his friends.
+_20
+  If there his merits chance to find
+  A patriot of an open mind,
+  Whose constant actions prove him just
+  To both a king's and people's trust;
+  May he with gratitude attend,
+  And owe his rise to such a friend.
+     You praise his parts, for business fit,
+  His learning, probity, and wit;
+  But those alone will never do,
+  Unless his patron have them too.
+_30
+  I've heard of times (pray God defend us,
+  We're not so good but He can mend us)
+  When wicked ministers have trod
+  On kings and people, law and God;
+  With arrogance they girt the throne,
+  And knew no interest but their own.
+  Then virtue, from preferment barr'd,
+  Gets nothing but its own reward.
+  A gang of petty knaves attend 'em,
+  With proper parts to recommend 'em.
+_40
+  Then if their patron burn with lust,
+  The first in favour's pimp the first.
+  His doors are never closed to spies,
+  Who cheer his heart with double lies;
+  They flatter him, his foes defame,
+  So lull the pangs of guilt and shame.
+  If schemes of lucre haunt his brain,
+  Projectors swell his greedy train;
+  Vile brokers ply his private ear
+  With jobs of plunder for the year;
+_50
+  All consciences must bend and ply;
+  You must vote on, and not know why:
+  Through thick and thin you must go on;
+  One scruple, and your place is gone.
+  Since plagues like these have cursed a land,
+  And favourites cannot always stand;
+  Good courtiers should for change be ready,
+  And not have principles too steady:
+  For should a knave engross the power,
+  (God shield the realm, from that sad hour,)
+_60
+  He must have rogues, or slavish fools:
+  For what's a knave without his tools?
+     Wherever those a people drain,
+  And strut with infamy and gain,
+  I envy not their guilt and state,
+  And scorn to share the public hate.
+  Let their own servile creatures rise
+  By screening fraud, and venting lies;
+  Give me, kind heaven, a private station,[7]
+  A mind serene for contemplation:
+_70
+  Title and profit I resign;
+  The post of honour shall be mine.
+  My fable read, their merits view,
+  Then herd who will with such a crew.
+     In days of yore (my cautious rhymes
+  Always except the present times)
+  A greedy vulture skilled in game,
+  Inured to guilt, unawed by shame,
+  Approached the throne in evil hour,
+  And step by step intrudes to power;
+_80
+  When at the royal eagle's ear,
+  He longs to ease the monarch's care.
+  The monarch grants. With pride elate,
+  Behold him minister of state!
+  Around him throng the feathered rout;
+  Friends must be served, and some must out,
+  Each thinks his own the best pretension;
+  This asks a place, and that a pension.
+     The nightingale was set aside,
+  A forward daw his room supplied.
+_90
+     'This bird,' says he, 'for business fit,
+  Hath both sagacity and wit.
+  With all his turns, and shifts, and tricks,
+  He's docile, and at nothing sticks.
+  Then, with his neighbours one so free,
+  At all times will connive at me.'
+  The hawk had due distinction shown,
+  For parts and talents like his own.
+     Thousands of hireling cocks attends him,
+  As blustering bullies, to defend him.
+_100
+     At once the ravens were discarded,
+  And magpies with their posts rewarded.
+     'Those fowls of omen I detest,
+  That pry into another's nest,
+  State-lies must lose all good intent;
+  For they foresee and croak the event.
+  My friends ne'er think, but talk by rote,
+  Speak what they're taught, and so to vote.'
+     'When rogues like these,' a sparrow cries,
+  'To honours and employments rise,
+_110
+  I court no favour, ask no place;
+  For such preferment is disgrace.
+  Within my thatched retreat I find
+  (What these ne'er feel) true peace of mind.'
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE III.
+
+  THE BABOON AND THE POULTRY.
+
+  TO A LEVEE-HUNTER.
+
+  We frequently misplace esteem,
+  By judging men by what they seem,
+  To birth, wealth, power, we should allow
+  Precedence, and our lowest bow.
+  In that is due distinction shown,
+  Esteem is virtue's right alone.
+     With partial eye we're apt to see
+  The man of noble pedigree.
+  We're prepossess'd my lord inherits
+  In some degree his grandsire's merits;
+_10
+  For those we find upon record:
+  But find him nothing but my lord.
+     When we with superficial view,
+  Gaze on the rich, we're dazzled too.
+  We know that wealth well understood,
+  Hath frequent power of doing good:
+  Then fancy that the thing is done,
+  As if the power and will were one.
+  Thus oft the cheated crowd adore
+  The thriving knaves that keep them poor.
+_20
+     The cringing train of power survey:
+  What creatures are so low as they!
+  With what obsequiousness they bend!
+  To what vile actions condescend!
+  Their rise is on their meanness built,
+  And flattery is their smallest guilt.
+  What homage, rev'rence, adoration,
+  In every age, in every nation,
+  Have sycophants to power addressed!
+  No matter who the power possessed.
+_30
+  Let ministers be what they will,
+  You find their levees always fill.
+  Even those who have perplexed a state,
+  Whose actions claim contempt and hate,
+  Had wretches to applaud their schemes,
+  Though more absurd than madmen's dreams.
+  When barbarous Moloch was invoked,
+  The blood of infants only smoked!
+  But here (unless all history lies)
+  Whole realms have been a sacrifice.
+_40
+  Look through all Courts--'Tis power we find,
+  The general idol of mankind,
+  There worshipped under every shape;
+  Alike the lion, fox, and ape
+  Are followed by time-serving slaves,
+  Rich prostitutes, and needy knaves.
+     Who, then, shall glory in his post?
+  How frail his pride, how vain his boast!
+  The followers of his prosperous hour
+  Are as unstable as his power.
+_50
+  Power by the breath of flattery nursed,
+  The more it swells, is nearer burst.
+  The bubble breaks, the gewgaw ends,
+  And in a dirty tear descends.
+     Once on a time, an ancient maid,
+  By wishes and by time decayed,
+  To cure the pangs of restless thought,
+  In birds and beasts amusement sought:
+  Dogs, parrots, apes, her hours employed;
+  With these alone she talked and toyed.
+_60
+     A huge baboon her fancy took,
+  (Almost a man in size and look,)
+  He fingered everything he found,
+  And mimicked all the servants round.
+  Then, too, his parts and ready wit
+  Showed him for every business fit.
+  With all these talents, 'twas but just
+  That pug should hold a place of trust:
+  So to her fav'rite was assigned
+  The charge of all her feathered kind.
+_70
+  'Twas his to tend 'em eve and morn,
+  And portion out their daily corn.
+     Behold him now with haughty stride,
+  Assume a ministerial pride.
+  The morning rose. In hope of picking,
+  Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks and chicken,
+  Fowls of all ranks surround his hut,
+  To worship his important strut.
+  The minister appears. The crowd
+  Now here, now there, obsequious bowed.
+_80
+  This praised his parts, and that his face,
+  T'other his dignity in place.
+  From bill to bill the flattery ran:
+  He hears and bears it like a man:
+  For, when we flatter self-conceit,
+  We but his sentiments repeat.
+     If we're too scrupulously just,
+  What profit's in a place of trust?
+  The common practice of the great,
+  Is to secure a snug retreat.
+_90
+  So pug began to turn his brain
+  (Like other folks in place) on gain.
+     An apple-woman's stall was near,
+  Well stocked with fruits through all the year;
+  Here every day he crammed his guts,
+  Hence were his hoards of pears and nuts;
+  For 'twas agreed (in way of trade)
+  His payments should in corn be made.
+     The stock of grain was quickly spent,
+  And no account which way it went.
+_100
+  Then, too, the poultry's starved condition
+  Caused speculations of suspicion.
+  The facts were proved beyond dispute;
+  Pug must refund his hoards of fruit:
+  And, though then minister in chief,
+  Was branded as a public thief.
+  Disgraced, despised, confined to chains,
+  He nothing but his pride retains.
+     A goose passed by; he knew the face,
+  Seen every levee while in place.
+_110
+     'What, no respect! no reverence shown?
+  How saucy are these creatures grown!
+  Not two days since,' says he, 'you bowed
+  The lowest of my fawning crowd.'
+     'Proud fool,' replies the goose,''tis true,
+  Thy corn a fluttering levee drew!
+  For that I joined the hungry train,
+  And sold thee flattery for thy grain.
+  But then, as now, conceited ape,
+  We saw thee in thy proper shape.'
+_120
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE IV.
+
+  THE ANT IN OFFICE.
+
+  TO A FRIEND.
+
+  You tell me, that you apprehend
+  My verse may touchy folks offend.
+  In prudence too you think my rhymes
+  Should never squint at courtiers' crimes:
+  For though nor this, nor that is meant,
+  Can we another's thoughts prevent?
+     You ask me if I ever knew
+  Court chaplains thus the lawn pursue.
+  I meddle not with gown or lawn;
+  Poets, I grant, to rise must fawn.
+_10
+  They know great ears are over-nice,
+  And never shock their patron's vice.
+  But I this hackney path despise;
+  'Tis my ambition not to rise.
+  If I must prostitute the Muse,
+  The base conditions I refuse.
+     I neither flatter nor defame,
+  Yet own I would bring guilt to shame.
+  If I corruption's hand expose,
+  I make corrupted men my foes.
+_20
+  What then? I hate the paltry tribe;
+  Be virtue mine; be theirs the bribe.
+  I no man's property invade;
+  Corruption's yet no lawful trade.
+  Nor would it mighty ills produce,
+  Could I shame bribery out of use,
+  I know 'twould cramp most politicians,
+  Were they tied down to these conditions.
+  'Twould stint their power, their riches bound,
+  And make their parts seem less profound.
+_30
+  Were they denied their proper tools,
+  How could they lead their knaves and fools?
+  Were this the case, let's take a view,
+  What dreadful mischiefs would ensue;
+  Though it might aggrandise the state,
+  Could private luxury dine on plate?
+  Kings might indeed their friends reward,
+  But ministers find less regard.
+  Informers, sycophants, and spies,
+  Would not augment the year's supplies.
+_40
+  Perhaps, too, take away this prop,
+  An annual job or two might drop.
+  Besides, if pensions were denied,
+  Could avarice support its pride?
+  It might even ministers confound,
+  And yet the state be safe and sound.
+     I care not though 'tis understood
+  I only mean my country's good:
+  And (let who will my freedom blame)
+  I wish all courtiers did the same.
+_50
+  Nay, though some folks the less might get,
+  I wish the nation out of debt.
+  I put no private man's ambition
+  With public good in competition:
+  Rather than have our law defaced,
+  I'd vote a minister disgraced.
+     I strike at vice, be't where it will;
+  And what if great folks take it ill?
+  I hope corruption, bribery, pension,
+  One may with detestation mention:
+_60
+  Think you the law (let who will take it)
+  Can _scandalum magnatum_ make it?
+  I vent no slander, owe no grudge,
+  Nor of another's conscience judge:
+  At him, or him, I take no aim,
+  Yet dare against all vice declaim.
+  Shall I not censure breach of trust,
+  Because knaves know themselves unjust?
+  That steward, whose account is clear,
+  Demands his honour may appear:
+_70
+  His actions never shun the light,
+  He is, and would be proved upright.
+     But then you think my fable bears
+  Allusion, too, to state affairs.
+     I grant it does: and who's so great,
+  That has the privilege to cheat?
+  If, then, in any future reign
+  (For ministers may thirst for gain;)
+  Corrupted hands defraud the nation,
+  I bar no reader's application.
+_80
+     An ant there was, whose forward prate
+  Controlled all matters in debate;
+  Whether he knew the thing or no,
+  His tongue eternally would go.
+  For he had impudence at will,
+  And boasted universal skill.
+  Ambition was his point in view;
+  Thus, by degrees, to power he grew.
+  Behold him now his drift attain:
+  He's made chief treasurer of the grain.
+_90
+     But as their ancient laws are just,
+  And punish breach of public trust,
+  'Tis ordered (lest wrong application
+  Should starve that wise industrious nation)
+  That all accounts be stated clear,
+  Their stock, and what defrayed the year:
+  That auditors should these inspect,     97
+  And public rapine thus be checked.
+  For this the solemn day was set,
+  The auditors in council met.
+_100
+  The granary-keeper must explain,
+  And balance his account of grain.
+  He brought (since he could not refuse 'em)
+  Some scraps of paper to amuse 'em.
+     An honest pismire, warm with zeal,
+  In justice to the public weal,
+  Thus spoke: 'The nation's hoard is low,
+  From whence doth this profusion flow?
+  I know our annual funds' amount.
+  Why such expense, and where's the account?'
+_110
+     With wonted arrogance and pride,
+  The ant in office thus replied:
+  'Consider, sirs, were secrets told,
+  How could the best-schemed projects hold?
+  Should we state-mysteries disclose,
+  'Twould lay us open to our foes.
+  My duty and my well-known zeal
+  Bid me our present schemes conceal.
+  But on my honour, all the expense
+  (Though vast) was for the swarm's defence.
+_120
+     They passed the account as fair and just,
+  And voted him implicit trust.
+     Next year again the granary drained,
+  He thus his innocence maintained:
+     'Think how our present matters stand,
+  What dangers threat from every hand;
+  What hosts of turkeys stroll for food,
+  No farmer's wife but hath her brood.
+  Consider, when invasion's near,
+  Intelligence must cost us dear;
+_130
+  And, in this ticklish situation,
+  A secret told betrays the nation.
+  But, on my honour, all the expense
+  (Though vast) was for the swarm's defence.'
+     Again, without examination,
+  They thanked his sage administration.
+     The year revolves. The treasure spent,
+  Again in secret service went.
+  His honour too again was pledged,
+  To satisfy the charge alleged.
+_140
+     When thus, with panic shame possessed,
+  An auditor his friends addressed:
+     'What are we? Ministerial tools.
+  We little knaves are greater fools.
+  At last this secret is explored;
+  'Tis our corruption thins the hoard.
+  For every grain we touched, at least
+  A thousand his own heaps increased.
+  Then for his kin, and favourite spies,
+  A hundred hardly could suffice.
+_150
+  Thus, for a paltry sneaking bribe,
+  We cheat ourselves, and all the tribe;
+  For all the magazine contains,
+  Grows from our annual toil and pains.'
+     They vote the account shall be inspected;
+  The cunning plunderer is detected;
+  The fraud is sentenced; and his hoard,
+  As due, to public use restored.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE V.
+
+  THE BEAR IN A BOAT.
+
+  TO A COXCOMB.
+
+  That man must daily wiser grow,
+  Whose search is bent himself to know;
+  Impartially he weighs his scope,
+  And on firm reason founds his hope;
+  He tries his strength before the race,
+  And never seeks his own disgrace;
+  He knows the compass, sail, and oar,
+  Or never launches from the shore;
+  Before he builds, computes the cost;
+  And in no proud pursuit is lost:
+_10
+  He learns the bounds of human sense,
+  And safely walks within the fence.
+  Thus, conscious of his own defect,
+  Are pride and self-importance check'd.
+     If then, self-knowledge to pursue,
+  Direct our life in every view,
+  Of all the fools that pride can boast,
+  A coxcomb claims distinction most.
+     Coxcombs are of all ranks and kind:
+  They're not to sex or age confined,
+_20
+  Or rich, or poor, or great, or small;
+  And vanity besets them all.
+  By ignorance is pride increased:
+  Those most assume who know the least;
+  Their own false balance gives them weight,
+  But every other finds them light.
+     Not that all coxcombs' follies strike,
+  And draw our ridicule alike;
+  To different merits each pretends.
+  This in love-vanity transcends;
+_30
+  That smitten with his face and shape,
+  By dress distinguishes the ape;
+  T'other with learning crams his shelf,
+  Knows books, and all things but himself.
+     All these are fools of low condition,
+  Compared with coxcombs of ambition.
+  For those, puffed up with flattery, dare
+  Assume a nation's various care.
+  They ne'er the grossest praise mistrust,
+  Their sycophants seem hardly just;
+_40
+  For these, in part alone, attest
+  The flattery their own thoughts suggest.
+  In this wide sphere a coxcomb's shown
+  In other realms beside his own:
+  The self-deemed Machiavel at large
+  By turns controls in every charge.
+  Does commerce suffer in her rights?
+  'Tis he directs the naval flights.
+  What sailor dares dispute his skill?
+  He'll be an admiral when he will.
+_50
+     Now meddling in the soldier's trade,
+  Troops must be hired, and levies made.
+  He gives ambassadors their cue,
+  His cobbled treaties to renew;
+  And annual taxes must suffice
+  The current blunders to disguise
+  When his crude schemes in air are lost,
+  And millions scarce defray the cost,
+  His arrogance (nought undismayed)
+  Trusting in self-sufficient aid,
+_60
+  On other rocks misguides the realm,
+  And thinks a pilot at the helm.
+  He ne'er suspects his want of skill,
+  But blunders on from ill to ill;
+  And, when he fails of all intent,
+  Blames only unforeseen event.
+  Lest you mistake the application,
+  The fable calls me to relation.
+     A bear of shag and manners rough,
+  At climbing trees expert enough;
+_70
+  For dextrously, and safe from harm,
+  Year after year he robbed the swarm.
+  Thus thriving on industrious toil,
+  He gloried in his pilfered spoil.
+     This trick so swelled him with conceit,
+  He thought no enterprise too great.
+  Alike in sciences and arts,
+  He boasted universal parts;
+  Pragmatic, busy, bustling, bold,
+  His arrogance was uncontrolled:
+_80
+  And thus he made his party good,
+  And grew dictator of the wood.
+     The beasts with admiration stare,
+  And think him a prodigious bear.
+  Were any common booty got,
+  'Twas his each portion to allot:
+  For why, he found there might be picking,
+  Even in the carving of a chicken.
+  Intruding thus, he by degrees
+  Claimed too the butcher's larger fees.
+_90
+  And now his over-weening pride
+  In every province will preside.
+  No talk too difficult was found:
+  His blundering nose misleads the hound.
+  In stratagem and subtle arts,
+  He overrules the fox's parts.
+     It chanced, as, on a certain day,
+  Along the bank he took his way,
+  A boat, with rudder, sail, and oar,
+  At anchor floated near the shore.
+_100
+  He stopp'd, and turning to his train,
+  Thus pertly vents his vaunting strain:
+     'What blundering puppies are mankind,
+  In every science always blind!
+  I mock the pedantry of schools.
+  What are their compasses and rules?
+  From me that helm shall conduct learn.
+  And man his ignorance discern.'
+     So saying, with audacious pride,
+  He gains the boat, and climbs the side.
+_110
+  The beasts astonished, lined the strand,
+  The anchor's weighed, he drives from land:
+  The slack sail shifts from side to side;
+  The boat untrimmed admits the tide,
+  Borne down, adrift, at random toss'd,
+  His oar breaks short, the rudder's lost.
+  The bear, presuming in his skill,
+  Is here and there officious still;
+  Till striking on the dangerous sands,
+  Aground the shattered vessel stands.
+_120
+     To see the bungler thus distress'd,
+  The very fishes sneer and jest.
+  Even gudgeons join in ridicule,
+  To mortify the meddling fool.
+  The clamorous watermen appear;
+  Threats, curses, oaths, insult his ear:
+  Seized, thrashed, and chained, he's dragged to land;
+  Derision shouts along the strand.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE VI.
+
+  THE SQUIRE AND HIS CUR.
+
+  TO A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
+
+  The man of pure and simple heart
+  Through life disdains a double part.
+  He never needs the screen of lies
+  His inward bosom to disguise.
+  In vain malicious tongues assail;
+  Let envy snarl, let slander rail,
+  From virtue's shield (secure from wound)
+  Their blunted, venomed shafts rebound.
+  So shines his light before mankind,
+  His actions prove his honest mind.
+_10
+  If in his country's cause he rise,
+  Debating senates to advise,
+  Unbribed, unawed, he dares impart
+  The honest dictates of his heart.
+  No ministerial frown he fears,
+  But in his virtue perseveres.
+     But would you play the politician,
+  Whose heart's averse to intuition,
+  Your lips at all times, nay, your reason
+  Must be controlled by place and season.
+_20
+  What statesman could his power support
+  Were lying tongues forbid the court?
+  Did princely ears to truth attend,
+  What minister could gain his end?
+  How could he raise his tools to place,
+  And how his honest foes disgrace?
+     That politician tops his part,
+  Who readily can lie with art:
+  The man's proficient in his trade;
+  His power is strong, his fortune's made.
+_30
+  By that the interest of the throne
+  Is made subservient to his own:
+  By that have kings of old, deluded,
+  All their own friends for his excluded.
+  By that, his selfish schemes pursuing,
+  He thrives upon the public ruin.
+     Antiochus,[8] with hardy pace,
+  Provoked the dangers of the chase;
+  And, lost from all his menial train,
+  Traversed the wood and pathless plain.
+_40
+  A cottage lodged the royal guest!
+  The Parthian clown brought forth his best.
+  The king, unknown, his feast enjoyed,
+  And various chat the hours employed.
+  From wine what sudden friendship springs!
+  Frankly they talked of courts and kings.
+     'We country-folks,' the clown replies,
+  'Could ope our gracious monarch's eyes.
+  The king, (as all our neighbours say,)
+  Might he (God bless him) have his way,
+_50
+  Is sound at heart, and means our good,
+  And he would do it, if he could.
+  If truth in courts were not forbid,
+  Nor kings nor subjects would be rid.
+  Were he in power, we need not doubt him:
+  But that transferred to those about him,
+  On them he throws the regal cares:
+  And what mind they? Their own affairs.
+  If such rapacious hands he trust,
+  The best of men may seem unjust.
+_60
+  From kings to cobblers 'tis the same:
+  Bad servants wound their master's fame.
+  In this our neighbours all agree:
+  Would the king knew as much as we.'
+  Here he stopp'd short. Repose they sought,
+  The peasant slept, the monarch thought.
+     The courtiers learned, at early dawn,
+  Where their lost sovereign was withdrawn.
+  The guards' approach our host alarms,
+  With gaudy coats the cottage swarms.
+_70
+  The crown and purple robes they bring,
+  And prostrate fall before the king.
+  The clown was called, the royal guest
+  By due reward his thanks express'd.
+  The king then, turning to the crowd,
+  Who fawningly before him bow'd,
+  Thus spoke: 'Since, bent on private gain,
+  Your counsels first misled my reign,
+  Taught and informed by you alone,
+  No truth the royal ear hath known,
+_80
+  Till here conversing. Hence, ye crew,
+  For now I know myself and you.'
+     Whene'er the royal ear's engross'd,
+  State-lies but little genius cost.
+  The favourite then securely robs,
+  And gleans a nation by his jobs.
+  Franker and bolder grown in ill,
+  He daily poisons dares instil;
+  And, as his present views suggest,
+  Inflames or soothes the royal breast.
+_90
+  Thus wicked ministers oppress,
+  When oft the monarch means redress.
+     Would kings their private subjects hear,
+  A minister must talk with fear.
+  If honesty opposed his views,
+  He dared not innocence excuse.
+  'Twould keep him in such narrow bound,
+  He could not right and wrong confound.
+  Happy were kings, could they disclose
+  Their real friends and real foes!
+_100
+  Were both themselves and subjects known,
+  A monarch's will might be his own.
+  Had he the use of ears and eyes,
+  Knaves would no more be counted wise.
+  But then a minister might lose
+  (Hard case!) his own ambitious views.
+  When such as these have vexed a state,
+  Pursued by universal hate,
+  Their false support at once hath failed,
+  And persevering truth prevailed.
+_110
+  Exposed their train of fraud is seen;
+  Truth will at last remove the screen.
+     A country squire, by whim directed,
+  The true stanch dogs of chase neglected.
+  Beneath his board no hound was fed,
+  His hand ne'er stroked the spaniel's head.
+  A snappish cur, alone caress'd,
+  By lies had banished all the rest.
+  Yap had his ear; and defamation
+  Gave him full scope of conversation.
+_120
+  His sycophants must be preferr'd,
+  Room must be made for all his herd:
+  Wherefore, to bring his schemes about,
+  Old faithful servants all must out.
+     The cur on every creature flew,
+  (As other great men's puppies do,)
+  Unless due court to him were shown,
+  And both their face and business known,
+  No honest tongue an audience found:
+  He worried all the tenants round;
+_130
+  For why, he lived in constant fear,
+  Lest truth, by chance, should interfere.
+  If any stranger dare intrude,
+  The noisy cur his heels pursued.
+  Now fierce with rage, now struck with dread,
+  At once he snarled, bit, and fled.
+  Aloof he bays, with bristling hair,
+  And thus in secret growls his fear:
+  'Who knows but truth, in this disguise,
+  May frustrate my best-guarded lies?
+_140
+  Should she (thus masked) admittance find,
+  That very hour my ruin's signed.'
+     Now, in his howl's continued sound,
+  Their words were lost, their voice was drown'd.
+  Ever in awe of honest tongues,
+  Thus every day he strained his lungs.
+     It happened, in ill-omened hour,
+  That Yap, unmindful of his power,
+  Forsook his post, to love inclined;
+  A favourite bitch was in the wind.
+_150
+  By her seduced, in amorous play,
+  They frisked the joyous hours away.
+  Thus, by untimely love pursuing,
+  Like Antony, he sought his ruin.
+     For now the squire, unvexed with noise,
+  An honest neighbour's chat enjoys.
+  'Be free,' says he, 'your mind impart;
+  I love a friendly open heart.
+  Methinks my tenants shun my gate;
+  Why such a stranger grown of late?
+_160
+  Pray tell me what offence they find:
+  'Tis plain they're not so well inclined.'
+     'Turn off your cur,' the farmer cries,
+  'Who feeds your ear with daily lies.
+  His snarling insolence offends;     165
+  'Tis he that keeps you from your friends.
+  Were but that saucy puppy check'd,
+  You'd find again the same respect.
+  Hear only him, he'll swear it too,
+  That all our hatred is to you.
+_170
+  But learn from us your true estate;
+  'Tis that cursed cur alone we hate.'
+     The squire heard truth. Now Yap rushed in;
+  The wide hall echoes with his din:
+  Yet truth prevailed; and with disgrace,
+  The dog was cudgelled out of place.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE VII.
+
+  THE COUNTRYMAN AND JUPITER.
+
+  TO MYSELF.
+
+  Have you a friend (look round and spy)
+  So fond, so prepossessed as I?
+  Your faults, so obvious to mankind,
+  My partial eyes could never find.
+  When by the breath of fortune blown,
+  Your airy castles were o'erthrown;
+  Have I been over-prone to blame,
+  Or mortified your hours with shame?
+  Was I e'er known to damp your spirit,
+  Or twit you with the want of merit?
+_10
+     'Tis not so strange, that Fortune's frown
+  Still perseveres to keep you down.
+  Look round, and see what others do.
+  Would you be rich and honest too?
+  Have you (like those she raised to place)
+  Been opportunely mean and base?
+  Have you (as times required) resigned
+  Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind?
+  If these are scruples, give her o'er;
+  Write, practise morals, and be poor.
+_20
+     The gifts of fortune truly rate;
+  Then tell me what would mend your state.
+  If happiness on wealth were built,
+  Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt;
+  As grows the miser's hoarded store,
+  His fears, his wants, increase the more.
+     Think, Gay, (what ne'er may be the case,)
+  Should fortune take you into grace,
+  Would that your happiness augment?
+  What can she give beyond content?
+_30
+     Suppose yourself a wealthy heir,
+  With a vast annual income clear!
+  In all the affluence you possess,
+  You might not feel one care the less.
+  Might you not then (like others) find
+  With change of fortune, change of mind?
+  Perhaps, profuse beyond all rule,
+  You might start out a glaring fool;
+  Your luxury might break all bounds;
+  Plate, table, horses, stewards, hounds,
+_40
+  Might swell your debts: then, lust of play
+  No regal income can defray.
+  Sunk is all credit, writs assail,
+  And doom your future life to jail.
+     Or were you dignified with power,
+  Would that avert one pensive hour?
+  You might give avarice its swing,
+  Defraud a nation, blind a king:
+  Then, from the hirelings in your cause,
+  Though daily fed with false applause,
+_50
+  Could it a real joy impart?
+  Great guilt knew never joy at heart.
+     Is happiness your point in view?
+  (I mean the intrinsic and the true)
+  She nor in camps or courts resides,
+  Nor in the humble cottage hides;
+  Yet found alike in every sphere;
+  Who finds content, will find her there.
+     O'erspent with toil, beneath the shade,
+  A peasant rested on his spade.
+_60
+     'Good gods!' he cries, ''tis hard to bear
+  This load of life from year to year.
+  Soon as the morning streaks the skies,
+  Industrious labour bids me rise;
+  With sweat I earn my homely fare,
+  And every day renews my care.'
+     Jove heard the discontented strain,
+  And thus rebuked the murmuring swain:
+     'Speak out your wants then, honest friend:
+  Unjust complaints the gods offend.
+_70
+  If you repine at partial fate,
+  Instruct me what could mend your state.
+  Mankind in every station see.
+  What wish you? Tell me what you'd be.'
+  So said, upborne upon a cloud,
+  The clown surveyed the anxious crowd.
+     'Yon face of care,' says Jove, 'behold,
+  His bulky bags are filled with gold.
+  See with what joy he counts it o'er!
+  That sum to-day hath swelled his store.'
+_80
+  'Were I that man,' the peasant cried,
+  'What blessing could I ask beside?'
+     'Hold,' says the god; 'first learn to know
+  True happiness from outward show.
+  This optic glass of intuition----
+  Here, take it, view his true condition.'
+     He looked, and saw the miser's breast,
+  A troubled ocean, ne'er at rest;
+  Want ever stares him in the face,
+  And fear anticipates disgrace:
+_90
+  With conscious guilt he saw him start;
+  Extortion gnaws his throbbing heart;
+  And never, or in thought or dream,
+  His breast admits one happy gleam.
+     'May Jove,' he cries, 'reject my prayer,
+  And guard my life from guilt and care.
+  My soul abhors that wretch's fate.
+  O keep me in my humble state!
+  But see, amidst a gaudy crowd,
+  Yon minister, so gay and proud,
+_100
+  On him what happiness attends,
+  Who thus rewards his grateful friends!'
+     'First take the glass,' the god replies:
+  'Man views the world with partial eyes.'
+     'Good gods!' exclaims the startled wight,
+  'Defend me from this hideous sight!
+  Corruption, with corrosive smart,
+  Lies cankering on his guilty heart:
+  I see him, with polluted hand,
+  Spread the contagion o'er the land,
+_110
+  Now avarice with insatiate jaws,
+  Now rapine with her harpy claws
+  His bosom tears. His conscious breast
+  Groans, with a load of crimes oppress'd.
+  See him, mad and drunk with power,
+  Stand tottering on ambition's tower.
+  Sometimes, in speeches vain and proud,
+  His boasts insult the nether crowd;
+  Now, seized with giddiness and fear,
+  He trembles lest his fall is near.
+_120
+     'Was ever wretch like this?' he cries;
+  'Such misery in such disguise!
+  The change, O Jove, I disavow;
+  Still be my lot the spade and plough.'
+  He next, confirmed by speculation,
+  Rejects the lawyer's occupation;
+  For he the statesman seemed in part,
+  And bore similitude of heart.
+  Nor did the soldier's trade inflame
+  His hopes with thirst of spoil and fame,
+_130
+  The miseries of war he mourned;
+  Whole nations into deserts turned.
+     By these have laws and rights been braved;
+  By these were free-born men enslaved:
+  When battles and invasion cease,
+  Why swarm they in a land of peace?
+  'Such change,' says he, 'may I decline;
+  The scythe and civil arms be mine!'
+  Thus, weighing life in each condition,
+  The clown withdrew his rash petition.
+_140
+     When thus the god: 'How mortals err!
+  If you true happiness prefer,
+  'Tis to no rank of life confined,
+  But dwells in every honest mind.
+  Be justice then your sole pursuit:
+  Plant virtue, and content's the fruit.'
+     So Jove, to gratify the clown,
+  Where first he found him set him down.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE VIII.
+
+  THE MAN, THE CAT, THE DOG, AND THE FLY.
+
+  TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY.
+
+  Hail, happy land, whose fertile grounds
+  The liquid fence of Neptune bounds;
+  By bounteous Nature set apart,
+  The seat of industry and art!
+  O Britain! chosen port of trade,
+  May luxury ne'er thy sons invade;
+  May never minister (intent
+  His private treasures to augment)
+  Corrupt thy state. If jealous foes
+  Thy rights of commerce dare oppose,
+_10
+  Shall not thy fleets their rapine awe?
+  Who is't prescribes the ocean law?
+     Whenever neighbouring states contend,
+  'Tis thine to be the general friend.
+  What is't, who rules in other lands?
+  On trade alone thy glory stands.
+  That benefit is unconfined,
+  Diffusing good among mankind:
+  That first gave lustre to thy reigns,
+  And scattered plenty o'er thy plains:
+_20
+  'Tis that alone thy wealth supplies,
+  And draws all Europe's envious eyes.
+  Be commerce then thy sole design;
+  Keep that, and all the world is thine.
+     When naval traffic ploughs the main,
+  Who shares not in the merchant's gain?
+  'Tis that supports the regal state,
+  And makes the farmer's heart elate:
+  The numerous flocks, that clothe the land,
+  Can scarce supply the loom's demand;
+_30
+  Prolific culture glads the fields,
+  And the bare heath a harvest yields.
+     Nature expects mankind should share
+  The duties of the public care.
+  Who's born for sloth?[9] To some we find
+  The ploughshare's annual toil assign'd.
+  Some at the sounding anvil glow;
+  Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw;
+  Some, studious of the wind and tide,
+  From pole to pole our commerce guide:
+_40
+  Some (taught by industry) impart
+  With hands and feet the works of art;
+  While some, of genius more refined,
+  With head and tongue assist mankind:
+  Each, aiming at one common end,
+  Proves to the whole a needful friend.
+  Thus, born each other's useful aid,
+  By turns are obligations paid.
+     The monarch, when his table's spread,
+  Is to the clown obliged for bread;
+_50
+  And when in all his glory dress'd,
+  Owes to the loom his royal vest.
+  Do not the mason's toil and care
+  Protect him from the inclement air?
+  Does not the cutler's art supply
+  The ornament that guards his thigh?
+  All these, in duty to the throne,
+  Their common obligations own.
+  'Tis he (his own and people's cause)
+  Protects their properties and laws.
+_60
+  Thus they their honest toil employ,
+  And with content their fruits enjoy.
+  In every rank, or great or small,
+  'Tis industry supports us all.
+     The animals by want oppressed,
+  To man their services addressed;
+  While each pursued their selfish good,
+  They hungered for precarious food.
+  Their hours with anxious cares were vex'd;
+  One day they fed, and starved the next.
+_70
+  They saw that plenty, sure and rife,
+  Was found alone in social life;
+  That mutual industry professed,
+  The various wants of man redressed.
+     The cat, half-famished, lean and weak,
+  Demands the privilege to speak.
+     'Well, puss,' says man, 'and what can you
+  To benefit the public do?'
+     The cat replies: 'These teeth, these claws,
+  With vigilance shall serve the cause.
+_80
+  The mouse destroyed by my pursuit,
+  No longer shall your feasts pollute;
+  Nor rats, from nightly ambuscade,
+  With wasteful teeth your stores invade.'
+     'I grant,' says man, 'to general use
+  Your parts and talents may conduce;
+  For rats and mice purloin our grain,
+  And threshers whirl the flail in vain:
+  Thus shall the cat, a foe to spoil,
+  Protect the farmer's honest toil,'
+_90
+  Then, turning to the dog, he cried,
+  'Well, sir; be next your merits tried.'
+     'Sir,' says the dog, 'by self-applause
+  We seem to own a friendless cause.
+  Ask those who know me, if distrust
+  E'er found me treacherous or unjust?
+  Did I e'er faith or friendship break?
+  Ask all those creatures; let them speak.
+  My vigilance and trusty zeal
+  Perhaps might serve the public weal.
+_100
+  Might not your flocks in safety feed,
+  Were I to guard the fleecy breed?
+  Did I the nightly watches keep,
+  Could thieves invade you while you sleep?'
+     The man replies: ''Tis just and right;
+  Rewards such service should requite.
+  So rare, in property, we find
+  Trust uncorrupt among mankind,
+  That, taken, in a public view,
+  The first distinction is your due.
+_110
+  Such merits all reward transcend:
+  Be then my comrade and my friend.'
+     Addressing now the fly: 'From you
+  What public service can accrue?'
+  'From me!' the flutt'ring insect said;
+  'I thought you knew me better bred.
+  Sir, I'm a gentleman. Is't fit
+  That I to industry submit?
+  Let mean mechanics, to be fed
+  By business earn ignoble bread.
+_120
+  Lost in excess of daily joys,
+  No thought, no care my life annoys,
+  At noon (the lady's matin hour)
+  I sip the tea's delicious flower.
+  On cakes luxuriously I dine,
+  And drink the fragrance of the vine.
+  Studious of elegance and ease,
+  Myself alone I seek to please.'
+  The man his pert conceit derides,
+  And thus the useless coxcomb chides:
+_130
+     'Hence, from that peach, that downy seat,
+  No idle fool deserves to eat.
+  Could you have sapped the blushing rind,
+  And on that pulp ambrosial dined,
+  Had not some hand with skill and toil,
+  To raise the tree, prepared the soil?
+  Consider, sot, what would ensue,
+  Were all such worthless things as you.
+  You'd soon be forced (by hunger stung)
+  To make your dirty meals on dung;
+_140
+  On which such despicable need,
+  Unpitied, is reduced to feed;
+  Besides, vain selfish insect, learn
+  (If you can right and wrong discern)
+  That he who, with industrious zeal,
+  Contributes to the public weal,
+  By adding to the common good,
+  His own hath rightly understood.'
+     So saying, with a sudden blow,
+  He laid the noxious vagrant low.
+_150
+  Crushed in his luxury and pride,
+  The spunger on the public died.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE IX.
+
+  THE JACKALL, LEOPARD, AND OTHER BEASTS
+
+  TO A MODERN POLITICIAN.
+
+  I grant corruption sways mankind;
+  That interest too perverts the mind;
+  That bribes have blinded common sense,
+  Foiled reason, truth, and eloquence:
+  I grant you too, our present crimes
+  Can equal those of former times.
+  Against plain facts shall I engage,
+  To vindicate our righteous age?
+  I know, that in a modern fist,
+  Bribes in full energy subsist.
+_10
+  Since then these arguments prevail,
+  And itching palms are still so frail,
+  Hence politicians, you suggest,
+  Should drive the nail that goes the best;
+  That it shows parts and penetration,
+  To ply men with the right temptation.
+     To this I humbly must dissent;
+  Premising no reflection's meant.
+     Does justice or the client's sense
+  Teach lawyers either side's defence?
+_20
+  The fee gives eloquence its spirit;
+  That only is the client's merit.
+     Does art, wit, wisdom, or address,
+  Obtain the prostitute's caress?
+  The guinea (as in other trades)
+  From every hand alike persuades.
+  Man, Scripture says, is prone to evil,
+  But does that vindicate the devil?
+  Besides, the more mankind are prone,
+  The less the devil's parts are shown.
+_30
+  Corruption's not of modern date;
+  It hath been tried in every state.
+  Great knaves of old their power have fenced,
+  By places, pensions, bribes, dispensed;
+  By these they gloried in success,
+  And impudently dared oppress;
+  By these despoticly they swayed,
+  And slaves extolled the hand that paid;
+  Nor parts, nor genius were employed,
+  By these alone were realms destroyed.
+_40
+     Now see these wretches in disgrace,
+  Stripp'd of their treasures, power, and place;
+  View them abandoned and forlorn,
+  Exposed to just reproach and scorn.
+  What now is all your pride, your boast?
+  Where are your slaves, your flattering host?
+  What tongues now feed you with applause?
+  Where are the champions of your cause?
+  Now even that very fawning train
+  Which shared the gleanings of your gain,
+_50
+  Press foremost who shall first accuse
+  Your selfish jobs, your paltry views,
+  Your narrow schemes, your breach of trust,
+  And want of talents to be just.
+     What fools were these amidst their power!
+  How thoughtless of their adverse hour!
+  What friends were made? A hireling herd,
+  For temporary votes preferr'd.
+  Was it, these sycophants to get,
+  Your bounty swelled a nation's debt?
+_60
+  You're bit. For these, like Swiss attend;
+  No longer pay, no longer friend.
+  The lion is, beyond dispute,
+  Allowed the most majestic brute;
+  His valour and his generous mind
+  Prove him superior of his kind.
+  Yet to jackals (as 'tis averred)
+  Some lions have their power transferred;
+  As if the parts of pimps and spies
+  To govern forests could suffice.
+_70
+     Once, studious of his private good,
+  A proud jackal oppressed the wood;
+  To cram his own insatiate jaws,   73
+  Invaded property and laws;
+  The forest groans with discontent,
+  Fresh wrongs the general hate foment,
+  The spreading murmurs reached his ear;
+  His secret hours were vexed with fear.
+  Night after night he weighs the case,
+  And feels the terrors of disgrace.
+_80
+     'By friends,' says he, 'I'll guard my seat,
+  By those malicious tongues defeat:
+  I'll strengthen power by new allies,
+  And all my clamorous foes despise.'
+     To make the generous beasts his friends,
+  He cringes, fawns, and condescends;
+  But those repulsed his abject court,
+  And scorned oppression to support.
+  Friends must be had. He can't subsist.
+  Bribes shall new proselytes inlist.
+_90
+  But these nought weighed in honest paws;
+  For bribes confess a wicked cause:
+  Yet think not every paw withstands
+  What had prevailed in human hands.
+     A tempting turnip's silver skin
+  Drew a base hog through thick and thin:
+  Bought with a stag's delicious haunch,
+  The mercenary wolf was stanch:
+  The convert fox grew warm and hearty,
+  A pullet gained him to the party;
+_100
+  The golden pippin in his fist,
+  A chattering monkey joined the list.
+     But soon exposed to public hate,
+  The favourite's fall redressed the state.
+  The leopard, vindicating right,
+  Had brought his secret frauds to light,
+  As rats, before the mansion falls,
+  Desert late hospitable walls,
+  In shoals the servile creatures run,
+  To bow before the rising sun.
+_110
+     The hog with warmth expressed his zeal,
+  And was for hanging those that steal;
+  But hoped, though low, the public hoard
+  Might half a turnip still afford.
+  Since saving measures were profess'd,
+  A lamb's head was the wolf's request.
+  The fox submitted if to touch
+  A gosling would be deemed too much.
+  The monkey thought his grin and chatter,
+  Might ask a nut or some such matter.
+_120
+     'Ye hirelings, hence,' the leopard cries;
+  'Your venal conscience I despise.
+  He who the public good intends,
+  By bribes needs never purchase friends.
+  Who acts this just, this open part,
+  Is propp'd by every honest heart.
+  Corruption now too late hath showed,
+  That bribes are always ill-bestowed,
+  By you your bubbled master's taught,
+  Time-serving tools, not friends, are bought.'
+_130
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE X.
+
+  THE DEGENERATE BEES.
+
+  TO THE REVEREND DR SWIFT, DEAN OF ST PATRICK'S.
+
+  Though Courts the practice disallow,
+  A friend at all times I'll avow.
+  In politics I know 'tis wrong:
+  A friendship may be kept too long;
+  And what they call the prudent part,
+  Is to wear interest next the heart,
+  As the times take a different face,
+  Old friendships should to new give place.
+     I know too you have many foes,
+  That owning you is sharing those,
+_10
+  That every knave in every station,
+  Of high and low denomination,
+  For what you speak, and what you write,
+  Dread you at once, and bear you spite.
+  Such freedoms in your works are shown
+  They can't enjoy what's not their own;
+  All dunces too, in church and state,
+  In frothy nonsense show their hate;
+  With all the petty scribbling crew,
+  (And those pert sots are not a few,)
+_20
+  'Gainst you and Pope their envy spurt,
+  The booksellers alone are hurt.
+     Good gods! by what a powerful race
+  (For blockheads may have power and place)
+  Are scandals raised and libels writ!
+  To prove your honesty and wit!
+  Think with yourself: Those worthy men,
+  You know, have suffered by your pen.
+  From them you've nothing but your due.
+  From thence, 'tis plain, your friends are few.
+_30
+  Except myself, I know of none,
+  Besides the wise and good alone.
+  To set the case in fairer light,
+  My fable shall the rest recite;
+  Which (though unlike our present state)
+  I for the moral's sake relate.
+     A bee of cunning, not of parts,
+  Luxurious, negligent of arts,
+  Rapacious, arrogant, and vain,
+  Greedy of power, but more of gain,
+_40
+  Corruption sowed throughout the hive,
+  By petty rogues the great ones thrive.
+     As power and wealth his views supplied,
+  'Twas seen in over-bearing pride.
+  With him loud impudence had merit;
+  The bee of conscience wanted spirit;
+  And those who followed honour's rules,
+  Were laughed to scorn for squeamish fools,
+  Wealth claimed distinction, favour, grace;
+  And poverty alone was base.
+_50
+  He treated industry with slight,
+  Unless he found his profit by't.
+  Eights, laws, and liberties gave way,
+  To bring his selfish schemes in play.
+  The swarm forgot the common toil,
+  To share the gleanings of his spoil.
+     'While vulgar souls of narrow parts,
+  Waste life in low mechanic arts,
+  Let us,' says he, 'to genius born,
+  The drudgery of our fathers scorn.
+_60
+  The wasp and drone, you must agree,
+  Live with more elegance than we.
+  Like gentlemen they sport and play;
+  No business interrupts the day;
+  Their hours to luxury they give,
+  And nobly on their neighbours live.'
+     A stubborn bee, among the swarm,
+  With honest indignation warm,
+  Thus from his cell with zeal replied:
+     'I slight thy frowns, and hate thy pride.
+_70
+  The laws our native rights protect;
+  Offending thee, I those respect.
+  Shall luxury corrupt the hive,
+  And none against the torrent strive?
+  Exert the honour of your race;
+  He builds his rise on your disgrace.
+  'Tis industry our state maintains:
+  'Twas honest toils and honest gains
+  That raised our sires to power and fame.
+  Be virtuous; save yourselves from shame.
+_80
+  Know, that in selfish ends pursuing,
+  You scramble for the public ruin.'
+     He spoke; and from his cell dismissed,
+  Was insolently scoffed and hissed.
+  With him a friend or two resigned,
+  Disdaining the degenerate kind.
+     'These drones,' says he, 'these insects vile,
+  (I treat them in their proper style,)
+  May for a time oppress the state,
+  They own our virtue by their hate;
+_90
+  By that our merits they reveal,
+  And recommend our public zeal;
+  Disgraced by this corrupted crew,
+  We're honoured by the virtuous few.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+  FABLE XI.
+
+  THE PACK-HORSE AND THE CARRIER.
+
+  TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN.
+
+  Begin, my lord, in early youth,
+  To suffer, nay, encourage truth:
+  And blame me not for disrespect,
+  If I the flatterer's style reject;
+  With that, by menial tongues supplied,
+  You're daily cocker'd up in pride.
+     The tree's distinguished by the fruit,
+  Be virtue then your sole pursuit;
+  Set your great ancestors in view,
+  Like them deserve the title too;
+_10
+  Like them ignoble actions scorn:
+  Let virtue prove you greatly born.
+     Though with less plate their sideboard shone,
+  Their conscience always was their own;
+  They ne'er at levees meanly fawned,
+  Nor was their honour yearly pawned;
+  Their hands, by no corruption stained,
+  The ministerial bribe disdained;
+  They served the crown with loyal zeal;
+  Yet, jealous of the public weal,
+_20
+  They stood the bulwark of our laws,
+  And wore at heart their country's cause;
+  By neither place or pension bought,
+  They spoke and voted as they thought.
+  Thus did your sires adorn their seat;
+  And such alone are truly great.
+     If you the paths of learning slight,
+  You're but a dunce in stronger light;
+  In foremost rank the coward placed,
+  Is more conspicuously disgraced.
+_30
+  If you to serve a paltry end,
+  To knavish jobs can condescend,
+  We pay you the contempt that's due;
+  In that you have precedence too.
+  Whence had you this illustrious name?
+  From virtue and unblemished fame.
+  By birth the name alone descends;
+  Your honour on yourself depends:
+  Think not your coronet can hide
+  Assuming ignorance and pride.
+_40
+  Learning by study must be won,
+  'Twas ne'er entailed from son to son.
+  Superior worth your rank requires;
+  For that mankind reveres your sires;
+     If you degenerate from your race,
+  Their merits heighten your disgrace.
+     A carrier, every night and morn,
+  Would see his horses eat their corn:
+  This sunk the hostler's vails, 'tis true;
+  But then his horses had their due.
+_50
+  Were we so cautious in all cases,
+  Small gain would rise from greater places.
+     The manger now had all its measure;
+  He heard the grinding teeth with pleasure;
+  When all at once confusion rung;
+  They snorted, jostled, bit, and flung:
+  A pack-horse turned his head aside,
+  Foaming, his eye-balls swelled with pride.
+     'Good gods!' says he, 'how hard's my lot!
+  Is then my high descent forgot?
+_60
+  Reduced to drudgery and disgrace,
+  (A life unworthy of my race,)
+  Must I too bear the vile attacks
+  Of rugged scrubs, and vulgar hacks?
+  See scurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred,
+  Dares from the manger thrust my head!
+  Shall I, who boast a noble line,
+  On offals of these creatures dine?
+  Kicked by old Ball! so mean a foe!
+  My honour suffers by the blow.
+_70
+  Newmarket speaks my grandsire's fame,
+  All jockies still revere his name:
+  There yearly are his triumphs told,
+  There all his massy plates enrolled.
+  Whene'er led forth upon the plain,
+  You saw him with a livery train;
+  Returning too with laurels crowned,
+  You heard the drums and trumpets sound.
+  Let it then, sir, be understood,
+  Respect's my due; for I have blood.'
+_80
+     'Vain-glorious fool!' the carrier cried,
+  'Respect was never paid to pride.
+  Know, 'twas thy giddy wilful heart
+  Reduced thee to this slavish part.
+  Did not thy headstrong youth disdain
+  To learn the conduct of the rein?
+  Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
+  In vicious frolics fancy spirit.
+  What is't to me by whom begot?
+  Thou restive, pert, conceited sot.
+_90
+  Your sires I reverence; 'tis their due:
+  But, worthless fool, what's that to you?
+  Ask all the carriers on the road,
+  They'll say thy keeping's ill bestowed.
+  Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
+  That neither mends thy strength or pace.
+  What profits me thy boast of blood?
+  An ass hath more intrinsic good.
+  By outward show let's not be cheated;
+  An ass should like an ass be treated.'
+_100
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XII.
+
+  PAN AND FORTUNE.
+
+  TO A YOUNG HEIR.
+
+  Soon as your father's death was known,
+  (As if the estate had been their own)
+  The gamesters outwardly express'd
+  The decent joy within your breast.
+  So lavish in your praise they grew,
+  As spoke their certain hopes in you.
+     One counts your income of the year,
+  How much in ready money clear.
+     'No house,' says he, 'is more complete;
+  The garden's elegant and great.
+_10
+  How fine the park around it lies!
+  The timber's of a noble size!
+  Then count his jewels and his plate.
+  Besides, 'tis no entailed estate.
+  If cash run low, his lands in fee
+  Are, or for sale, or mortgage free.'
+     Thus they, before you threw the main,
+  Seem to anticipate their gain.
+  Would you, when thieves were known abroad,
+  Bring forth your treasures in the road?
+_20
+     Would not the fool abet the stealth,
+  Who rashly thus exposed his wealth?
+     Yet this you do, whene'er you play
+  Among the gentlemen of prey.
+  Could fools to keep their own contrive,
+  On what, on whom could gamesters thrive?
+  Is it in charity you game,
+  To save your worthy gang from shame?
+  Unless you furnished daily bread,
+  Which way could idleness be fed?
+_30
+     Could these professors of deceit
+  Within the law no longer cheat,
+  They must run bolder risks for prey,
+  And strip the traveller on the way.
+  Thus in your annual rents they share,
+  And 'scape the noose from year to year.
+  Consider, ere you make the bet,
+  That sum might cross your tailor's debt.
+  When you the pilfering rattle shake,
+  Is not your honour too at stake?
+_40
+  Must you not by mean lies evade
+  To-morrow's duns from every trade?
+  By promises so often paid,
+  Is yet your tailor's bill defrayed?
+  Must you not pitifully fawn,
+  To have your butcher's writ withdrawn?
+  This must be done. In debts of play
+  Your honour suffers no delay:
+  And not this year's and next year's rent
+  The sons of rapine can content.
+_50
+     Look round. The wrecks of play behold,
+  Estates dismembered, mortgaged, sold!
+  Their owners, not to jails confined,
+  Show equal poverty of mind.
+  Some, who the spoil of knaves were made,
+  Too late attempt to learn their trade.
+  Some, for the folly of one hour,
+  Become the dirty tools of power,
+  And, with the mercenary list,
+  Upon court-charity subsist.
+_60
+     You'll find at last this maxim true,
+  Fools are the game which knaves pursue.
+     The forest (a whole century's shade)
+  Must be one wasteful ruin made.
+  No mercy's shewn to age or kind;
+  The general massacre is signed.
+  The park too shares the dreadful fate,
+  For duns grow louder at the gate,
+  Stern clowns, obedient to the squire,
+  (What will not barbarous hands for hire?)
+_70
+  With brawny arms repeat the stroke.
+  Fallen are the elm and reverend oak.
+  Through the long wood loud axes sound,
+  And echo groans with every wound.
+     To see the desolation spread,
+  Pan drops a tear, and hangs his head:
+  His bosom now with fury burns:
+  Beneath his hoof the dice he spurns.
+  Cards, too, in peevish passion torn,
+  The sport of whirling winds are borne.
+_80
+     'To snails inveterate hate I bear,
+  Who spoil the verdure of the year;
+  The caterpillar I detest,
+  The blooming spring's voracious pest;
+  The locust too, whose ravenous band
+  Spreads sudden famine o'er the land.
+  But what are these? The dice's throw
+  At once hath laid a forest low.
+  The cards are dealt, the bet is made,
+  And the wide park hath lost its shade.
+_90
+  Thus is my kingdom's pride defaced,
+  And all its ancient glories waste.
+  All this,' he cries, 'is Fortune's doing:
+  'Tis thus she meditates my ruin.
+  By Fortune, that false, fickle jade,
+  More havoc in one hour is made,
+  Than all the hungry insect race,
+  Combined, can in an age deface.'
+     Fortune, by chance, who near him pass'd,
+  O'erheard the vile aspersion cast.
+_100
+     'Why, Pan,' says she, 'what's all this rant?
+  'Tis every country-bubble's cant;
+  Am I the patroness of vice?
+  Is't I who cog or palm the dice?
+  Did I the shuffling art reveal,    105
+  To mark the cards, or range the deal?
+  In all the employments men pursue,
+  I mind the least what gamesters do.
+  There may (if computation's just)
+  One now and then my conduct trust:
+_110
+  I blame the fool, for what can I,
+  When ninety-nine my power defy?
+  These trust alone their fingers' ends,
+  And not one stake on me depends.
+  Whene'er the gaming board is set,
+  Two classes of mankind are met:
+  But if we count the greedy race,
+  The knaves fill up the greater space.
+  'Tis a gross error, held in schools,
+  That Fortune always favours fools.
+_120
+  In play it never bears dispute;
+  That doctrine these felled oaks confute.
+  Then why to me such rancour show?
+  'Tis folly, Pan, that is thy foe.
+  By me his late estate he won,
+  But he by folly was undone.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XIII.
+
+  PLUTUS, CUPID, AND TIME.
+
+  Of all the burdens man must bear,
+  Time seems most galling and severe:
+  Beneath this grievous load oppressed,
+  We daily meet some friend distressed.
+     'What can one do? I rose at nine.
+  'Tis full six hours before we dine:
+  Six hours! no earthly thing to do!
+  Would I had dozed in bed till two.'
+     A pamphlet is before him spread,
+  And almost half a page is read;
+_10
+  Tired with the study of the day,
+  The fluttering sheets are tossed away.
+  He opes his snuff-box, hums an air,
+  Then yawns, and stretches in his chair.
+     'Not twenty, by the minute hand!
+  Good gods:' says he, 'my watch must stand!
+  How muddling 'tis on books to pore!
+  I thought I'd read an hour or more,
+  The morning, of all hours, I hate.
+  One can't contrive to rise too late.'
+_20
+     To make the minutes faster run,
+  Then too his tiresome self to shun,
+  To the next coffee-house he speeds,
+  Takes up the news, some scraps he reads.
+  Sauntering, from chair to chair he trails;
+  Now drinks his tea, now bites his nails.
+  He spies a partner of his woe;
+  By chat afflictions lighter grow;
+  Each other's grievances they share,
+  And thus their dreadful hours compare.
+_30
+     Says Tom, 'Since all men must confess,
+  That time lies heavy more or less;
+  Why should it be so hard to get
+  Till two, a party at piquet?
+  Play might relieve the lagging morn:
+  By cards long wintry nights are borne:
+  Does not quadrille amuse the fair,
+  Night after night, throughout the year?
+  Vapours and spleen forgot, at play
+  They cheat uncounted hours away.'
+_40
+     'My case,' says Will, 'then must be hard
+  By want of skill from play debarred.
+  Courtiers kill time by various ways;
+  Dependence wears out half their days.
+  How happy these, whose time ne'er stands!
+  Attendance takes it off their hands.
+  Were it not for this cursed shower
+  The park had whiled away an hour.
+  At Court, without or place or view,
+  I daily lose an hour or two;
+_50
+  It fully answers my design,
+  When I have picked up friends to dine,
+  The tavern makes our burden light;
+  Wine puts our time and care to flight.
+  At six (hard case!) they call to pay.
+  Where can one go? I hate the play.
+  From six till ten! Unless in sleep,
+  One cannot spend the hours so cheap.
+  The comedy's no sooner done,
+  But some assembly is begun;
+_60
+  Loit'ring from room to room I stray;
+  Converse, but nothing hear or say:
+  Quite tired, from fair to fair I roam.
+  So soon: I dread the thoughts of home.
+  From thence, to quicken slow-paced night,
+  Again my tavern-friends invite:
+  Here too our early mornings pass,
+  Till drowsy sleep retards the glass.'
+     Thus they their wretched life bemoan,
+  And make each other's case their own.
+_70
+     Consider, friends, no hour rolls on,
+  But something of your grief is gone.
+  Were you to schemes of business bred,
+  Did you the paths of learning tread.
+  Your hours, your days, would fly too fast;
+  You'd then regret the minute past,
+  Time's fugitive and light as wind!
+  'Tis indolence that clogs your mind!
+  That load from off your spirits shake;
+  You'll own and grieve for your mistake;
+_80
+  A while your thoughtless spleen suspend,
+  Then read, and (if you can) attend.
+     As Plutus, to divert his care,
+  Walked forth one morn to take the air,
+  Cupid o'ertook his strutting pace,
+  Each stared upon the stranger's face,
+  Till recollection set them right;
+  For each knew t'other but by sight.
+  After some complimental talk,
+  Time met them, bowed, and joined their walk.
+_90
+  Their chat on various subjects ran,
+  But most, what each had done for man.
+  Plutus assumes a haughty air,
+  Just like our purse-proud fellows here.
+     'Let kings,' says he, 'let cobblers tell,
+  Whose gifts among mankind excel.
+  Consider Courts: what draws their train?
+  Think you 'tis loyalty or gain?
+  That statesman hath the strongest hold,
+  Whose tool of politics is gold.
+_100
+  By that, in former reigns, 'tis said,
+  The knave in power hath senates led.
+  By that alone he swayed debates,
+  Enriched himself and beggared states.
+  Forego your boast. You must conclude,
+  That's most esteemed that's most pursued.
+  Think too, in what a woful plight
+  That wretch must live whose pocket's light.
+  Are not his hours by want depress'd?
+  Penurious care corrodes his breast.
+_110
+  Without respect, or love, or friends,
+  His solitary day descends.'
+     'You might,' says Cupid, 'doubt my parts,
+  My knowledge too in human hearts,
+  Should I the power of gold dispute,
+  Which great examples might confute.
+  I know, when nothing else prevails,
+  Persuasive money seldom fails;
+  That beauty too (like other wares)
+  Its price, as well as conscience, bears.
+_120
+  Then marriage (as of late profess'd)
+  Is but a money-job at best.
+  Consent, compliance may be sold:
+  But love's beyond the price of gold.
+  Smugglers there are, who by retail,
+  Expose what they call love, to sale,
+  Such bargains are an arrant cheat:
+  You purchase flattery and deceit.
+  Those who true love have ever tried,
+  (The common cares of life supplied,)
+_130
+  No wants endure, no wishes make,
+  But every real joy partake,
+  All comfort on themselves depends;
+  They want nor power, nor wealth, nor friends.
+  Love then hath every bliss in store:
+  'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more.
+  Each other every wish they give,
+  Not to know love, is not to live.'
+     'Or love, or money,' Time replied,
+  'Were men the question to decide,
+_140
+  Would bear the prize: on both intent,
+  My boon's neglected or misspent.
+  'Tis I who measure vital space,
+  And deal out years to human race.
+  Though little prized, and seldom sought,
+  Without me love and gold are nought.
+  How does the miser time employ?
+  Did I e'er see him life enjoy?
+  By me forsook, the hoards he won,
+  Are scattered by his lavish son.
+_150
+  By me all useful arts are gained;
+  Wealth, learning, wisdom is attained.
+  Who then would think (since such, my power)
+  That e'er I knew an idle hour?
+  So subtle and so swift I fly,
+  Love's not more fugitive than I.
+  Who hath not heard coquettes complain
+  Of days, months, years, misspent in vain?
+  For time misused they pine and waste,
+  And love's sweet pleasures never taste.
+_160
+  Those who direct their time aright,
+  If love or wealth their hopes excite,
+  In each pursuit fit hours employed,
+  And both by Time have been enjoyed.
+  How heedless then are mortals grown!
+  How little is their interest known?
+  In every view they ought to mind me;
+  For when once lost they never find me.'
+     He spoke. The gods no more contest,
+  And his superior gift confess'd;
+_170
+  That time when (truly understood)
+  Is the most precious earthly good.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XIV.
+
+  THE OWL, THE SWAN, THE COCK, THE SPIDER, THE
+  ASS, AND THE FARMER.
+
+  TO A MOTHER.
+
+  Conversing with your sprightly boys,
+  Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys.
+  With what delight I've heard you quote
+  Their sayings in imperfect note!
+     I grant, in body and in mind,
+  Nature appears profusely kind.
+  Trust not to that. Act you your part;
+  Imprint just morals on their heart,
+  Impartially their talents scan:
+  Just education forms the man.
+_10
+     Perhaps (their genius yet unknown)
+  Each lot of life's already thrown;
+  That this shall plead, the next shall fight,
+  The last assert the church's right.
+  I censure not the fond intent;
+  But how precarious is the event!
+  By talents misapplied and cross'd,
+  Consider, all your sons are lost.
+     One day (the tale's by Martial penned)
+  A father thus addressed his friend:
+_20
+  'To train my boy, and call forth sense,
+  You know I've stuck at no expense;
+  I've tried him in the several arts,
+  (The lad no doubt hath latent parts,)
+  Yet trying all, he nothing knows;
+  But, crab-like, rather backward goes.
+  Teach me what yet remains undone;
+  'Tis your advice shall fix my son.'
+     'Sir,' says the friend, 'I've weighed the matter;
+  Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter:
+_30
+  Make him (nor think his genius checked)
+  A herald or an architect.'
+     Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known)
+  He heard the advice, and took his own.
+    The boy wants wit; he's sent to school,
+  Where learning but improves the fool:
+  The college next must give him parts,
+  And cram him with the liberal arts.
+  Whether he blunders at the bar,
+  Or owes his infamy to war;
+_40
+  Or if by licence or degree
+  The sexton shares the doctor's fee:
+  Or from the pulpit by the hour
+  He weekly floods of nonsense pour;
+  We find (the intent of nature foiled)
+  A tailor or a butcher spoiled.
+     Thus ministers have royal boons
+  Conferred on blockheads and buffoons:
+  In spite of nature, merit, wit,
+  Their friends for every post were fit.
+_50
+     But now let every Muse confess
+  That merit finds its due success.
+  The examples of our days regard;
+  Where's virtue seen without reward?
+  Distinguished and in place you find
+  Desert and worth of every kind.
+  Survey the reverend bench, and see,
+  Religion, learning, piety:
+  The patron, ere he recommends,
+  Sees his own image in his friends.
+_60
+  Is honesty disgraced and poor?
+  What is't to us what was before?
+     We all of times corrupt have heard,
+  When paltry minions were preferred;
+  When all great offices by dozens,
+  Were filled by brothers, sons, and cousins.
+  What matter ignorance and pride?
+  The man was happily allied.
+  Provided that his clerk was good,
+  What though he nothing understood?
+_70
+  In church and state, the sorry race
+  Grew more conspicuous fools in place.
+  Such heads, as then a treaty made,
+  Had bungled in the cobbler's trade.
+     Consider, patrons, that such elves,
+  Expose your folly with themselves.
+  'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
+  To fix each genius in its sphere.
+  Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
+  But never give a blockhead sense.
+_80
+     An owl of magisterial air,
+  Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
+  Assumed the pride of human race,
+  And bore his wisdom in his face;
+  Not to depreciate learned eyes,
+  I've seen a pedant look as wise.
+     Within a barn, from noise retired,
+  He scorned the world, himself admired;
+  And, like an ancient sage, concealed
+  The follies public life revealed.
+_90
+     Philosophers of old, he read,
+  Their country's youth to science bred,
+  Their manners formed for every station,
+  And destined each his occupation.
+  When Xenophon, by numbers braved,
+  Retreated, and a people saved,
+  That laurel was not all his own;
+  The plant by Socrates was sown;
+  To Aristotle's greater name
+  The Macedonian[10] owed his fame.
+_100
+     The Athenian bird, with pride replete,
+  Their talents equalled in conceit;
+  And, copying the Socratic rule,
+  Set up for master of a school.
+  Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart,
+  Trite sentences, hard terms of art,
+  To vulgar ears seemed so profound,
+  They fancied learning in the sound.
+     The school had fame: the crowded place
+  With pupils swarmed of every race.
+_110
+  With these the swan's maternal care
+  Had sent her scarce-fledged cygnet heir:
+  The hen (though fond and loath to part)
+  Here lodged the darling of her heart:
+  The spider, of mechanic kind,
+  Aspired to science more refined:
+  The ass learnt metaphors and tropes,
+  But most on music fixed his hopes.
+     The pupils now advanced in age,
+  Were called to tread life's busy stage.
+_120
+  And to the master 'twas submitted,
+  That each might to his part be fitted.
+     'The swan,' says he, 'in arms shall shine:
+  The soldier's glorious toil be thine.
+  The cock shall mighty wealth attain:
+  Go, seek it on the stormy main.
+  The Court shall be the spider's sphere:
+  Power, fortune, shall reward him there.
+  In music's art the ass's fame
+  Shall emulate Corelli's[1] name.
+_130
+     Each took the part that he advised,
+  And all were equally despised;
+  A farmer, at his folly moved,
+  The dull preceptor thus reproved:
+     'Blockhead,' says he, 'by what you've done,
+  One would have thought 'em each your son:
+  For parents, to their offspring blind,
+  Consult, nor parts, nor turn of mind;
+  But even in infancy decree
+  What this, what t'other son should be.
+_140
+  Had you with judgment weighed the case,
+  Their genius thus had fixed their place:
+  The swan had learnt the sailor's art;
+  The cock had played the soldier's part;
+  The spider in the weaver's trade
+  With credit had a fortune made;
+  But for the fool, in every class
+  The blockhead had appeared an ass.'
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  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. God 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 assigned,
+  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 cumbrous 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 SEXTON, 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 lustre 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 coarser earth, grow old;
+  Like common grass, the fairest flower
+  Must feel the hoary season's power.
+     How weak, how vain is human pride!
+  Dares man upon himself confide?
+  The wretch who glories in his gain,
+  Amasses heaps on heaps in vain.
+  Why lose we life in anxious cares,
+  To lay in hoards 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 sexton, 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.
+  What then? The meanest bird of prey
+  Such want of sense could ne'er betray;
+_100
+  For sure some difference must be found
+  (Suppose the smelling organ sound)
+  In carcases (say what we can)
+  Or where's the dignity of man?'
+     With due respect to human race,
+  The ravens undertook the case.
+  In such similitude of scent,
+  Man ne'er eould think reflections meant.
+  As epicures extol a treat,
+  And seem their savoury words to eat,
+_110
+  They praised dead horse, luxurious food,
+  The venison of the prescient brood.
+     The sexton's indignation moved,
+  The mean comparison reproved;
+  The undiscerning palate blamed,
+  Which two-legged carrion thus defamed.
+     Reproachful speech from either side
+  The want of argument supplied:
+  They rail, revile: as often ends
+  The contest of disputing friends.
+_120
+  'Hold,' says the fowl; 'since human pride
+  With confutation ne'er complied,
+  Let's state the case, and then refer
+  The knotty point: for taste may err.'
+  As thus he spoke, from out the mould
+  An earth-worm, huge of size, unrolled
+  His monstrous length. They straight agree
+  To choose him as their referee.
+  So to the experience of his jaws,
+  Each states the merits of his cause.
+_130
+  He paused, and with a solemn tone,
+  Thus made his sage opinion known:
+     'On carcases of every kind
+  This maw hath elegantly dined;
+  Provoked by luxury or need,
+  On beast, on fowl, on man, I feed;
+  Such small distinctions in the savour,
+  By turns I choose the fancied flavour,
+  Yet I must own (that human beast)
+  A glutton is the rankest feast.
+_140
+  Man, cease this boast; for human pride
+  Hath various tracts to range beside.
+  The prince who kept the world in awe,
+  The judge whose dictate fixed the law,
+  The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
+  Are levelled. Death confounds them all.
+  Then think not that we reptiles share
+  Such cates, such elegance of fair:
+  The only true and real good
+  Of man was never vermin's food.
+_150
+  'Tis seated in the immortal mind;
+  Virtue distinguishes mankind,
+  And that (as yet ne'er harboured here)
+  Mounts with his soul we know not where.
+  So, good man sexton, since the case
+  Appears with such a dubious face,
+  To neither I the cause determine,
+  For different tastes please different vermin.'
+
+  END OF GAY'S FABLES.
+
+
+
+  SONGS.
+
+
+
+  SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
+
+  1
+
+      All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
+         The streamers waving in the wind,
+      When black-eye'd Susan came aboard.
+         Oh! where shall I my true-love find?
+  Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
+  If my sweet William sails among the crew.
+
+  2
+
+      William, who high upon the yard
+        Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
+      Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
+        He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below;
+  The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
+  And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.
+
+  3
+
+       So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
+         Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
+       (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,)
+         And drops at once into her nest.
+  The noblest captain in the British fleet
+  Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
+
+  4
+
+       O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
+         My vows shall ever true remain;
+       Let me kiss off that falling tear;
+         We only part to meet again.
+  Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
+  The faithful compass that still points to thee.
+
+  5
+
+       Believe not what the landmen say,
+         Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind.
+       They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
+         In every port a mistress find:
+  Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
+  For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
+
+  6
+
+       If to fair India's coast we sail,
+         Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
+       Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
+         Thy skin is ivory so white.
+  Thus every beauteous object that I view,
+  Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
+
+  7
+
+       Though battle call me from thy arms,
+         Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
+       Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,
+         William shall to his dear return.
+  Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
+  Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
+
+  8
+
+       The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
+          The sails their swelling bosom spread;
+       No longer must she stay aboard:
+          They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head.
+  Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:
+  Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  A BALLAD,
+
+  FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.
+
+  1
+
+  'Twas when the seas were roaring
+    With hollow blasts of wind;
+  A damsel lay deploring,
+    All on a rock reclined.
+  Wide o'er the foaming billows
+    She casts a wistful look;
+  Her head was crown'd with willows,
+    That trembled o'er the brook.
+
+  2
+
+  Twelve months are gone and over,
+    And nine long tedious days.
+  Why didst thou, venturous lover,
+    Why didst thou trust the seas?
+  Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
+    And let my lover rest:
+  Ah! what's thy troubled motion
+    To that within my breast?
+
+  3
+
+  The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
+    Sees tempests in despair:
+  But what's the loss of treasure,
+    To losing of my dear?
+  Should you some coast be laid on,
+    Where gold and diamonds grow,
+  You'd find a richer maiden,
+    But none that loves you so.
+
+  4
+
+  How can they say that nature
+    Has nothing made in vain;
+  Why then beneath the water
+    Should hideous rocks remain?
+  No eyes the rocks discover,
+    That lurk beneath the deep,
+  To wreck the wandering lover,
+    And leave the maid to weep.
+
+  5
+
+  All melancholy lying,
+    Thus wail'd she for her dear;
+  Repaid each blast with sighing,
+    Each billow with a tear;
+  When o'er the white wave stooping,
+    His floating corpse she spied;
+  Then, like a lily drooping,
+    She bow'd her head, and died.
+
+  END OF GAY'S SONGS.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+
+[Footnote 1: Second son of George II.; born in 1721; he was five years
+old at the date of the publication of the 'Fables,' which were written
+for his instruction. He is 'Culloden' Cumberland.]
+
+[Footnote 2: 'Siam,' a country famous for elephants.]
+
+[Footnote 3: 'Gresham Hall,' originally the house of Sir Thomas Gresham
+in Winchester. It was converted by his will into a college, no remains of
+which now exist.]
+
+[Footnote 4: 'Curl,' a famous publisher to Grub Street.]
+
+[Footnote 5: Garth's Dispensary.]
+
+[Footnote 6: 'Porta:' a native of Naples, famous for skill in the occult
+sciences. He wrote a book on Physiognomy, seeking to trace in the human
+face resemblances to animals, and to infer similar correspondences in
+mind.]
+
+[Footnote 7: '----When impious men bear sway,
+              The post of honour is a private station.'-ADDISON.]
+
+[Footnote 8: 'Antiochus': See Plutarch.]
+
+[Footnote 9: Barrow.]
+
+[Footnote 10: 'The Macedonian:' Alexander the Great.]
+
+
+[Footnote 11: 'Corelli:' Arcangelo, the greatest fiddler, till Paganini,
+that has appeared. He was born in the territory of Bologna, in 1653, and
+died in 1713.]
+
+[Footnote 12: 'Antoninus:' Marcus, one of the few emperors who have been
+also philosophers.]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is a chapter in an old history of Iceland which has often moved
+merriment. The title of it is, "Concerning Snakes in Iceland," and the
+contents are, "Snakes in Iceland there are none." We suspect, when our
+"Life of William Somerville" is ended, not a few will find in it a
+parallel for that comprehensive chapter, although we strenuously maintain
+that the fault of an insipid and uninteresting life is not always to be
+charged on the biographer.
+
+In "Sartor Resartus" our readers remember an epitaph, somewhat coarse,
+although disguised in good dog-Latin, upon a country squire, and his
+sayings and doings in this world. We have not a copy of that work at
+hand, and cannot quote the epitaph, nor would we, though we could, since
+even the dog-Latin is too plain and perspicuous for many readers. We
+recommend those, however, who choose to turn it up; and they will find in
+it (with the exception of the writing of "the Chase") the full history of
+William Somerville, of whom we know little, but that he was born, that he
+hunted, ate, drank, and died.
+
+He was born in 1682; but in what month, or on what day, we are not
+informed. His estate was in Warwickshire, its name Edston, and he had
+inherited it from a long line of ancestors. His family prided itself upon
+being the first family in the county. He himself boasts of having been
+born on the banks of Avon, which has thus at least produced two poets, of
+somewhat different calibre indeed--the one a deer-stealer, and the other
+a fox-hunter--Shakspeare and Somerville. Somerville was educated at
+Winchester School, and was afterwards elected fellow of New College. From
+his studies--of his success in which we know nothing--he returned to his
+native county, and there, says Johnson, "was distinguished as a poet, a
+gentleman, and a skilful and useful justice of the peace;"--we may add,
+as a jovial companion and a daring fox-hunter. His estate brought him
+in about £1500 a-year, but his extravagance brought him into pecuniary
+distresses, which weighed upon his mind, plunged him into intemperate
+habits, and hurried him away in his 60th year. Shenstone, who knew him
+well, thus mourns aver his departure in one of his letters:--"Our old
+friend Somerville is dead; I did not imagine I could have been so sorry
+as I find myself on this occasion. _Sublatum quoerimus_, I can now excuse
+all his foibles; impute them to age and to distressed circumstances. The
+last of these considerations wrings my very soul to think on; for a
+man of high spirit, conscious of having (at least in one production)
+generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches
+that are low in every sense; to be forced to drink himself into pains of
+the body in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery."
+
+Somerville died July 19, 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near
+Henley-on-Arden. His estate went to Lord Somerville in Scotland, but his
+mother, who lived to a great age, had a jointure of £600. He describes
+himself, in verses addressed to Allan Ramsay, as
+
+  "A squire, well-born and six feet high."
+
+He seems, from the affection and sympathy discovered for him by
+Shenstone, to have possessed the virtues as well as the vices of the
+squirearchy of that age; their frankness, sociality, and heart, as well
+as their improvidence and tendency to excess; and may altogether be
+called a sublimated Squire Western.
+
+As to his poetry, much of it is beneath criticism. His "Fables," "Tales,"
+"Hobbinol, or Rural Games," &c., have all in them poetical lines, but
+cannot, as a whole, be called poetry. He wrote some verses, entitled
+"Address to Addison," on the latter purchasing an estate in Warwickshire
+(he gave his Countess £4000 in exchange for it). In this there are two
+lines which Dr Johnson highly commends, saying "They are written with
+the most exquisite delicacy of praise; they exhibit one of those happy
+strokes that are seldom attained."--Here is this bepraised couplet:--
+
+  "When panting virtue her last efforts made,
+  You brought your Clio to the virgin's aid."
+
+Clio, of course, refers to Addison's signatures in the "Spectator,"
+consisting of the four letters composing the name of the Muse of History,
+used in alternation. We cannot coincide in Johnson's encomium. The
+allusion is, we think, at once indecent and obscure; and what, after all,
+does it say, but that Addison's papers aided the struggling cause of
+virtue?
+
+In the same verses we find a fulsome and ridiculous preference of Addison
+to Shakspeare!
+
+  "In heaven he sings, on earth your Muse supplies
+  The important loss, and heals our weeping eyes;
+  Correctly great, she melts each flinty heart,
+  With EQUAL GENIUS, but SUPERIOR ART."
+
+Surely the force of falsehood and flattery can go no further.
+
+It is a pleasure to turn from these small and shallow things to the
+"Chase," which, if not a great poem, is founded on a most poetical
+subject, and which, here and there, sparkles into fine fancy. Dr Johnson
+truly remarks, that Somerville "set a good example to men of his own
+class, by devoting a part of his time to elegant knowledge, and has
+shewn, by the subjects which his poetry has adorned, that it is
+practicable to be at once a skilful sportsman and a man of letters." But
+besides this purpose to be the poet--and hitherto he has been almost
+the sole poet of the squirearchy, as considered apart from the
+aristocracy--Somerville has the merit of being inspired by a genuine love
+for the subject. He writes directly from the testimony of his own eyes,
+and the impulses of his own heart. He has obviously had the mould of his
+poem suggested by Thomson's "Seasons," but it is the mould only; the
+thoughts and feelings which are poured into it are his own. He loves
+the giddy ride over stock and stone, hedge and petty precipice; the
+invigoration which the keen breath of autumn or winter, like that of a
+sturdy veteran, gives the animal spirits; the animated aspect of the
+"assembled jockeyship of half a province;" the wild music of hounds, and
+horns, and hollas, vieing with each other in mirth and loudness; the
+breathless interest of the start; the emulous pant of the coursers; the
+excitement of the moment when the fox appears; the sweeping tumult of the
+pursuit; the dreamlike rapidity with which five-barred gates are cleared,
+the yellow or naked woods are passed, and the stubble-ridges "swallowed
+up in the fierceness and rage" of the rushing steeds; the indifference of
+those engaged in the headlong sport to the danger or even the death of
+their companions; the lengthening and deepening howl of the hounds as
+they near their prey; the fierce silence of the dying victim; and the
+fiercer shout of victory which announces to the echoes that the brush
+is won, and the glorious (or inglorious) day's work is over;--all this
+Somerville loves, and has painted with considerable power. In the course
+of the poem, he sings also of the mysteries of the dog-kennel--pursues
+the blood-hound on his track of death--describes a stag-hunt in Windsor
+Forest--paints the fearful phenomena of canine madness--hunts the hare in
+a joyous spirit--and goes down after the otter into its watery recesses,
+and watches its divings and devious motions as with the eyes of a
+sea-eagle. And, besides, (here also imitating Thomson,) he is led away
+from the comparatively tame "Chase" of England to the more dangerous
+and more inspiring sports of other lands, where "the huntsmen are up in
+Arabia," in pursuit of the wolf, where the bear is bayed amidst forests
+dark as itself, where the leopard is snared by its own image in a mirror,
+where the lion falls roaring into the prepared pit, and where the "Chase"
+is pursued on a large scale by assembled princes amidst the jungles of
+India.
+
+We doubt not, however, that, were a genuine poet of this age taking up
+the "Chase" as a subject for song, and availing himself of the accounts
+of recent travellers, themselves often true poets, such as Lloyd,
+Livingstone, Cumming Bruce, and Charles Boner, (see the admirable
+"Chamois Hunting in Bavaria" of the latter,) he would produce a strain
+incomparably higher than Somerville's. Wilson, at least, as we know from
+his "Christopher in his Sporting Jacket," and many other articles in
+_Maga_, was qualified, in part by nature and in part by extensive
+experience, to have written such a poem. Indeed, one sentence of his
+is superior to anything in the "Chase." Speaking of the charge of the
+cruelty of chasing such an insignificant animal as a fox, he says, "What
+though it be but a smallish, reddish-brown, sharp-nosed animal, with
+pricked-up ears, and passionately fond of poultry, that they pursue?
+After the first tallyho, reynard is rarely seen till he is run in
+upon--once, perhaps, in the whole run, skirting a wood, or crossing a
+common. It is an _idea that is pursued_ on a whirlwind of horses, to a
+storm of canine music, worthy both of the largest lion that ever leaped
+among a band of Moors sleeping at midnight by an extinguished fire on the
+African sands." We do not answer for the humanity of this description,
+but it certainly seems to us to exhaust the subject of the chase, alike
+in its philosophy and its poetry.[1]
+
+
+SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  BOOK I.
+
+  THE ARGUMENT.
+
+  The subject proposed.--Address to his Royal Highness the Prince.--The
+  origin of hunting.--The rude and unpolished manner of the first
+  hunters.--Beasts at first hunted for food and sacrifice.--The grant
+  made by God to man of the beasts, &c.--The regular manner of hunting
+  first brought into this island by the Normans.--The best hounds
+  and best horses bred here.--The advantage of this exercise to us, as
+  islanders.--Address to gentlemen of estates.--Situation of the kennel
+  and its several courts.--The diversion and employment of hounds in
+  the kennel.--The different sorts of hounds for each different chase.--
+  Description of a perfect hound.--Of sizing and sorting of hounds.--The
+  middle-sized hound recommended.--Of the large, deep-mouthed hound
+  for hunting the stag and otter.--Of the lime-hound; their use on the
+  borders of England and Scotland.--A physical account of scents.--Of
+  good and bad scenting days.--A short admonition to my brethren of
+  the couples.
+
+  The Chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed,
+  And no less various use. O thou Great Prince![2]
+  Whom Cambria's towering hills proclaim their lord,
+  Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song.
+  While grateful citizens with pompous show,
+  Rear the triumphal arch, rich with the exploits
+  Of thy illustrious house; while virgins pave
+  Thy way with flowers, and, as the royal youth
+  Passing they view, admire, and sigh in vain;
+  While crowded theatres, too fondly proud
+_10
+  Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes,
+  The price of manhood, hail thee with a song,
+  And airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn
+  Invites thee to the Chase, the sport of kings;
+  Image of war, without its guilt. The Muse
+  Aloft on wing shall soar, conduct with care
+  Thy foaming courser o'er the steepy rock,
+  Or on the river bank receive thee safe,
+  Light-bounding o'er the wave, from shore to shore.
+  Be thou our great protector, gracious youth!
+_20
+  And if in future times, some envious prince,
+  Careless of right and guileful, should invade
+  Thy Britain's commerce, or should strive in vain
+  To wrest the balance from thy equal hand;
+  Thy hunter-train, in cheerful green arrayed,
+  (A band undaunted, and inured to toils,)
+  Shall compass thee around, die at thy feet,
+  Or hew thy passage through the embattled foe,
+  And clear thy way to fame; inspired by thee
+  The nobler chase of glory shall pursue
+_30
+  Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death.
+     Nature, in her productions slow, aspires
+  By just degrees to reach perfection's height:
+  So mimic Art works leisurely, till Time
+  Improve the piece, or wise Experience give
+  The proper finishing. When Nimrod bold,
+  That mighty hunter, first made war on beasts,
+  And stained the woodland green with purple dye,
+  New and unpolished was the huntsman's art;
+  No stated rule, his wanton will his guide.
+_40
+  With clubs and stones, rude implements of war,
+  He armed his savage bands, a multitude
+  Untrained; of twining osiers formed, they pitch
+  Their artless toils, then range the desert hills,
+  And scour the plains below; the trembling herd
+  Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout
+  Unheard before; surprised alas! to find
+  Man now their foe, whom erst they deemed their lord,
+  But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet
+  Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain
+_50
+  Wide-wasting, and grim slaughter red with blood:
+  Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill,
+  Their rage licentious knows no bound; at last
+  Incumbered with their spoils, joyful they bear
+  Upon their shoulders broad, the bleeding prey.
+  Part on their altars smokes a sacrifice
+  To that all-gracious Power, whose bounteous hand
+  Supports his wide creation; what remains
+  On living coals they broil, inelegant
+  Of taste, nor skilled as yet in nicer arts
+_60
+  Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure,
+  And strong necessity, thus first began
+  The chase of beasts: though bloody was the deed,
+  Yet without guilt. For the green herb alone
+  Unequal to sustain man's labouring race,
+  Now every moving thing that lived on earth
+  Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven,
+  To give us in proportion to our wants.
+     Or chance or industry in after-times
+  Some few improvements made, but short as yet
+_70
+  Of due perfection. In this isle remote
+  Our painted ancestors were slow to learn,
+  To arms devote, of the politer arts
+  Nor skilled nor studious; till from Neustria's[3] coasts
+  Victorious William, to more decent rules
+  Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak
+  The proper dialect, with horn and voice
+  To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry
+  His listening peers approve with joint acclaim.
+  From him successive huntsmen learned to join
+_80
+  In bloody social leagues, the multitude
+  Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes,
+  To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the pack.
+     Hail, happy Britain! highly-favoured isle,
+  And Heaven's peculiar care! To thee 'tis given
+  To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those
+  Begot by winds, or the celestial breed
+  That bore the great Pelides through the press
+  Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks;
+  Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins
+_90
+  Cheerful his course; and ere his beams decline,
+  Has measured half thy surface unfatigued.
+  In thee alone, fair land of liberty!
+  Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed
+  As yet unrivalled, while in other climes
+  Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race.
+  In vain malignant steams, and winter fogs
+  Load the dull air, and hover round our coasts,
+  The huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold,
+  Defies the noxious vapour, and confides
+_100
+  In this delightful exercise, to raise
+  His drooping head and cheer his heart with joy.
+     Ye vigorous youths, by smiling Fortune blest
+  With large demesnes, hereditary wealth,
+  Heaped copious by your wise forefathers' care,
+  Hear and attend! while I the means reveal
+  To enjoy those pleasures, for the weak too strong,
+  Too costly for the poor: to rein the steed
+  Swift-stretching o'er the plain, to cheer the pack
+  Opening in concerts of harmonious joy,
+_110
+  But breathing death. What though the gripe severe
+  Of brazen-fisted Time, and slow disease
+  Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,
+  Afflict my shattered frame, undaunted still,
+  Fixed as a mountain ash, that braves the bolts
+  Of angry Jove; though blasted, yet unfallen;
+  Still can my soul in Fancy's mirror view
+  Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous scene
+  In all its splendours decked, o'er the full bowl
+  Recount my triumphs past, urge others on
+_120
+  With hand and voice, and point the winding way:
+  Pleased with that social sweet garrulity,
+  The poor disbanded veteran's sole delight.
+     First let the Kennel be the huntsman's care,
+  Upon some little eminence erect,
+  And fronting to the ruddy dawn; its courts
+  On either hand wide opening to receive
+  The sun's all-cheering beams, when mild he shines,
+  And gilds the mountain tops. For much the pack
+  (Roused from their dark alcoves) delight to stretch,
+_130
+  And bask in his invigorating ray:
+  Warned by the streaming light and merry lark,
+  Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats
+  They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined
+  Salute the new-born day. For not alone
+  The vegetable world, but men and brutes
+  Own his reviving influence, and joy
+  At his approach. Fountain of light! if chance[4]
+  Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow,
+  In vain the Muses aid; untouched, unstrung,
+_140
+  Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard
+  Sits darkly musing o'er the unfinished lay.
+     Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome,
+  A vain expense, on charitable deeds
+  Better disposed, to clothe the tattered wretch,
+  Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor
+  Pinched with afflictive want. For use, not state,
+  Gracefully plain, let each apartment rise.
+  O'er all let cleanliness preside, no scraps
+  Bestrew the pavement, and no half-picked bones,
+_150
+  To kindle fierce debate, or to disgust
+  That nicer sense, on which the sportsman's hope,
+  And all his future triumphs must depend.
+  Soon as the growling pack with eager joy
+  Have lapped their smoking viands, morn or eve,
+  From the full cistern lead the ductile streams,
+  To wash thy court well-paved, nor spare thy pains,
+  For much to health will cleanliness avail.
+  Seek'st thou for hounds to climb the rocky steep,
+  And brush the entangled covert, whose nice scent
+_160
+  O'er greasy fallows, and frequented roads
+  Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off
+  Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell
+  Invade thy wide inclosure, but admit
+  The nitrous air, and purifying breeze.
+     Water and shade no less demand thy care:
+  In a large square the adjacent field inclose,
+  There plant in equal ranks the spreading elm,
+  Or fragrant lime; most happy thy design,
+  If at the bottom of thy spacious court,
+_170
+  A large canal fed by the crystal brook,
+  From its transparent bosom shall reflect
+  Downward thy structure and inverted grove.
+  Here when the sun's too potent gleams annoy
+  The crowded kennel, and the drooping pack,
+  Restless and faint, loll their unmoistened tongues,
+  And drop their feeble tails; to cooler shades
+  Lead forth the panting tribe; soon shalt thou find
+  The cordial breeze their fainting hearts revive:
+  Tumultuous soon they plunge into the stream,
+_180
+  There lave their reeking sides, with greedy joy
+  Gulp down the flying wave; this way and that
+  From shore to shore they swim, while clamour loud
+  And wild uproar torments the troubled flood:
+  Then on the sunny bank they roll and stretch
+  Their dripping limbs, or else in wanton rings
+  Coursing around, pursuing and pursued,
+  The merry multitude disporting play.
+     But here with watchful and observant eye
+  Attend their frolics, which too often end
+_190
+  In bloody broils and death. High o'er thy head
+  Wave thy resounding whip, and with a voice
+  Fierce-menacing o'errule the stern debate,
+  And quench their kindling rage; for oft in sport
+  Begun, combat ensues, growling they snarl,
+  Then on their haunches reared, rampant they seize
+  Each other's throats, with teeth and claws in gore
+  Besmeared, they wound, they tear, till on the ground,
+  Panting, half dead the conquered champion lies:
+  Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd
+_200
+  Loud-clamouring seize the helpless worried wretch,
+  And thirsting for his blood, drag different ways
+  His mangled carcase on the ensanguined plain.
+  O breasts of pity void! to oppress the weak,
+  To point your vengeance at the friendless head,
+  And with one mutual cry insult the fallen!
+  Emblem too just of man's degenerate race.
+     Others apart by native instinct led,
+  Knowing instructor! 'mong the ranker grass
+  Cull each salubrious plant, with bitter juice
+_210
+  Concoctive stored, and potent to allay
+  Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine
+  Of Providence, beneficent and kind
+  To all His creatures, for the brutes prescribes
+  A ready remedy, and is Himself
+  Their great physician. Now grown stiff with age,
+  And many a painful chase, the wise old hound
+  Regardless of the frolic pack, attends
+  His master's side, or slumbers at his ease
+  Beneath the bending shade; there many a ring
+_220
+  Runs o'er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil
+  Puzzles perplexed, or doubles intricate
+  Cautious unfolds, then winged with all his speed,
+  Bounds o'er the lawn to seize his panting prey:
+  And in imperfect whimperings speaks his joy.
+     A different hound for every different chase
+  Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare
+  O'ermatched destroy, but leave that vile offence
+  To the mean, murderous, coursing crew; intent
+  On blood and spoil. O blast their hopes, just  Heaven!
+_230
+  And all their painful drudgeries repay
+  With disappointment and severe remorse.
+  But husband thou thy pleasures, and give scope
+  To all her subtle play: by nature led
+  A thousand shifts she tries; to unravel these
+  The industrious beagle twists his waving tail,
+  Through all her labyrinths pursues, and rings
+  Her doleful knell. See there with countenance blithe,
+  And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound
+  Salutes thee cowering, his wide-opening nose
+_240
+  Upward he curls, and his large sloe-black eyes
+  Melt in soft blandishments, and humble joy;
+  His glossy skin, or yellow-pied, or blue,
+  In lights or shades by Nature's pencil drawn,
+  Reflects the various tints; his ears and legs
+  Flecked here and there, in gay enamelled pride
+  Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail
+  O'er his broad back bends in an ample arch;
+  On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands,
+  His round cat foot, straight hams, and wide-spread  thighs,
+_250
+  And his low-dropping chest, confess his speed,
+  His strength, his wind, or on the steepy hill,
+  Or far-extended plain; in every part
+  So well proportioned, that the nicer skill
+  Of Phidias himself can't blame thy choice.
+  Of such compose thy pack. But here a mean
+  Observe, nor the large hound prefer, of size
+  Gigantic; he in the thick-woven covert
+  Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake
+  Torn and embarrassed bleeds: but if too small,
+_260
+  The pigmy brood in every furrow swims;
+  Moiled in the clogging clay, panting they lag
+  Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep
+  Benumbed and faint beneath the sheltering thorn.
+  For hounds of middle size, active and strong,
+  Will better answer all thy various ends,
+  And crown thy pleasing labours with success.
+     As some brave captain, curious and exact,
+  By his fixed standard forms in equal ranks
+  His gay battalion, as one man they move
+_270
+  Step after step, their size the same, their arms
+  Far gleaming, dart the same united blaze:
+  Reviewing generals his merit own;
+  How regular! how just! and all his cares
+  Are well repaid, if mighty George approve.
+  So model thou thy pack, if honour touch
+  Thy generous soul, and the world's just applause.
+  But above all take heed, nor mix thy hounds
+  Of different kinds; discordant sounds shall grate
+  Thy ears offended, and a lagging line
+_280
+  Of babbling curs disgrace thy broken pack.
+  But if the amphibious otter be thy chase,
+  Or stately stag, that o'er the woodland reigns;
+  Or if the harmonious thunder of the field
+  Delight thy ravished ears; the deep-flewed hound
+  Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure,
+  Whose ears down-hanging from his thick round head
+  Shall sweep the morning dew, whose clanging voice
+  Awake the mountain echo in her cell,
+  And shake the forests: the bold talbot[6] kind
+_290
+  Of these the prime, as white as Alpine snows;
+  And great their use of old. Upon the banks
+  Of Tweed, slow winding through the vale, the seat
+  Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew
+  The sweets of peace, or Anna's dread commands
+  To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed,
+  There dwelt a pilfering race; well-trained and skilled
+  In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil
+
+  Their only substance, feuds and war their sport:
+  Not more expert in every fraudful art
+_300
+  The arch felon was of old, who by the tail
+  Drew back his lowing prize: in vain his wiles,
+  In vain the shelter of the covering rock,
+  In vain the sooty cloud, and ruddy flames
+  That issued from his mouth; for soon he paid
+  His forfeit life: a debt how justly due
+  To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven!
+  Veiled in the shades of night they ford the stream,
+
+  Then prowling far and near, whate'er they seize
+  Becomes their prey; nor flocks nor herds are safe,
+_310
+  Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong barred doors
+  Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn
+  Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan
+  The plundered owner stands, and from his lips
+  A thousand thronging curses burst their way:
+  He calls his stout allies, and in a line
+  His faithful hound he leads, then with a voice
+  That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers:
+  Soon the sagacious brute, his curling tail
+
+  Flourished in air, low-bending plies around
+_320
+  His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuff
+  Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried,
+  Till conscious of the recent stains, his heart
+  Beats quick; his snuffling nose, his active tail
+  Attest his joy; then with deep opening mouth
+  That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims
+  The audacious felon; foot by foot he marks
+  His winding way, while all the listening crowd
+  Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford,
+  Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hill,
+_330
+  O'er beaten paths, with men and beasts distained,
+  Unerring he pursues; till at the cot
+  Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat
+  The caitiff'  vile, redeems the captive prey:
+  So exquisitely delicate his sense!
+     Should some more curious sportsman here inquire,
+  Whence this sagacity, this wondrous power
+  Of tracing step by step, or man or brute?
+
+  What guide invisible points out their way,
+  O'er the dank marsh, bleak hill, and sandy plain?
+_340
+  The courteous Muse shall the dark cause reveal.
+  The blood that from the heart incessant rolls
+  In many a crimson tide, then here and there
+  In smaller rills disparted, as it flows
+  Propelled, the serous particles evade
+  Through the open pores, and with the ambient air
+  Entangling mix. As fuming vapours rise,
+  And hang upon the gently purling brook,
+  There by the incumbent atmosphere compressed,
+  The panting chase grows warmer as he flies,
+_350
+  And through the net-work of the skin perspires;
+  Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which by
+  The cooler air condensed, remains, unless
+  By some rude storm dispersed, or rarefied
+  By the meridian sun's intenser heat.
+  To every shrub the warm effluvia cling,
+  Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies.
+  With nostrils opening wide, o'er hill, o'er dale,
+  The vigorous hounds pursue, with every breath
+  Inhale the grateful steam, quick pleasures sting
+_360
+  Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay,
+  And in triumphant melody confess
+  The titillating joy. Thus on the air
+  Depend the hunter's hopes. When ruddy streaks
+  At eve forebode a blustering stormy day,
+  Or lowering clouds blacken the mountain's brow,
+  When nipping frosts, and the keen biting blasts
+  Of the dry parching east, menace the trees
+  With tender blossoms teeming, kindly spare
+  Thy sleeping pack, in their warm beds of straw
+_370
+  Low-sinking at their ease; listless they shrink
+  Into some dark recess, nor hear thy voice
+  Though oft invoked; or haply if thy call
+  Rouse up the slumbering tribe, with heavy eyes
+  Glazed, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their tails
+  Inverted; high on their bent backs erect
+  Their pointed bristles stare, or 'mong the tufts
+  Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant
+  Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn.
+  These inauspicious days, on other cares
+_380
+  Employ thy precious hours; the improving friend
+  With open arms embrace, and from his lips
+  Glean science, seasoned with good-natured wit.
+  But if the inclement skies and angry Jove
+  Forbid the pleasing intercourse, thy books
+  Invite thy ready hand, each sacred page
+  Rich with the wise remarks of heroes old.
+  Converse familiar with the illustrious dead;
+  With great examples of old Greece or Rome
+  Enlarge thy free-born heart, and bless kind Heaven,
+_390
+  That Britain yet enjoys dear Liberty,
+  That balm of life, that sweetest blessing, cheap
+  Though purchased with our blood. Well-bred, polite,
+  Credit thy calling. See! how mean, how low,
+  The bookless sauntering youth, proud of the scut
+  That dignifies his cap, his flourished belt,
+  And rusty couples jingling by his side.
+  Be thou of other mould; and know that such
+  Transporting pleasures were by Heaven ordained
+  Wisdom's relief, and Virtue's great reward.
+_400
+
+    *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+BOOK II.
+
+THE ARGUMENT.
+
+Of the power of instinct in brutes.--Two remarkable instances in the
+hunting of the roebuck, and in the hare going to seat in the morning.--Of
+the variety of seats or forms of the hare, according to the change of the
+season, weather, or wind.--Description of the hare-hunting in all its
+parts, interspersed with rules to be observed by those who follow that
+chase.--Transition to the Asiatic way of hunting, particularly the
+magnificent manner of the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian princes, taken
+from Monsieur Bernier, and the history of Gengiskan the Great.--Concludes
+with a short reproof of tyrants and oppressors of mankind.
+
+  Nor will it less delight the attentive sage
+  To observe that instinct, which unerring guides
+  The brutal race, which mimics reason's lore
+  And oft transcends: heaven-taught, the roe-buck swift
+  Loiters at ease before the driving pack
+  And mocks their vain pursuit, nor far he flies
+  But checks his ardour, till the steaming scent
+  That freshens on the blade, provokes their rage.
+  Urged to their speed, his weak deluded foes
+
+  Soon flag fatigued; strained to excess each nerve,
+_10
+  Each slackened sinew fails; they pant, they foam;
+  Then o'er the lawn he bounds, o'er the high hills
+  Stretches secure, and leaves the scattered crowd
+  To puzzle in the distant vale below.
+     'Tis instinct that directs the jealous hare
+  To choose her soft abode: with step reversed
+  She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn
+  Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess.
+     As wand'ring shepherds on the Arabian plains
+
+  No settled residence observe, but shift
+_20
+  Their moving camp, now, on some cooler hill
+  With cedars crowned, court the refreshing breeze;
+  And then, below, where trickling streams distil
+  From some penurious source, their thirst allay,
+  And feed their fainting flocks: so the wise hares
+  Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye
+  Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous  wiles
+  Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes
+
+  Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead,
+  Or matted blade, wary, and close they sit.
+_30
+  When spring shines forth, season of love and joy,
+  In the moist marsh, 'mong beds of rushes hid,
+  They cool their boiling blood: when Summer suns
+  Bake the cleft earth, to thick wide-waving fields
+  Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young:
+  But when autumnal torrents, and fierce rains
+  Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank
+  Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid
+
+  The dripping covert: yet when Winter's cold
+  Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed returned
+_40
+  In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
+  Among the withered leaves, thus changing still,
+  As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.
+  But every season carefully observed,
+  The inconstant winds, the fickle element,
+  The wise experienced huntsman soon may find
+  His subtle, various game, nor waste in vain
+  His tedious hours, till his impatient hounds
+  With disappointment vexed, each springing lark
+  Babbling pursue, far scattered o'er the fields.
+_50
+     Now golden Autumn from her open lap
+  Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn;
+  Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
+  The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
+  And counts his large increase; his barns are stored,
+  And groaning staddles bend beneath their load.
+  All now is free as air, and the gay pack
+  In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed;
+  No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse
+  Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale lips
+_60
+  Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed:
+  But courteous now he levels every fence,
+  Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud,
+  Charmed with the rattling thunder of the field.
+  Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible!
+  To that extended lawn, where the gay court
+  View the swift racers, stretching to the goal;
+  Games more renowned, and a far nobler train,
+  Than proud Elean fields could boast of old.
+  Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here,
+_70
+  And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right!
+  Or to those spacious plains, where the strained eye
+  In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last
+  Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills ascends,
+  And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs,
+  Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs,
+  With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow,
+
+  And leaves the lagging multitude behind.
+     Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail!
+  Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread
+_80
+  O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way,
+  And orient pearls from every shrub depend.
+  Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down
+  Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused,
+  Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to receive
+  Thy early meal, or thy officious maids,
+  The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform
+  The important work. Me other joys invite,
+  The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked
+  Their matins chant, nor brook my long delay.
+_90
+  My courser hears their voice; see there with ears
+  And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground;
+  Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
+  And boils in every vein. As captive boys
+  Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
+  Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks,
+  If once dismissed, no limits can contain
+  The tumult raised within their little breasts,
+  But give a loose to all their frolic play:
+
+  So from their kennel rush the joyous pack;
+_100
+  A thousand wanton gaieties express
+  Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
+  Once more indulged, and liberty restored.
+  The rising sun that o'er the horizon peeps,
+  As many colours from their glossy skins
+  Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow
+  When April showers descend. Delightful scene!
+  Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
+  And in each smiling countenance appears
+  Fresh-blooming health, and universal joy.
+_110
+     Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack
+  Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
+  Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey:
+
+  Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly roves;
+  But let thy brisk assistant on his back
+  Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash
+  Bite to the quick, till howling he return
+  And whining creep amid the trembling crowd.
+     Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind,
+  With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes;
+_120
+  Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead
+  Affords the wandering hares a rich repast,
+  Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread
+  And range around, and dash the glittering dew.
+  If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice,
+  Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe
+  Attend his call, then with one mutual cry
+  The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills
+  Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread
+
+  The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along!
+_130
+  But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
+  Their eager haste; then o'er the fallowed ground
+  How leisurely they work, and many a pause
+  The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured
+  With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
+  What artful labyrinths perplex their way!
+  Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts
+  If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,
+  With horror seized. The withered grass that clings
+  Around her head, of the same russet hue
+_140
+  Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes
+  With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed.
+  At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
+  No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,
+  Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the plain
+  Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.
+  Now gently put her off; see how direct
+  To her known mews she flies! Here, huntsman, bring
+  (But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
+
+  And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
+_150
+  And seem to plough the ground! then all at once
+  With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam
+  That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose
+  From the dark caverns of the blustering god,
+  They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.
+  Hope gives them wings while she's spurred on by fear.
+  The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods
+  In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,
+  Stripped for the chase, give all your souls to joy!
+
+  See how their coursers, than the mountain roe
+_160
+  More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds
+  Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print
+  The grass unbruised; with emulation fired
+  They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate,
+  O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush
+  The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend
+  O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns
+  Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.
+
+  Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,
+  Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,
+_170
+  And with the panting winds lag far behind.
+     Huntsman! her gait observe, if in wide rings
+  She wheel her mazy way, in the same round
+  Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track.
+  But if she fly, and with the favouring wind
+  Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task:
+  Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch
+  The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes,
+  O'er plains remote she stretches far away,
+  Ah! never to return! for greedy Death
+_180
+  Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.
+     Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks
+  Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
+  What glorious triumphs burst in every gale
+  Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout,
+  The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes,
+  The pack wide-opening load the trembling air
+  With various melody; from tree to tree
+
+  The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
+  And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
+_190
+  Through all the regions near: afflictive birch
+  No more the school-boy dreads, his prison broke,
+  Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master's call;
+  The weary traveller forgets his road,
+  And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves
+  The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks
+  Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and girls
+  Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
+  Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.
+  Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade
+_200
+  Slips glancing by; while, at the further end,
+  The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
+  Maze within maze. The covert's utmost bound
+  Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps,
+  And in that very track, so lately stained
+  By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue
+  The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny
+  That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more,
+  'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires,
+  Beyond the short extent of human thought.
+_210
+  But hold--I see her from the covert break;
+  Sad on yon little eminence she sits;
+  Intent she listens with one ear erect,
+  Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to take,
+  And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew,
+  That still urge on, and still in vollies loud,
+  Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress.
+  As now in louder peals, the loaded winds
+  Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail;
+  And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge,
+_220
+  Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide,
+  And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
+  Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
+  And each clean courser's speed. We scour along,
+  In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed;
+  Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
+  Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb,
+  And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
+  We press, we gore; till once the summit gained,
+  Painfully panting, there we breathe a while;
+_230
+  Then like a foaming torrent, pouring down
+  Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
+  Happy the man, who with unrivalled speed
+  Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
+  The struggling pack; how in the rapid course
+  Alternate they preside, and jostling push
+  To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth
+  Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved;
+  How, niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
+  Hangs in the rear, till some important point
+_240
+  Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase
+  Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs,
+  With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize.
+  Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career.
+  Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance graze,
+  Have haply soiled the turf. See! that old hound,
+  How busily he works, but dares not trust
+  His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring.
+  Hark! now again the chorus fills; as bells
+  Silenced a while at once their peal renew,
+_250
+  And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
+  See, how they toss, with animated rage
+  Recovering all they lost!--That eager haste
+  Some doubling wile foreshews.--Ah! yet once more
+  They're checked--hold back with speed--on either hand
+  They nourish round--even yet persist--'Tis right,
+  Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend
+  Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase
+  Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced.
+  From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
+_260
+  Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,
+  With love and plenty bless'd. See! there she goes,
+  She reels along, and by her gait betrays
+  Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks!
+  The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves
+  A languid scent. And now in open view
+  See, see, she flies! each eager hound exerts
+  His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve.
+  How quick she turns! their gaping jaws eludes,
+  And yet a moment lives; till round inclosed
+_270
+  By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
+  She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies.
+  So when the furious Bacchanals assailed
+  Thracian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard!
+  Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus' banks,
+  Returned their clamorous rage; distressed he flies,
+  Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain;
+  For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
+  By noisy multitudes o'erpowered, he sinks,
+  To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.
+_280
+     The huntsman now, a deep incision made,
+  Shakes out with hands impure, and dashes down
+  Her reeking entrails, and yet quivering heart.
+  These claim the pack, the bloody perquisite
+  For all their toils. Stretched on the ground she lies,
+  A mangled corse; in her dim glaring eyes
+  Cold death exults, and stiffens every limb.
+  Awed by the threatening whip, the furious hounds
+  Around her bay; or at their master's foot,
+  Each happy favourite courts his kind applause,
+_290
+  With humble adulation cowering low.
+  All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind
+  Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack
+  The concert swell, and hills and dales return
+  The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare,
+  A puny, dastard animal, but versed
+  In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train.
+  But if thy proud, aspiring soul disdains
+  So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp,
+  Magnificence and grandeur of the chase;
+_300
+  Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings.
+     Why on the banks of Gemna, Indian stream,
+  Line within line, rise the pavilions proud,
+  Their silken streamers waving in the wind?
+  Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent,
+  Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude?
+  Why shines the polished helm, and pointed lance,
+  This way and that far-beaming o'er the plain?
+  Nor Visapour nor Golconda rebel;
+  Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host
+_310
+  Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires
+  To rob, and to destroy, beneath the name
+  And specious guise of war. A nobler cause
+  Calls Aurengzebe[7] to arms. No cities sacked,
+  No mother's tears, no helpless orphan's cries,
+  No violated leagues, with sharp remorse
+  Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind
+  Shall hail him good and just. For 'tis on beasts
+  He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey
+  Full-fed with human gore. See, see, he comes!
+_320
+  Imperial Delhi opening wide her gates,
+  Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms,
+  And all the pomp of war. Before them sound
+  Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs,
+  And bold defiance. High upon his throne,
+  Borne on the back of his proud elephant,
+  Sits the great chief of Tamur's glorious race:
+  Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze
+  Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd,
+  And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod:
+_330
+  And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside
+  O'er realms of wide extent; but here submiss
+  Their homage pay, alternate kings and slaves.
+  Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around,
+  The fair sultanas of his court; a troop
+  Of chosen beauties, but with care concealed
+  From each intrusive eye; one look is death.
+  A cruel Eastern law! (had kings a power
+  But equal to their wild tyrannic will)
+  To rob us of the sun's all-cheering ray,
+_340
+  Were less severe. The vulgar close the march,
+  Slaves and artificers; and Delhi mourns
+  Her empty and depopulated streets.
+  Now at the camp arrived, with stern review,
+  Through groves of spears, from file to file he darts
+  His sharp experienced eye; their order marks,
+  Each in his station ranged, exact and firm,
+  Till in the boundless line his sight is lost.
+  Not greater multitudes in arms appeared,
+  On these extended plains, when Ammon's[8] son
+_350
+  With mighty Porus in dread battle joined,
+  The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host
+  More numerous of old, which the great king
+  Poured out on Greece from all the unpeopled East;
+  That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore,
+  And drank the rivers dry. Meanwhile in troops
+  The busy hunter-train mark out the ground,
+  A wide circumference; full many a league
+  In compass round; woods, rivers, hills, and plains,
+  Large provinces; enough to gratify
+_360
+  Ambition's highest aim, could reason bound
+  Man's erring will. Now sit in close divan
+  The mighty chiefs of this prodigious host.
+  He from the throne high-eminent presides,
+  Gives out his mandates proud, laws of the chase,
+  From ancient records drawn. With reverence low,
+  And prostrate at his feet, the chiefs receive
+  His irreversible decrees, from which
+  To vary is to die. Then his brave bands
+  Each to his station leads; encamping round,
+_370
+  Till the wide circle is completely formed;
+  Where decent order reigns, what these command,
+  Those execute with speed, and punctual care;
+  In all the strictest discipline of war:
+  As if some watchful foe, with bold insult
+  Hung lowering o'er their camp. The high resolve,
+  That flies on wings, through all the encircling line,
+  Each motion steers, and animates the whole.
+  So by the sun's attractive power controlled,
+  The planets in their spheres roll round his orb,
+_380
+  On all he shines, and rules the great machine.
+     Ere yet the morn dispels the fleeting mists,
+  The signal given by the loud trumpet's voice,
+  Now high in air the imperial standard waves,
+  Emblazoned rich with gold, and glittering gems;
+  And like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom
+  Streaming meteorous. The soldiers' shouts,
+  And all the brazen instuments of war,
+  With mutual clamor, and united din,
+  Fill the large concave. While from camp to camp,
+_390
+  They catch the varied sounds, floating in air,
+  Round all the wide circumference, tigers fell
+  Shrink at the noise; deep in his gloomy den
+  The lion starts, and morsels yet unchewed
+  Drop from his trembling jaws. Now all at once
+  Onward they march embattled, to the sound
+  Of martial harmony; fifes, cornets, drums,
+  That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold
+  Heroic deeds. In parties here and there
+  Detached o'er hill and dale, the hunters range
+_400
+  Inquisitive; strong dogs that match in fight
+  The boldest brute, around their masters wait,
+  A faithful guard. No haunt unsearched, they drive
+  From every covert, and from every den,
+  The lurking savages. Incessant shouts
+  Re-echo through the woods, and kindling fires
+  Gleam from the mountain tops; the forest seems
+  One mingling blaze: like flocks of sheep they fly
+  Before the flaming brand: fierce lions, pards,
+  Boars, tigers, bears, and wolves; a dreadful crew
+_410
+  Of grim blood-thirsty foes: growling along,
+  They stalk indignant; but fierce vengeance still
+  Hangs pealing on their rear, and pointed spears
+  Present immediate death. Soon as the night
+  Wrapt in her sable veil forbids the chase,
+  They pitch their tents, in even ranks around
+  The circling camp. The guards are placed, and fires
+  At proper distances ascending rise,
+  And paint the horizon with their ruddy light.
+  So round some island's shore of large extent,
+_420
+  Amid the gloomy horrors of the night,
+  The billows breaking on the pointed rocks,
+  Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide
+  Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire.
+  What dreadful bowlings, and what hideous roar,
+  Disturb those peaceful shades where erst the bird
+  That glads the night, had cheered the listening groves
+  With sweet complainings! Through the silent gloom
+  Oft they the guards assail; as oft repelled
+  They fly reluctant, with hot-boiling rage
+_430
+  Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair.
+  Thus day by day, they still the chase renew;
+  At night encamp; till now in straiter bounds
+  The circle lessens, and the beasts perceive
+  The wall that hems them in on every side.
+  And now their fury bursts, and knows no mean;
+  From man they turn, and point their ill-judged rage
+  Against their fellow brutes. With teeth and claws
+  The civil war begins; grappling they tear.
+  Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves:
+_440
+  Horrible discord! till the crowd behind
+  Shouting pursue, and part the bloody fray.
+  At once their wrath subsides; tame as the lamb
+  The lion hangs his head, the furious pard,
+  Cowed and subdued, flies from the face of man,
+  Nor bears one glance of his commanding eye.
+  So abject is a tyrant in distress!
+     At last within the narrow plain confined,
+  A listed field, marked out for bloody deeds,
+  An amphitheatre more glorious far
+_450
+  Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps,
+  Dismayed, and quite appalled. In meet array
+  Sheathed in refulgent arms, a noble band
+  Advance; great lords of high imperial blood,
+  Early resolved to assert their royal race,
+  And prove by glorious deeds their valour's growth
+  Mature, ere yet the callow down has spread
+  Its curling shade. On bold Arabian steeds
+  With decent pride they sit, that fearless hear
+  The lion's dreadful roar; and down the rock
+_460
+  Swift-shooting plunge, or o'er the mountain's ridge
+  Stretching along, the greedy tiger leave
+  Panting behind. On foot their faithful slaves
+  With javelins armed attend; each watchful eye
+  Fixed on his youthful care, for him alone
+  He fears, and to redeem his life, unmoved
+  Would lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe,
+  From his high-elevated throne, beholds
+  His blooming race; revolving in his mind
+  What once he was, in his gay spring of life,
+_470
+  When vigour strung his nerves. Parental joy
+  Melts in his eyes, and flushes in his cheeks.
+  Now the loud trumpet sounds a charge. The shouts
+  Of eager hosts, through all the circling line,
+  And the wild bowlings of the beasts within
+  Rend wide the welkin, flights of arrows, winged
+  With death, and javelins launched from every arm,
+  Gall sore the brutal bands, with many a wound
+  Gored through and through. Despair at last prevails,
+  When fainting nature shrinks, and rouses all
+_480
+  Their drooping courage. Swelled with furious rage,
+  Their eyes dart fire; and on the youthful band
+  They rush implacable. They their broad shields
+  Quick interpose; on each devoted head
+  Their flaming falchions, as the bolts of Jove,
+  Descend unerring. Prostrate on the ground
+  The grinning monsters lie, and their foul gore
+  Defiles the verdant plain. Nor idle stand
+  The trusty slaves; with pointed spears they pierce
+  Through their tough hides; or at their gaping mouths
+_490
+  An easier passage find. The king of brutes
+  In broken roarings breathes his last; the bear
+  Grumbles in death; nor can his spotted skin,
+  Though sleek it shine, with varied beauties gay,
+  Save the proud pard from unrelenting fate.
+  The battle bleeds, grim Slaughter strides along,
+  Glutting her greedy jaws, grins o'er her prey.
+  Men, horses, dogs, fierce beasts of every kind,
+  A strange promiscuous carnage, drenched in blood,
+  And heaps on heaps amassed. What yet remain
+_500
+  Alive, with vain assault contend to break
+  The impenetrable line. Others, whom fear
+  Inspires with self-preserving wiles, beneath
+  The bodies of the slain for shelter creep.
+  Aghast they fly, or hide their heads dispersed.
+  And now perchance (had Heaven but pleased) the work
+  Of death had been complete; and Aurengzebe
+  By one dread frown extinguished half their race.
+  When lo! the bright sultanas of his court
+  Appear, and to his ravished eyes display
+_510
+  Those charms, but rarely to the day revealed.
+     Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save
+  The vanquished host. What mortal can deny
+  When suppliant beauty begs? At his command
+  Opening to right and left, the well-trained troops
+  Leave a large void for their retreating foes.
+  Away they fly, on wings of fear upborne,
+  To seek on distant hills their late abodes.
+     Ye proud oppressors, whose vain hearts exult
+  In wantonness of power, 'gainst the brute race,
+_520
+  Fierce robbers like yourselves, a guiltless war
+  Wage uncontrolled: here quench your thirst of blood:
+  But learn from Aurengzebe to spare mankind.
+
+
+BOOK III.
+
+THE ARGUMENT.
+
+Of King Edgar and his imposing a tribute of wolves' heads upon the kings
+of Wales: from hence a transition to fox-hunting, which is described in
+all its parts.--Censure of an over-numerous pack.--Of the several engines
+to destroy foxes, and other wild beasts.--The steel-trap described, and
+the manner of using it.--Description of the pitfall for the lion; and
+another for the elephant.--The ancient way of hunting the tiger with a
+mirror.--The Arabian manner of hunting the wild boar.--Description of the
+royal stag-chase at Windsor Forest.--Concludes with an address to his
+Majesty, and an eulogy upon mercy.
+
+  In Albion's isle when glorious Edgar reigned,
+  He wisely provident, from her white cliffs
+  Launched half her forests, and with numerous fleets
+  Covered his wide domain: there proudly rode
+  Lord of the deep, the great prerogative
+  Of British monarchs. Each invader bold,
+  Dane and Norwegian, at a distance gazed,
+  And disappointed, gnashed his teeth in vain.
+  He scoured the seas, and to remotest shores
+  With swelling sails the trembling corsair fled.
+_10
+  Rich commerce flourished; and with busy oars
+  Dashed the resounding surge. Nor less at land
+  His royal cares; wise, potent, gracious prince!
+  His subjects from their cruel foes he saved,
+  And from rapacious savages their flocks.
+  Cambria's proud kings (though with reluctance) paid
+  Their tributary wolves; head after head,
+  In full account, till the woods yield no more,
+  And all the ravenous race extinct is lost.
+  In fertile pastures, more securely grazed
+_20
+  The social troops; and soon their large increase
+  With curling fleeces whitened all the plains.
+  But yet, alas! the wily fox remained,
+  A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around    24
+  In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy.
+  In the full fold, the poor defenceless lamb,
+  Seized by his guileful arts, with sweet warm blood
+  Supplies a rich repast. The mournful ewe,
+  Her dearest treasure lost, through the dun night
+  Wanders perplexed, and darkling bleats in vain:
+_30
+  While in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel,
+  (Herself a parent once, till wanton churls
+  Despoiled her nest) joins in her loud laments,
+  With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe.
+     For these nocturnal thieves, huntsman, prepare
+  Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh! how glorious 'tis
+  To right the oppressed, and bring the felon vile
+  To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep,
+  Or stars retire from the first blush of day,
+  With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,
+_40
+  And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse,
+  Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze,
+  With silence lead thy many-coloured hounds,
+  In all their beauty's pride. See! how they range
+  Dispersed, how busily this way and that,
+  They cross, examining with curious nose
+  Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear
+  Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry
+  More nobly full, and swelled with every mouth.
+  As straggling armies at the trumpet's voice,
+_50
+  Press to their standard; hither all repair,
+  And hurry through the woods; with hasty step
+  Bustling, and full of hope; now driven on heaps
+  They push, they strive; while from his kennel sneaks
+  The conscious villain. See! he skulks along,
+  Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals
+  Purloined. So thrive the wicked here below.
+  Though high his brush he bear, though tipped with white
+  It gaily shine; yet ere the sun declined
+  Recall the shades of night, the pampered rogue
+_60
+  Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels
+  Behold the just avenger, swift to seize
+  His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood.
+     Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our  hearts
+  Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales
+  Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives
+  From wood to wood, through every dark recess
+  The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.
+  The chorus swells; less various, and less sweet
+  The trilling notes, when in those very groves,
+_70
+  The feathered choristers salute the spring,
+  And every bush in concert joins; or when
+  The master's hand, in modulated air,
+  Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers
+  Of music in one instrument combine,
+  An universal minstrelsy. And now
+  In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barred
+  Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;
+  He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts
+  Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away,
+_80
+  Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
+  Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack.
+  'Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths,
+  Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
+  Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur;
+  But in the madness of delight, forget
+  Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range,
+  And dangerous our course; but in the brave
+  True courage never fails. In vain the stream
+  In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch
+_90
+  Wide-gaping threatens death. The craggy steep
+  Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care,
+  And clings to every twig, gives us no pain;
+  But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
+  To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill,
+  By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft:
+  So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink
+  Adown the steepy wave, then tossed on high
+  Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.
+     What lengths we pass! where will the wandering  chase
+_100
+  Lead us bewildered! smooth as the swallows skim
+  The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly.
+  See my brave pack! how to the head they press,
+  Jostling in close array; then more diffuse
+  Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths
+  The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes
+  Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing
+  Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang
+  From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind
+  The hunter-crew, wide straggling o'er the plain!
+_110
+  The panting courser now with trembling nerves
+  Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur,
+  Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams,
+  The big round drops run trickling down his sides,
+  With sweat and blood distained. Look back and view
+  The strange confusion of the vale below,
+  Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade,
+  In vain the impatient rider frets and swears,
+  With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides;
+  He can no more: his stiff unpliant limbs
+_120
+  Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands,
+  For every cruel curse returns a groan,
+  And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief
+  Can view that pampered steed, his master's joy,
+  His minion, and his daily care, well clothed,
+  Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost,
+  No labour spared; who, when the flying chase
+  Broke from the copse, without a rival led
+  The numerous train: now a sad spectacle
+  Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence,
+_130
+  Drove like a panniered ass, and scourged along.
+  While these with loosened reins, and dangling heels,
+  Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear
+  Their weights; another in the treacherous bog
+  Lies floundering half engulfed. What biting thoughts
+  Torment the abandoned crew! Old age laments
+  His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth
+  Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies now
+  The short Pygmean race, he whilom kenn'd
+  With proud insulting leer. A chosen few
+_140
+  Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath
+  Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height
+  Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge,
+  'Tis there the villain lurks; they hover round
+  And claim him as their own. Was I not right?
+  See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags,
+  And sweeps the mire impure; from his wide jaws
+  His tongue unmoistened hangs; symptoms too sure
+  Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields
+  To black despair. But one loose more, and all
+_150
+  His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now
+  The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots
+  And leafless elms return the joyous sounds.
+  Through every homestall, and through every yard,
+  His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies;
+  Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes
+  Plunging he wades besmeared, and fondly hopes
+  In a superior stench to lose his own:
+  But faithful to the track, the unerring hounds
+  With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue.
+_160
+  And now distressed, no sheltering covert near,
+  Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls with gore
+  Distained attest his guilt. There, villain, there
+  Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence
+  The pack inquisitive, with clamour loud,
+  Drag out their trembling prize; and on his blood
+  With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes
+  Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead:
+  And all the assembled village shouts for joy.
+  The farmer who beholds his mortal foe
+_170
+  Stretched at his feet, applauds the glorious deed,
+  And grateful calls us to a short repast!
+  In the full glass the liquid amber smiles,
+  Our native product. And his good old mate
+  With choicest viands heaps the liberal board,
+  To crown our triumphs, and reward our toils.
+     Here must the instructive Muse (but with respect)
+  Censure that numerous pack, that crowd of state,
+  With which the vain profusion of the great
+  Covers the lawn, and shakes the trembling copse.
+_180
+  Pompous incumbrance! A magnificence
+  Useless, vexatious! For the wily fox,
+  Safe in the increasing number of his foes,
+  Kens well the great advantage: slinks behind
+  And slily creeps through the same beaten track,
+  And hunts them step by step; then views escaped
+  With inward ecstasy, the panting throng
+  In their own footsteps puzzled, foiled and lost.
+  So when proud Eastern kings summon to arms
+  Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes
+_190
+  They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world:
+  But when the day of battle calls them forth
+  To charge the well-trained foe, a band compact
+  Of chosen veterans; they press blindly on,
+  In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall,
+  A smoking carnage scattered o'er the plain.
+     Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy:
+  The plundered warrener full many a wile
+  Devises to entrap his greedy foe,
+  Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day,
+_200
+  With silence drags his trail; then from the ground
+  Pares thin the close-grazed turf, there with nice hand
+  Covers the latent death, with curious springs
+  Prepared to fly at once, whene'er the tread
+  Of man or beast unwarily shall press
+  The yielding surface. By the indented steel
+  With gripe tenacious held, the felon grins,
+  And struggles, but in vain: yet oft 'tis known,
+  When every art has failed, the captive fox
+  Has shared the wounded joint, and with a limb
+_210
+  Compounded for his life. But if perchance
+  In the deep pitfall plunged, there's no escape;
+  But unreprieved he dies, and bleached in air
+  The jest of clowns, his reeking carcase hangs.
+     Of these are various kinds; not even the king
+  Of brutes evades this deep devouring grave:
+  But by the wily African betrayed,
+  Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws
+  Expires indignant. When the orient beam
+  With blushes paints the dawn; and all the race
+_220
+  Carnivorous, with blood full-gorged, retire
+  Into their darksome cells, there satiate snore
+  O'er dripping offals, and the mangled limbs
+  Of men and beasts; the painful forester    224
+  Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops,
+  With the tall cedar crowned, and taper fir,
+  Assail the clouds. There 'mong the craggy rocks,
+  And thickets intricate, trembling he views
+  His footsteps in the sand; the dismal road
+  And avenue to death. Hither he calls
+_230
+  His watchful bands; and low into the ground
+  A pit they sink, full many a fathom deep.
+  Then in the midst a column high is reared,
+  The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top
+  A lamb is placed, just ravished from his dam.
+  And next a wall they build, with stones and earth
+  Encircling round, and hiding from all view
+  The dreadful precipice. Now when the shades
+  Of night hang lowering o'er the mountain's brow;
+  And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood,
+_240
+  Rouse up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides,
+  Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide
+  His ravenous jaws, with recent gore distained.
+  The forests tremble, as he roars aloud,
+  Impatient to destroy. O'erjoyed he hears
+  The bleating innocent, that claims in vain
+  The shepherd's care, and seeks with piteous moan
+  The foodful teat; himself, alas! designed
+  Another's meal. For now the greedy brute
+  Winds him from far; and leaping o'er the mound
+_250
+  To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged
+  Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies
+  Astunned and impotent. Ah! what avail
+  Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail,
+  That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmeared
+  With blood and offals crude, thy shaggy mane
+  The terror of the woods, thy stately port,
+  And bulk enormous, since by stratagem
+  Thy strength is foiled? Unequal is the strife,
+  When sovereign reason combats brutal rage.
+_260
+     On distant Ethiopia's sun-burnt coasts,
+  The black inhabitants a pitfall frame,
+  But of a different kind, and different use.
+  With slender poles the wide capacious mouth,
+  And hurdles slight, they close; o'er these is spread
+  A floor of verdant turf, with all its flowers
+  Smiling delusive, and from strictest search
+  Concealing the deep grave that yawns below.
+  Then boughs of trees they cut, with tempting fruit
+  Of various kinds surcharged; the downy peach,
+_270
+  The clustering vine, and of bright golden rind
+  The fragrant orange. Soon as evening gray
+  Advances slow, besprinkling all around
+  With kind refreshing dews the thirsty glebe,
+  The stately elephant from the close shade
+  With step majestic strides, eager to taste
+  The cooler breeze, that from the sea-beat shore
+  Delightful breathes, or in the limpid stream
+  To lave his panting sides; joyous he scents
+  The rich repast, unweeting of the death
+_280
+  That lurks within. And soon he sporting breaks
+  The brittle boughs, and greedily devours
+  The fruit delicious. Ah! too dearly bought;
+  The price is life. For now the treacherous turf
+  Trembling gives way; and the unwieldy beast
+  Self-sinking, drops into the dark profound.
+  So when dilated vapours, struggling heave
+  The incumbent earth; if chance the caverned ground
+  Shrinking subside, and the thin surface yield,
+  Down sinks at once the ponderous dome, engulfed
+_290
+  With all its towers. Subtle, delusive man!
+  How various are thy wiles! artful to kill
+  Thy savage foes, a dull unthinking race!
+  Fierce from his lair, springs forth the speckled pard,
+  Thirsting for blood, and eager to destroy;
+  The huntsman flies, but to his flight alone
+  Confides not: at convenient distance fixed,
+  A polished mirror stops in full career
+  The furious brute: he there his image views;
+  Spots against spots with rage improving glow;
+_300
+  Another pard his bristly whiskers curls,
+  Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide
+  Distends his opening jaws; himself against
+  Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance armed.
+  The huntsman now secure, with fatal aim
+  Directs the pointed spear, by which transfixed
+  He dies, and with him dies the rival shade.
+  Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail
+  The savage kind: but most the docile horse,
+  Swift and confederate with man, annoys
+_310
+  His brethren of the plains; without whose aid
+  The hunter's arts are vain, unskilled to wage
+  With the more active brutes an equal war.
+  But borne by him, without the well-trained pack,
+  Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure.
+     Him the fierce Arab mounts, and with his troop
+  Of bold compeers, ranges the deserts wild,
+  Where by the magnet's aid, the traveller
+  Steers his untrodden course; yet oft on land
+  Is wrecked, in the high-rolling waves of sand
+_320
+  Immersed and lost; while these intrepid bands,
+  Safe in their horses' speed, out-fly the storm,
+  And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey.
+  The grisly boar is singled from his herd
+  As large as that in Erimanthian woods.
+  A match for Hercules. Round him they fly
+  In circles wide; and each in passing sends
+  His feathered death into his brawny sides.
+  But perilous the attempt. For if the steed
+  Haply too near approach; or the loose earth
+_330
+  His footing fail; the watchful angry beast
+  The advantage spies; and at one sidelong glance
+  Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft,
+  And plunging, from his back the rider hurls
+  Precipitant; then bleeding spurns the ground,
+  And drags his reeking entrails o'er the plain.
+  Meanwhile the surly monster trots along,
+  But with unequal speed; for still they wound,
+  Swift-wheeling in the spacious ring. A wood
+  Of darts upon his back he bears; adown
+_340
+  His tortured sides, the crimson torrents roll
+  From many a gaping font. And now at last
+  Staggering he falls, in blood and foam expires.
+     But whither roves my devious Muse, intent
+  On antique tales, while yet the royal stag
+  Unsung remains? Tread with respectful awe
+  Windsor's green glades; where Denham, tuneful bard,
+  Charmed once the listening dryads, with his song
+  Sublimely sweet. Oh! grant me, sacred shade,
+  To glean submiss what thy full sickle leaves.
+_350
+     The morning sun that gilds with trembling rays
+  Windsor's high towers, beholds the courtly train
+  Mount for the chase, nor views in all his course
+  A scene so gay: heroic, noble youths,
+  In arts and arms renowned, and lovely nymphs
+  The fairest of this isle, where Beauty dwells
+  Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove
+  For our more favoured shades: in proud parade
+  These shine magnificent, and press around
+  The royal happy pair. Great in themselves,
+_360
+  They smile superior; of external show
+  Regardless, while their inbred virtues give
+  A lustre to their power, and grace their court
+  With real splendours, far above the pomp
+  Of eastern kings, in all their tinsel pride.
+  Like troops of Amazons, the female band
+  Prance round their cars, not in refulgent arms
+  As those of old; unskilled to wield the sword,
+  Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim.
+  The royal offspring, fairest of the fair,
+_370
+  Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright
+  Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen,
+  With irresistible effulgence armed,
+  Fires every heart. He must be more than man,
+  Who unconcerned can bear the piercing ray.
+  Amelia, milder than the blushing dawn,
+  With sweet engaging air, but equal power,
+  Insensibly subdues, and in soft chains
+  Her willing captives leads. Illustrious maids,
+  Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms,
+_380
+  Without the needless aid of high descent,
+  Had awed mankind, and taught the world's great lords
+  To bow and sue for grace. But who is he
+  Fresh as a rose-bud newly blown, and fair
+  As opening lilies; on whom every eye
+  With joy and admiration dwells? See, see,
+  He reins his docile barb with manly grace.
+  Is it Adonis for the chase arrayed?
+  Or Britain's second hope? Hail, blooming youth![9]
+  May all your virtues with your years improve,
+_390
+  Till in consumate worth, you shine the pride
+  Of these our days, and to succeeding times
+  A bright example. As his guard of mutes
+  On the great sultan wait, with eyes deject
+  And fixed on earth, no voice, no sound is heard
+  Within the wide serail, but all is hushed,
+  And awful silence reigns; thus stand the pack
+  Mute and unmoved, and cowering low to earth,
+  While pass the glittering court, and royal pair:
+  So disciplined those hounds, and so reserved,
+_400
+  Whose honour 'tis to glad the hearts of kings.
+   But soon the winding horn, and huntsman's voice,
+  Let loose the general chorus; far around
+  Joy spreads its wings, and the gay morning smiles.
+     Unharboured now the royal stag forsakes
+  His wonted lair; he shakes his dappled sides,
+  And tosses high his beamy head, the copse
+  Beneath his antlers bends. What doubling shifts
+  He tries! not more the wily hare; in these
+  Would still persist, did not the full-mouthed pack
+_410
+  With dreadful concert thunder in his rear.
+  The woods reply, the hunter's cheering shouts
+  Float through the glades, and the wide forest rings.
+  How merrily they chant! their nostrils deep
+  Inhale the grateful steam. Such is the cry,
+  And such the harmonious din, the soldier deems
+  The battle kindling, and the statesman grave
+  Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex
+  In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy,
+  And pleasure in excess, sparkling exult
+_420
+  On every brow, and revel unrestrained.
+  How happy art thou, man, when thou 'rt no more
+  Thyself! when all the pangs that grind thy soul,
+  In rapture and in sweet oblivion lost,
+  Yield a short interval, and ease from pain!
+     See the swift courser strains, his shining hoofs
+  Securely beat the solid ground. Who now
+  The dangerous pitfall fears, with tangling heath
+  High-overgrown? Or who the quivering bog
+  Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain,
+_430
+  Plain as the strand sea-laved, that stretches far
+  Beneath the rocky shore. Glades crossing glades
+  The forest opens to our wondering view:
+  Such was the king's command. Let tyrants fierce
+  Lay waste the world; his the more glorious part
+  To check their pride; and when the brazen voice
+  Of war is hushed (as erst victorious Rome)
+  To employ his stationed legions in the works
+  Of peace; to smoothe the rugged wilderness,
+  To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope
+_440
+  Depending road, and to make gay the face
+  Of nature, with the embellishments of art.
+     How melts my beating heart! as I behold
+  Each lovely nymph our island's boast and pride,
+  Push on the generous steed, that strokes along
+  O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill,
+  Nor falters in the extended vale below:
+  Their garments loosely waving in the wind,
+  And all the flush of beauty in their cheeks!
+  While at their sides their pensive lovers wait,
+_450
+  Direct their dubious course; now chilled with fear
+  Solicitous, and now with love inflamed.
+  Oh! grant, indulgent Heaven, no rising storm
+  May darken with black wings, this glorious scene!
+  Should some malignant power thus damp our joys,
+  Vain were the gloomy cave, such as of old
+  Betrayed to lawless love the Tyrian queen.
+  For Britain's virtuous nymphs are chaste as fair,
+  Spotless, unblamed, with equal triumph reign
+  In the dun gloom, as in the blaze of day.
+_460
+     Now the blown stag, through woods, bogs, roads, and streams
+  Has measured half the forest; but alas!
+  He flies in vain, he flies not from his fears.
+  Though far he cast the lingering pack behind,
+  His haggard fancy still with horror views
+  The fell destroyer; still the fatal cry
+  Insults his ears, and wounds his trembling heart.
+  So the poor fury-haunted wretch (his hands
+  In guiltless blood distained) still seems to hear
+
+  The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost
+_470
+  Moves as he moves, and as he flies pursues.
+  See here his slot; up yon green hill he climbs,
+  Pants on its brow a while, sadly looks back
+  On his pursuers, covering all the plain;
+  But wrung with anguish, bears not long the sight,
+  Shoots down the steep, and sweats along the vale:
+  There mingles with the herd, where once he reigned
+  Proud monarch of the groves, whose clashing beam
+
+  His rivals awed, and whose exalted power
+  Was still rewarded with successful love.
+_480
+  But the base herd have learned the ways of men,
+  Averse they fly, or with rebellious aim
+  Chase him from thence: needless their impious deed,
+  The huntsman knows him by a thousand marks,
+  Black, and embossed; nor are his hounds deceived;
+  Too well distinguish these, and never leave
+  Their once devoted foe; familiar grows
+  His scent, and strong their appetite to kill.
+  Again he flies, and with redoubled speed
+  Skims o'er the lawn; still the tenacious crew
+_490
+  Hang on the track, aloud demand their prey,
+  And push him many a league. If haply then
+  Too far escaped, and the gay courtly train
+  Behind are cast, the huntsman's clanging whip
+  Stops full their bold career; passive they stand,
+  Unmoved, an humble, an obsequious crowd,
+  As if by stern Medusa gazed to stones.
+  So at their general's voice whole armies halt
+  In full pursuit, and check their thirst of blood.
+  Soon at the king's command, like hasty streams
+_500
+  Dammed up a while, they foam, and pour along
+  With fresh-recruited might. The stag, who hoped
+  His foes were lost, now once more hears astunned
+  The dreadful din; he shivers every limb,
+  He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe.
+  Pressed by the fresh relay, no pause allowed,
+  Breathless, and faint, he falters in his pace,
+  And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce
+  Sustain their load! he pants, he sobs appalled;
+  Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath
+_510
+  His cumbrous beams oppressed. But if perchance
+  Some prying eye surprise him; soon he rears
+  Erect his towering front, bounds o'er the lawn
+  With ill-dissembled vigour, to amuse
+  The knowing forester; who inly smiles
+
+  At his weak shifts, and unavailing frauds.
+  So midnight tapers waste their last remains,
+  Shine forth a while, and as they blaze expire.
+  From wood to wood redoubling thunders roll,
+  And bellow through the vales; the moving storm
+_520
+  Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts,
+  And horns shrill-warbling in each glade, prelude
+  To his approaching fate. And now in view
+  With hobbling gait, and high, exerts amazed
+  What strength is left: to the last dregs of life
+  Reduced, his spirits fail, on every side
+  Hemmed in, besieged; not the least opening left
+  To gleaming hope, the unhappy's last reserve.
+  Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair
+  Gives courage to the weak. Resolved to die,
+_530
+  He fears no more, but rushes on his foes,
+  And deals his deaths around; beneath his feet
+  These grovelling lie, those by his antlers gored
+  Defile the ensanguined plain. Ah! see distressed
+  He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk,
+  That covers well his rear, his front presents
+  An host of foes. Oh! shun, ye noble train,
+  The rude encounter, and believe your lives
+  Your country's due alone. As now aloof
+  They wing around, he finds his soul upraised
+_540
+  To dare some great exploit; he charges home
+  Upon the broken pack, that on each side
+  Fly diverse; then as o'er the turf he strains,
+  He vents the cooling stream, and up the breeze
+  Urges his course with eager violence:
+  Then takes the soil, and plunges in the flood
+  Precipitant; down the mid-stream he wafts
+  Along, till (like a ship distressed, that runs
+  Into some winding creek) close to the verge
+  Of a small island, for his weary feet
+_550
+  Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks immersed.
+  His nose alone above the wave draws in
+  The vital air; all else beneath the flood
+  Concealed, and lost, deceives each prying eye
+  Of man or brute. In vain the crowding pack
+  Draw on the margin of the stream, or cut
+  The liquid wave with oary feet, that move
+  In equal time. The gliding waters leave
+  No trace behind, and his contracted pores
+  But sparingly perspire: the huntsman strains
+_560
+  His labouring lungs, and puffs his cheeks in vain;
+  At length a blood-hound bold, studious to kill,
+  And exquisite of sense, winds him from far;
+  Headlong he leaps into the flood, his mouth
+  Loud opening spends amain, and his wide throat
+  Swells every note with joy; then fearless dives
+  Beneath the wave, hangs on his haunch, and wounds
+  The unhappy brute, that flounders in the stream,
+  Sorely distressed, and struggling strives to mount
+  The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped,
+_570
+  Again he stands at bay, amid the groves
+  Of willows, bending low their downy heads.
+  Outrageous transport fires the greedy pack;
+  These swim the deep, and those crawl up with pain
+  The slippery bank, while others on firm land
+  Engage; the stag repels each bold assault,
+  Maintains his post, and wounds for wounds returns.
+  As when some wily corsair boards a ship
+  Full-freighted, or from Afric's golden coasts,
+  Or India's wealthy strand, his bloody crew
+_580
+  Upon her deck he slings; these in the deep
+  Drop short, and swim to reach her steepy sides,
+  And clinging, climb aloft; while those on board
+  Urge on the work of fate; the master bold,
+  Pressed to his last retreat, bravely resolves
+  To sink his wealth beneath the whelming wave,
+  His wealth, his foes, nor unrevenged to die.
+  So fares it with the stag: so he resolves
+  To plunge at once into the flood below,
+  Himself, his foes in one deep gulf immersed.
+_590
+  Ere yet he executes this dire intent,
+  In wild disorder once more views the light;
+  Beneath a weight of woe, he groans distressed:
+  The tears run trickling down his hairy cheeks;
+  He weeps, nor weeps in vain. The king beholds
+  His wretched plight, and tenderness innate
+  Moves his great soul. Soon at his high command
+  Rebuked, the disappointed, hungry pack
+  Retire submiss, and grumbling quit their prey.
+     Great Prince! from thee, what may thy subjects hope;
+_600
+  So kind, and so beneficent to brutes?
+  O mercy, heavenly born! Sweet attribute!
+  Thou great, thou best prerogative of power!
+  Justice may guard the throne, but joined with thee,
+  On rocks of adamant it stands secure,
+  And braves the storm beneath; soon as thy smiles
+  Gild the rough deep, the foaming waves subside,
+  And all the noisy tumult sinks in peace.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+THE ARGUMENT.
+
+
+Of the necessity of destroying some beasts, and preserving others for the
+use of man.--Of breeding of hounds; the season for this business.--The
+choice of the dog, of great moment.--Of the litter of whelps.--Number to
+be reared.--Of setting them out to their several walks.--Care to be taken
+to prevent their hunting too soon.--Of entering the whelps.--Of breaking
+them from running at sheep.-Of the diseases of hounds.-Of their age.--Of
+madness; two sorts of it described, the dumb, and outrageous madness: its
+dreadful effects.--Burning of the wound recommended as preventing all ill
+consequences.--The infectious hounds to be separated, and fed apart.--The
+vanity of trusting to the many infallible cures for this malady.--The
+dismal effects of the biting of a mad dog, upon man, described.
+--Description of the otter hunting.--The conclusion.
+
+  Whate'er of earth is formed, to earth returns
+  Dissolved: the various objects we behold,
+  Plants, animals, this whole material mass,
+  Are ever changing, ever new. The soul
+  Of man alone, that particle divine,
+  Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail.
+  Hence great the distance 'twixt the beasts that perish,
+  And God's bright image, man's immortal race.
+  The brute creation are his property,
+  Subservient to his will, and for him made.
+_10
+  As hurtful these he kills, as useful those
+  Preserves; their sole and arbitrary king.
+  Should he not kill, as erst the Samian sage
+  Taught unadvised, and Indian Brahmins now
+  As vainly preach; the teeming ravenous brutes
+  Might fill the scanty space of this terrene,
+  Encumbering all the globe: should not his care
+  Improve his growing stock, their kinds might fail,
+  Man might once more on roots, and acorns, feed,
+  And through the deserts range, shivering, forlorn,
+_20
+  Quite destitute of every solace dear,
+  And every smiling gaiety of life.
+     The prudent huntsman, therefore, will supply,
+  With annual large recruits, his broken pack,
+  And propagate their kind. As from the root
+  Fresh scions still spring forth, and daily yield
+  New blooming honours to the parent-tree;
+  Far shall his pack be famed, far sought his breed,
+  And princes at their tables feast those hounds
+  His hand presents, an acceptable boon.
+_30
+     Ere yet the Sun through the bright Ram has urged
+  His steepy course, or mother Earth unbound
+  Her frozen bosom to the western gale;
+  When feathered troops, their social leagues dissolved,
+  Select their mates, and on the leafless elm
+  The noisy rook builds high her wicker nest;
+  Mark well the wanton females of thy pack,
+  That curl their taper tails, and frisking court
+  Their pyebald mates enamoured; their red eyes
+  Flash fires impure; nor rest, nor food they take,
+_40
+  Goaded by furious love. In separate cells
+  Confine them now, lest bloody civil wars
+  Annoy thy peaceful state. If left at large,
+  The growling rivals in dread battle join,
+  And rude encounter. On Scamander's streams
+  Heroes of old with far less fury fought,
+  For the bright Spartan dame, their valour's prize.
+  Mangled and torn thy favourite hounds shall lie,
+  Stretched on the ground; thy kennel shall appear
+  A field of blood: like some unhappy town
+_50
+  In civil broils confused, while Discord shakes
+  Her bloody scourge aloft, fierce parties rage,
+  Staining their impious hands in mutual death.
+  And still the best beloved, and bravest fall:
+  Such are the dire effects of lawless love.
+     Huntsman! these ills by timely prudent care
+  Prevent: for every longing dame select
+  Some happy paramour; to him alone
+  In leagues connubial join. Consider well
+  His lineage; what his fathers did of old,
+_60
+  Chiefs of the pack, and first to climb the rock,
+  Or plunge into the deep, or thread the brake
+  With thorns sharp-pointed, plashed, and briers inwoven.
+  Observe with care his shape, sort, colour, size.
+  Nor will sagacious huntsmen less regard
+  His inward habits: the vain babbler shun,
+  Ever loquacious, ever in the wrong.
+  His foolish offspring shall offend thy ears
+  With false alarms, and loud impertinence.
+  Nor less the shifting cur avoid, that breaks
+_70
+  Illusive from the pack; to the next hedge
+  Devious he strays, there every mews he tries:
+  If haply then he cross the steaming scent,
+  Away he flies vain-glorious; and exults
+  As of the pack supreme, and in his speed
+  And strength unrivalled. Lo! cast far behind
+  His vexed associates pant, and labouring strain
+  To climb the steep ascent. Soon as they reach
+  The insulting boaster, his false courage fails,
+  Behind he lags, doomed to the fatal noose,
+_80
+  His master's hate, and scorn of all the field.
+  What can from such be hoped, but a base brood
+  Of coward curs, a frantic, vagrant race?
+     When now the third revolving moon appears,
+  With sharpened horns, above the horizon's brink;
+  Without Lucina's aid, expect thy hopes
+  Are amply crowned; short pangs produce to light
+  The smoking litter; crawling, helpless, blind,
+  Nature their guide, they seek the pouting teat
+  That plenteous streams. Soon as the tender dam
+_90
+  Has formed them with her tongue, with pleasure view
+  The marks of their renowned progenitors,
+  Sure pledge of triumphs yet to come. All these
+  Select with joy; but to the merciless flood
+  Expose the dwindling refuse, nor o'erload
+  The indulgent mother. If thy heart relent,
+  Unwilling to destroy, a nurse provide,
+  And to the foster-parent give the care
+  Of thy superfluous brood; she'll cherish kind
+  The alien offspring; pleased thou shalt behold
+_100
+  Her tenderness, and hospitable love.
+      If frolic now, and playful they desert
+  Their gloomy cell, and on the verdant turf
+  With nerves improved, pursue the mimic chase,
+  Coursing around; unto thy choicest friends
+  Commit thy valued prize: the rustic dames
+  Shall at thy kennel wait, and in their laps
+  Receive thy growing hopes, with many a kiss
+  Caress, and dignify their little charge
+  With some great title, and resounding name
+_110
+  Of high import. But cautious here observe
+  To check their youthful ardour, nor permit
+  The unexperienced younker, immature,
+  Alone to range the woods, or haunt the brakes
+  Where dodging conies sport: his nerves unstrung,
+  And strength unequal; the laborious chase
+  Shall stint his growth, and his rash forward youth
+  Contract such vicious habits, as thy care
+  And late correction never shall reclaim.
+     When to full strength arrived, mature and bold,
+_120
+  Conduct them to the field; not all at once
+  But as thy cooler prudence shall direct,
+  Select a few, and form them by degrees
+  To stricter discipline. With these consort
+  The stanch and steady sages of thy pack,
+  By long experience versed in all the wiles,
+  And subtle doublings of the various chase.
+  Easy the lesson of the youthful train,
+  When instinct prompts, and when example guides.
+  If the too forward younker at the head
+_130
+  Press boldly on, in wanton sportive mood,
+  Correct his haste, and let him feel abashed
+  The ruling whip. But if he stoop behind
+  In wary modest guise, to his own nose
+  Confiding sure; give him full scope to work
+  His winding way, and with thy voice applaud
+  His patience, and his care; soon shalt thou view
+  The hopeful pupil leader of his tribe,
+  And all the listening pack attend his call.
+     Oft lead them forth where wanton lambkins play,
+_140
+  And bleating dams with jealous eyes observe
+  Their tender care. If at the crowding flock
+  He bay presumptuous, or with eager haste
+  Pursue them scattered o'er the verdant plain;
+  In the foul fact attached, to the strong ram
+  Tie fast the rash offender. See! at first
+  His horned companion, fearful, and amazed,
+  Shall drag him trembling o'er the rugged ground;
+  Then with his load fatigued, shall turn a-head,
+   And with his curled hard front incessant peal
+_150
+  The panting wretch; till breathless and astunned,
+  Stretched on the turf he lie. Then spare not thou
+  The twining whip, but ply his bleeding sides
+  Lash after lash, and with thy threatening voice,
+  Harsh-echoing from the hills, inculcate loud
+  His vile offence. Sooner shall trembling doves
+  Escaped the hawk's sharp talons, in mid air,
+  Assail their dangerous foe, than he once more
+  Disturb the peaceful flocks. In tender age
+  Thus youth is trained; as curious artists bend
+_160
+  The taper, pliant twig; or potters form
+  Their soft and ductile clay to various shapes.
+     Nor is't enough to breed; but to preserve
+  Must be the huntsman's care. The stanch old hounds
+  Guides of thy pack, though but in number few,
+  Are yet of great account; shall oft untie
+  The Gordian knot, when reason at a stand
+  Puzzling is lost, and all thy art is vain.
+  O'er clogging fallows, o'er dry plastered roads,
+  O'er floated meads, o'er plains with flocks distained
+_170
+  Rank-scenting, these must lead the dubious way.
+  As party-chiefs in senates who preside,
+  With pleaded reason and with well turned speech
+  Conduct the staring multitude; so these
+  Direct the pack, who with joint cry approve,
+  And loudly boast discoveries not their own.
+     Unnumbered accidents, and various ills,
+  Attend thy pack, hang hovering o'er their heads,
+  And point the way that leads to Death's dark cave.
+  Short is their span; few at the date arrive
+  Of ancient Argus in old Homer's song
+_180
+  So highly honoured: kind, sagacious brute!
+  Not even Minerva's wisdom could conceal
+  Thy much-loved master from thy nicer sense.
+  Dying, his lord he owned, viewed him all o'er
+  With eager eyes, then closed those eyes, well pleased.
+     Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing,
+  Nor stoops so low; of these each groom can tell
+  The proper remedy. But oh! what care!
+  What prudence can prevent madness, the worst
+  Of maladies? Terrific pest! that blasts
+_190
+  The huntsman's hopes, and desolation spreads
+  Through all the unpeopled kennel unrestrained.
+  More fatal than the envenomed viper's bite;
+  Or that Apulian[10] spider's poisonous sting,
+  Healed by the pleasing antidote of sounds.
+     When Sirius reigns, and the sun's parching beams
+  Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou
+  Each even and morn, with quick observant eye,
+  Thy panting pack. If in dark sullen mood,
+  The gloating hound refuse his wonted meal,
+_200
+  Retiring to some close, obscure retreat,
+  Gloomy, disconsolate: with speed remove
+  The poor infectious wretch, and in strong chains
+  Bind him suspected. Thus that dire disease
+  Which art can't cure, wise caution may prevent.
+     But this neglected, soon expect a change,
+  A dismal change, confusion, frenzy, death.
+  Or in some dark recess the senseless brute
+  Sits sadly pining: deep melancholy,
+  And black despair, upon his clouded brow
+_210
+  Hang lowering; from his half-opening jaws
+  The clammy venom, and infectious froth,
+  Distilling fall; and from his lungs inflamed,
+  Malignant vapours taint the ambient air,
+  Breathing perdition: his dim eyes are glazed,
+  He droops his pensive head, his trembling limbs
+  No more support his weight; abject he lies,
+  Dumb, spiritless, benumbed; till death at last
+  Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief.
+     Or if outrageous grown, behold alas!
+_220
+  A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eye
+  Redden with fury, like some angry boar
+  Churning he foams; and on his back erect
+  His pointed bristles rise; his tail incurved
+  He drops, and with harsh broken bowlings rends
+  The poison-tainted air, with rough hoarse voice
+  Incessant bays; and snuff's the infectious breeze;
+  This way and that he stares aghast, and starts
+  At his own shade; jealous, as if he deemed
+  The world his foes. If haply toward the stream
+_230
+  He cast his roving eye, cold horror chills
+  His soul; averse he flies, trembling, appalled.
+  Now frantic to the kennel's utmost verge
+  Raving he runs, and deals destruction round.
+  The pack fly diverse; for whate'er he meets
+  Vengeful he bites, and every bite is death.
+     If now perchance through the weak fence escaped,
+  Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth
+  Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast
+   He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse,
+_240
+  Once kind associate of his sylvan toils,
+  (Who haply now without the kennel's mound
+  Crops the rank mead, and listening hears with joy
+  The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes
+  His raptured sense) a wretched victim falls.
+  Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas!
+  Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud
+  Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his hand
+  Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day
+  Visits thy stall, well pleased; no more shalt thou
+_250
+  With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn
+  And the loud opening pack in concert joined,
+  Glad his proud heart. For oh! the secret wound
+  Rankling inflames, he bites the ground and dies.
+     Hence to the village with pernicious haste
+  Baleful he bends his course: the village flies
+  Alarmed; the tender mother in her arms
+  Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barred,
+  And flying curs, by native instinct taught,
+  Shun the contagious bane; the rustic bands
+_260
+  Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize
+  Whate'er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns
+  From every quarter charge the furious foe,
+  In wild disorder, and uncouth array:
+  Till now with wounds on wounds oppressed and gored,
+  At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last.
+     Hence to the kennel, Muse, return, and view
+  With heavy heart that hospital of woe:
+  Where Horror stalks at large; insatiate Death
+  Sits growling o'er his prey: each hour presents
+_270
+  A different scene of ruin and distress.
+  How busy art thou, Fate! and how severe
+  Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead
+  Promiscuous lie; o'er these the living fight
+  In one eternal broil; not conscious why,
+  Nor yet with whom. So drunkards in their cups,
+  Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns.
+     Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid
+  The perilous debate! Ah! rouse up all
+  Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground
+_280
+  With careful step. Thy fires unquenched preserve,
+  As erst the vestal flame; the pointed steel
+  In the hot embers hide; and if surprised
+  Thou feel'st the deadly bite, quick urge it home
+  Into the recent sore, and cauterise
+  The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event:
+  Vulcan shall save when Aesculapius fails.
+     Here, should the knowing Muse recount the means
+  To stop this growing plague. And here, alas!
+  Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts
+_290
+  Infallibility, but boasts in vain.
+  On this depend, each to his separate seat
+  Confine, in fetters bound; give each his mess
+  Apart, his range in open air; and then
+  If deadly symptoms to thy grief appear,
+  Devote the wretch, and let him greatly fall,
+  A generous victim for the public weal.
+     Sing, philosophic Muse, the dire effects
+  Of this contagious bite on hapless man.
+  The rustic swains, by long tradition taught
+_300
+  Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive
+  The bite impressed, to the sea-coasts repair.
+  Plunged in the briny flood, the unhappy youth
+  Now journeys home secure; but soon shall wish
+  The seas as yet had covered him beneath
+  The foaming surge, full many a fathom deep.
+  A fate more dismal, and superior ills
+  Hang o'er his head devoted. When the moon,
+  Closing her monthly round, returns again
+  To glad the night; or when full orbed she shines
+_310
+  High in the vault of heaven; the lurking pest
+  Begins the dire assault. The poisonous foam,
+  Through the deep wound instilled with hostile rage,
+  And all its fiery particles saline,
+  Invades the arterial fluid; whose red waves
+  Tempestuous heave, and their cohesion broke,
+  Fermenting boil; intestine war ensues,
+  And order to confusion turns embroiled.
+  Now the distended vessels scarce contain
+  The wild uproar, but press each weaker part,
+_320
+  Unable to resist: the tender brain
+  And stomach suffer most; convulsions shake
+  His trembling nerves, and wandering pungent pains
+  Pinch sore the sleepless wretch; his fluttering pulse
+  Oft intermits; pensive, and sad, he mourns
+  His cruel fate, and to his weeping friends
+  Laments in vain; to hasty anger prone,
+  Resents each slight offence, walks with quick step,
+  And wildly stares; at last with boundless sway
+  The tyrant frenzy reigns. For as the dog
+_330
+  (Whose fatal bite conveyed the infectious bane)
+  Raving he foams, and howls, and barks, and bites.
+  Like agitations in his boiling blood
+  Present like species to his troubled mind;
+  His nature, and his actions all canine.
+  So as (old Homer sung) the associates wild
+  Of wandering Ithacus, by Circe's charms
+  To swine transformed, ran grunting through the groves.
+  Dreadful example to a wicked world!
+  See there distressed he lies! parched up with thirst,
+_340
+  But dares not drink. Till now at last his soul
+  Trembling escapes, her noisome dungeon leaves,
+  And to some purer region wings away.
+     One labour yet remains, celestial Maid!
+  Another element demands thy song.
+  No more o'er craggy steeps, through coverts thick
+  With pointed thorn, and briers intricate,
+  Urge on with horn and voice the painful pack
+  But skim with wanton wing the irriguous vale,
+  Where winding streams amid the flowery meads
+_350
+  Perpetual glide along; and undermine
+  The caverned banks, by the tenacious roots
+  Of hoary willows arched; gloomy retreat
+  Of the bright scaly kind; where they at will,
+  On the green watery reed their pasture graze,
+  Suck the moist soil, or slumber at their ease,
+  Rocked by the restless brook, that draws aslope
+  Its humid train, and laves their dark abodes.
+  Where rages not oppression? Where, alas!
+  Is innocence secure? Rapine and spoil
+_360
+  Haunt even the lowest deeps; seas have their sharks,
+  Rivers and ponds inclose the ravenous pike;
+  He in his turn becomes a prey; on him
+  The amphibious otter feasts. Just is his fate
+  Deserved; but tyrants know no bounds; nor spears
+  That bristle on his back, defend the perch
+  From his wide greedy jaws; nor burnished mail
+  The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save
+  The insinuating eel, that hides his head
+  Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes
+_370
+  The crimson-spotted trout, the river's pride,
+  And beauty of the stream. Without remorse,
+  This midnight pillager ranging around,
+  Insatiate swallows all. The owner mourns
+  The unpeopled rivulet, and gladly hears
+  The huntsman's early call, and sees with joy
+  The jovial crew, that march upon its banks
+  In gay parade, with bearded lances armed.
+     This subtle spoiler of the beaver kind,
+  Far off, perhaps, where ancient alders shade
+  The deep still pool; within some hollow trunk
+_380
+  Contrives his wicker couch: whence he surveys
+  His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all
+  The finny shoals his own. But you, brave youths,
+  Dispute the felon's claim; try every root,
+  And every reedy bank; encourage all
+  The busy-spreading pack, that fearless plunge
+  Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream.
+  Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore,
+  Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise
+_390
+  Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat
+  The triumphs of the vale. On the soft sand
+  See there his seal impressed! and on that bank
+  Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish,
+  Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast.
+  Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more
+  His seal I view. O'er yon dank rushy marsh
+  The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course,
+  And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman, bring
+  Thy eager pack; and trail him to his couch.
+_400
+  Hark! the loud peal begins, the clamorous joy,
+  The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air.
+     Ye Naiads fair, who o'er these floods preside,
+  Raise up your dripping heads above the wave,
+  And hear our melody. The harmonious notes
+  Float with the stream; and every winding creek
+  And hollow rock, that o'er the dimpling flood
+  Nods pendant; still improve from shore to shore
+  Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts!
+  What clamour loud! What gay heart-cheering sounds
+_410
+  Urge through, the breathing brass their mazy way!
+  Nor choirs of Tritons glad with sprightlier strains
+  The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides
+  In triumph o'er the deep. How greedily
+  They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade
+  Rank-scenting clings! See! how the morning dews
+  They sweep, that from their feet besprinkling drop
+  Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind.
+  Now on firm land they range; then in the flood
+  They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools
+_420
+  Rustling they work their way: no holt escapes
+  Their curious search. With quick sensation now
+  The fuming vapour stings; flutter their hearts,
+  And joy redoubled bursts from every mouth
+  In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk,
+  That with its hoary head incurved, salutes
+  The passing wave, must be the tyrant's fort,
+  And dread abode. How these impatient climb,
+  While others at the root incessant bay:
+  They put him down. See, there he dives along!
+_430
+  The ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way.
+  Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat
+  Into the sheltering deeps. Ah, there he vents!
+  The pack lunge headlong, and protended spears
+  Menace destruction: while the troubled surge
+  Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind
+  Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns,
+  And loud uproar. Ah, there once more he vents!
+  See, that bold hound has seized him; down they sink,
+  Together lost: but soon shall he repent
+_440
+  His rash assault. See there escaped, he flies
+  Half-drowned, and clambers up the slippery bank
+  With ouze and blood distained. Of all the brutes,
+  Whether by Nature formed, or by long use,
+  This artful diver best can bear the want
+  Of vital air. Unequal is the fight,
+  Beneath the whelming element. Yet there
+  He lives not long; but respiration needs
+  At proper intervals. Again he vents;
+  Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced
+_450
+  His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound.
+  Fixed is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest,
+  Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath,
+  With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe.
+  Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound
+  Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank
+  He creeps disconsolate; his numerous foes
+  Surround him, hounds and men. Pierced through and through,
+  On pointed spears they lift him high in air;
+  Wriggling he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain:
+_460
+  Bid the loud horns, in gaily warbling strains,
+  Proclaim the felon's fate; he dies, he dies.
+  Rejoice, ye scaly tribes, and leaping dance
+  Above the wave, in sign of liberty
+  Restored; the cruel tyrant is no more.
+     Rejoice, secure and blessed; did not as yet
+  Remain, some of your own rapacious kind;
+  And man, fierce man, with all his various wiles.
+     O happy, if ye knew your happy state,
+  Ye rangers of the fields! whom Nature boon
+_470
+  Cheers with her smiles, and every element
+  Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown
+  From marble pedestals; nor Raphael's works,
+  Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls?
+  Yet these the meanest of us may behold;
+  And at another's cost may feast at will
+  Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more?
+  But vain, alas! is wealth, not graced with power.
+  The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome,
+  And vistas opening to the wearied eye,
+_480
+  Through all his wide domain; the planted grove,
+  The shrubby wilderness with its gay choir
+  Of warbling birds, can't lull to soft repose
+  The ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul
+  Is harrowed day and night; he mourns, he pines,
+  Until his prince's favour makes him great.
+  See, there he comes, the exalted idol comes!
+  The circle's formed, and all his fawning slaves
+  Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth
+  The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns
+_490
+  With promises, that die as soon as born.
+  Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place.
+  Frown but the monarch; all his glories fade;
+  He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone,
+  The pageant of a day; without one friend
+  To soothe his tortured mind; all, all are fled.
+  For though they basked in his meridian ray,
+  The insects vanish, as his beams decline.
+     Not such our friends; for here no dark design,
+  No wicked interest bribes the venal heart;
+_500
+  But inclination to our bosom leads,
+  And weds them there for life; our social cups
+  Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserved.
+  We speak our inmost souls; good humour, mirth,
+  Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free,
+  Smoothe every brow, and glow on every cheek.
+     O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan
+  Beneath the galling load of power, or walk
+  Upon the slippery pavements of the great,
+  Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure?
+_510
+     Ye guardian powers who make mankind your care,
+  Give me to know wise Nature's hidden depths,
+  Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read
+  The expanded volume, and submiss adore
+  That great creative Will, who at a word
+  Spoke forth the wondrous scene. But if my soul
+  To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth
+  With less ambitious wing; unskilled to range
+  From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way;
+  And view with piercing eyes, the grand machine,
+_520
+  Worlds above worlds; subservient to his voice,
+  Who veiled in clouded majesty, alone
+  Gives light to all; bids the great system move,
+  And changeful seasons in their turns advance,
+  Unmoved, unchanged himself; yet this at least
+  Grant me propitious, an inglorious life,
+  Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits
+  Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise
+  My drooping friends, preventing modest want
+  That dares not ask. And if to crown my joys,
+_530
+  Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks,
+  Blooms in my life's decline; fields, woods, and streams,
+  Each towering hill, each humble vale below,
+  Shall hear my cheering voice, my hounds shall wake
+  The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round.
+
+END OF SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: In republishing only the "Chase" of Somerville and "the
+Fables" of Gay, we have acted on the principle of selecting the best, and
+the most characteristic, in our age, perhaps the only readable specimen
+of either poet.]
+
+[Footnote 2: 'Great Prince:' Prince Frederick. Our readers will remember
+the humorous epitaph on him, in edifying contrast to Somerville's
+praise:--
+
+  'Here lies Fred,
+  Who was alive, and is dead:
+  If it had been his father,
+  I'd much rather;
+  Had it been his mother,
+  Better than another;
+  Were it his sister,
+  Nobody would have miss'd her;
+  Were it the whole generation,
+  The better for the nation.
+  But since it's only Fred,
+  There's no more to be said,
+  But that he was alive, and is dead.'
+
+We quote this from recollection of Thackeray's recitation, but think it
+pretty accurate.]
+
+[Footnote 3: 'Neustria:' Normandy.]
+
+[Footnote 4: 'Fountain of light,' &c. Scott as well as Somerville loved
+to write in brilliant sunshine.]
+
+[Footnote 6: 'Talbot kind:' Derived, we think, from the famous John
+Talbot, the first Earl of Shrewsbury, who employed this species of hound
+against the Irish rebels.]
+
+[Footnote 7: 'Aurengzebe:' in 1659, seized the throne of India, after
+murdering his relatives, but became a good, wise, and brave emperor.]
+
+[Footnote 8: 'Ammon's son:' Alexander the Great.]
+
+[Footnote 9: 'Blooming youth:' Fred again.]
+
+[Footnote 10: 'Apulia:' now Puglia, the south-eastern part of Italy.]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's
+Fables; and Somerville's Chase, by Joseph Addison, John Gay, William Sommerville
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF ADDISON ***
+
+***** This file should be named 10587-8.txt or 10587-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/8/10587/
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
+eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
+compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
+the old filename and etext number.  The replaced older file is renamed.
+VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
+new filenames and etext numbers.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
+are filed in directories based on their release date.  If you want to
+download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
+search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
+download by the etext year.
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06
+
+    (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
+     98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
+
+EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
+filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL
+
+
diff --git a/old/10587-8.zip b/old/10587-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7ccc087
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/10587-8.zip
diff --git a/old/10587.txt b/old/10587.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a803c6b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/10587.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15709 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's
+Fables; and Somerville's Chase, by Joseph Addison, John Gay,
+William Sommerville
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase
+       With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations,
+       by the Rev. George Gilfillan
+
+Authors: Joseph Addison, John Gay, William Sommerville
+
+Release Date: January 4, 2004 [EBook #10587]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF ADDISON ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+POETICAL WORKS
+
+OF
+
+JOSEPH ADDISON;
+
+GAY'S FABLES;
+
+AND
+
+SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+With Memoirs and Critical Dissertations,
+
+BY THE
+
+REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  M.DCCC.LIX.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+ADDISON'S POETICAL WORKS.
+
+LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON,
+
+ POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS:--
+
+  To Mr Dryden,
+
+  A Poem to his Majesty, presented
+  to the Lord Keeper,
+
+  A Translation of all Virgil's Fourth
+
+  Georgic, except the Story of
+  Aristaeus,
+
+  A Song for St Cecilia's Day,
+
+  An Ode for St Cecilia's Day,
+
+  An Account of the greatest English Poets,
+
+  A Letter from Italy,
+
+  Milton's Style Imitated, in a
+  Translation of a Story out of
+  the Third AEneid,
+
+  The Campaign,
+
+  Cowley's Epitaph on Himself,
+
+  Prologue to the 'Tender Husband,'
+
+  Epilogue to the 'British Enchanters,'
+
+  Prologue to Smith's 'Phaedra and
+  Hippolitus,'
+
+  Horace Ode III., Book III.,
+
+  The Vestal,
+
+ OVID'S METAMORPHOSES:--
+
+  BOOK II.
+
+  The Story of Phaeton,
+
+  Phaeton's Sisters transformed
+  into Trees,
+
+  The Transformation of Cyenus
+  into a Swan,
+
+  The Story of Calisto,
+
+  The Story of Coronis, and Birth
+  of AEsculapius,
+
+  Ocyrrhoe Transformed to a Mare,
+
+ The Transformation of Battus to
+  a Touchstone,
+
+  The Story of Aglauros, transformed
+  into a Statue,
+
+  Europa's Rape,
+
+  BOOK III.
+
+  The Story of Cadmus,
+
+  The Transformation of Actaeon
+  into a Stag,
+
+  The Birth of Bacchus,
+
+  The Transformation of Tiresias,
+
+  The Transformation of Echo,
+
+  The Story of Narcissus,
+
+  The Story of Pentheus,
+
+  The Mariners transformed to
+  Dolphins,
+
+  The Death of Pentheus
+
+  BOOK IV.
+
+  The Story of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus,
+
+  TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE
+  PRINCESS OF WALES,
+
+  TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, ON
+  HIS PICTURE OF THE KING,
+
+  THE PLAY-HOUSE,
+
+  ON THE LADY MANCHESTER,
+
+  AN ODE,
+
+  AN HYMN,
+
+  AN ODE,
+
+  AN HYMN,
+
+  PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.
+
+
+THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY
+
+ GAY'S FABLES:--
+
+  INTRODUCTION.--PART I.
+
+  The Shepherd and Philosopher
+
+  Fable I.--The Lion, the Tiger, and the Traveller
+
+  Fable II.--The Spaniel and the Cameleon
+
+  Fable III.--The Mother, the Nurse, and the Fairy
+
+  Fable IV.--The Eagle, and the Assembly of Animals
+
+  Fable V.--The Wild Boar and the Ram
+
+  Fable VI.--The Miser and Plutus
+
+  Fable VII.--The Lion, the Fox, and the Geese
+
+  Fable VIII.--The Lady and the Wasp
+
+  Fable IX.--The Bull and the Mastiff
+
+  Fable X.--The Elephant and the Bookseller
+
+  Fable XI.--The Peacock, the Turkey, and the Goose
+
+  Fable XII.--Cupid, Hymen, and Plutus
+
+  Fable XIII.--The Tame Stag
+
+  Fable XIV.--The Monkey who had seen the World
+
+  Fable XV.--The Philosopher and the Pheasants
+
+  Fable XVI.--The Pin and the Needle
+
+  Fable XVII.--The Shepherd's Dog and the Wolf
+
+  Fable XVIII.--The Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody
+
+  Fable XIX.--The Lion and the Cub
+
+  Fable XX.--The Old Hen and the Cock
+
+  Fable XXI.--The Rat-catcher and Cats
+
+  Fable XXII.--The Goat without a Beard
+
+  Fable XXIII.--The Old Woman and her Cats
+
+  Fable XXIV.--The Butterfly and the Snail
+
+  Fable XXV.--The Scold and the Parrot
+
+  Fable XXVI.--The Cur and the Mastiff
+
+  Fable XXVII.--The Sick Man and the Angel
+
+  Fable XXVIII.--The Persian, the Sun, and the Cloud
+
+  Fable XXIX.--The Fox at the point of Death
+
+  Fable XXX.--The Setting-dog and the Partridge
+
+  Fable XXXI.--The Universal Apparition
+
+  Fable XXXII.--The Two Owls and the Sparrow
+
+  Fable XXXIII.--The Courtier and Proteus
+
+  Fable XXXIV.--The Mastiffs
+
+  Fable XXXV.--The Barley-mow and the Dunghill
+
+  Fable XXXVI.--Pythagoras and the Countryman
+
+  Fable XXXVII.--The Farmer's Wife and the Raven
+
+  Fable XXXVIII.--The Turkey and the Ant
+
+  Fable XXXIX.--The Father and Jupiter
+
+  Fable XL.--The Two Monkeys
+
+  Fable XLI.--The Owl and the Farmer
+
+  Fable XLII.-The Jugglers
+
+  Fable XLIII.-The Council of Horses
+
+  Fable XLIV.--The Hound and the Huntsman
+
+  Fable XLV.--The Poet and the Rose
+
+  Fable XLVI.--The Cur, the Horse, and the Shepherd's Dog
+
+  Fable XLVII.--The Court of Death
+
+  Fable XLVIII.--The Gardener and the Hog
+
+  Fable XLIX.--The Man and the Flea
+
+  Fable L.--The Hare and many Friends
+
+
+  PART II.
+
+  Fable I.--The Dog and the Fox
+
+  Fable II.--The Vulture, the Sparrow, and other Birds
+
+  Fable III.--The Baboon and the Poultry
+
+  Fable IV.--The Ant in Office
+
+  Fable V.--The Bear in a Boat
+
+  Fable VI.--The Squire and his Cur
+
+  Fable VII.--The Countryman and Jupiter
+
+  Fable VIII.--The Man, the Cat, the Dog, and the Fly
+
+  Fable IX.--The Jackall, Leopard, and other Beasts
+
+  Fable X.--The Degenerate Bees
+
+  Fable XI.--The Pack-horse and the Carrier
+
+  Fable XII.--Pan and Fortune
+
+  Fable XIII.-Plutus, Cupid, and Time
+
+  Fable XIV.--The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass,
+              and the Farmer
+
+  Fable XV.--The Cook-maid, the Turnspit, and the Ox
+
+  Fable XVI.--The Ravens, the Sexton, and the Earth-worm
+
+ SONGS:--
+
+  Sweet William's Farewell to Black-eyed Susan
+
+  A Ballad, from the What-d'ye-call-it
+
+
+SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE
+
+ SOMERVILLE'S CHASE:--
+
+  Book I.
+
+  Book II.
+
+  Book III.
+
+  Book IV.
+
+
+
+
+LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON.
+
+Joseph Addison, the _Spectator_, the true founder of our periodical
+literature, the finest, if not the greatest writer in the English
+language, was born at Milston, Wiltshire, on the 1st of May 1672. A
+fanciful mind might trace a correspondence between the particular months
+when celebrated men have been born and the peculiar complexion of their
+genius. Milton, the austere and awful, was born in the silent and gloomy
+month of December. Shakspeare, the most versatile of all writers, was
+born in April, that month of changeful skies, of sudden sunshine, and
+sudden showers. Burns and Byron, those stormy spirits, both appeared in
+the fierce January; and of the former, he himself says,
+
+ "'Twas then a blast o' Januar-win'
+  Blew welcome in on Robin."
+
+Scott, the broad sunny being, visited us in August, and in the same month
+the warm genius of Shelley came, as Hunt used to tell him, "from the
+planet Mercury" to our earth. Coleridge and Keats, with whose song a deep
+bar of sorrow was to mingle, like the music of falling leaves, or of
+winds wailing for the departure of summer, arrived in October,--that
+month, the beauty of which is the child of blasting, and its glory the
+flush of decay. And it seems somehow fitting that Addison, the mild, the
+quietly-joyous, the sanguine and serene, should come, with the daisy and
+the sweet summer-tide, on the 1st of May, which Buchanan thus hails--
+
+ "Salve fugacis gloria saeculi,
+  Salve secunda digna dies nota,
+  Salve vetustae vitae imago,
+  Et specimen venientis aevi."
+
+ "Hail, glory of the fleeting year!
+  Hail, day, the fairest, happiest here!
+  Image of time for ever by,
+  Pledge of a bright eternity."
+
+Dr Lancelot Addison, himself a man of no mean note, was the father of
+our poet. He was born in 1632, at Maltesmeaburn, in the parish of _Corby
+Ravensworth_, (what a name of ill-omen within ill-omen, or as Dr Johnson
+would say, "inspissated gloom"!) in the county of Westmoreland. His
+father was a minister of the gospel; but in such humble circumstances,
+that Lancelot was received from the Grammar-school of Appleby into
+Queen's College, Oxford, in the capacity of a "poor child." After passing
+his curriculum there, being chiefly distinguished for his violent High
+Church and Monarchical principles, for which he repeatedly smarted, he,
+at the Restoration, was appointed chaplain to the garrison of Dunkirk,
+and soon after he accepted a similar situation in Tangier, which had been
+ceded by Portugal to Britain. In this latter post he felt rather lonely
+and miserable, and was driven, in self-defence, to betake himself to the
+study of the manners and the literature of the Moors, Jews, and other
+Oriental nations. This led him afterwards to publish some works on
+Barbary, on Hebrew customs, and Mohammedanism, which shew a profound
+acquaintance with these subjects, and which, not without reason, are
+supposed to have coloured the imagination of his son Joseph, who is
+seldom more felicitous than when reproducing the gorgeous superstitions
+and phantasies of the East.
+
+For eight years, old Addison lingered in loathed Tangier; nor, when
+he returned to England on a visit, had he any purpose of permanently
+residing in his own country. But his appointment was hastily bestowed on
+another; and it was fortunate for him that a private friend stepped in
+and presented him with the living of Milston, near Ambrosebury, Wilts,
+worth L120 a-year. This, which Miss Aiken calls a "pittance," was
+probably equivalent to L250 now. At all events, on the strength of it,
+he married Jane, daughter of Dr Gulstone, and sister to the Bishop of
+Bristol, who, in due time, became the mother of our poet. Lancelot was
+afterwards made Prebendary of Salisbury Cathedral, and King's Chaplain
+in ordinary; about the time (1675) when he took the degree of D.D.
+Subsequently he became Archdeacon of Salisbury, and at last, in 1683,
+obtained the Deanery of Lichfield. But for his suspected Jacobitism, he
+would probably have received the mitre. He died in 1703.
+
+Joseph had two brothers and three sisters. His third sister, Dorothy,
+survived the rest, and was twice married. Swift met her once, and with
+some awe (for he, like all bullies, had a little of the coward about
+him), describes her as a kind of wit, and very like her brother. The
+_Spectator_ seems to have been a wild and wayward boy. He is said to have
+once acted as ringleader in a "barring out," described by Johnson as a
+savage license by which the boys, when the periodical vacation drew near,
+used to take possession of the school, of which they barred the doors,
+and bade the master defiance from the windows. On another occasion,
+having committed some petty offence at a country school, terrified at the
+master's apprehended displeasure, he made his escape into the fields and
+woods, where for some days he fed on fruits and slept in a hollow tree
+till discovered and brought back to his parents. This last may seem the
+act of a timid boy, and inconsistent with the former, and yet is somehow
+congenial to our ideal of the character of our poet. It required perhaps
+more daring to front the perils of the woods than the frown of the
+master, and augured, besides, a certain romance in his disposition which
+found afterwards a vent in literature. After receiving instruction, first
+at Salisbury, and then at Lichfield, (his connexion with which place
+forms a link, uniting him in a manner to the great lexicographer, who was
+born there,) he was removed to the Charterhouse, and there profited so
+much in Greek and Latin, that at fifteen he was not only, says Macaulay,
+"fit for the university, but carried thither a classical taste and a
+stock of learning which would have done honour to a master of arts." He
+had at the Charter-house formed a friendship, destined to have important
+bearings on his after history, with Richard Steele, whose character may
+be summed up in a few sentences. Who has not heard of Sir Richard Steele?
+Wordsworth says of one of his characters--
+
+ "She was known to every star,
+  And every wind that blows."
+
+Poor Dick was known to every sponging-house, and to every bailiff
+that, blowing in pursuit, walked the London streets. A fine-hearted,
+warm-blooded character, without an atom of prudence, self-control,
+reticence, or forethought; quite as destitute of malice or envy;
+perpetually sinning and perpetually repenting; never positively
+irreligious, even when drunk; and often excessively pious when recovering
+sobriety,--Steele reeled his way through life, and died with the
+reputation of being an orthodox Christian and a (nearly) habitual
+drunkard; the most affectionate and most faithless of husbands; a brave
+soldier, and in many points an arrant fool; a violent politician, and the
+best natured of men; a writer extremely lively, for this, among other
+reasons, that he wrote generally on his legs, flying or meditating flight
+from his creditors; and who embodied in himself the titles of his three
+principal works--"The Christian Hero," "The Tender Husband," and the
+_Tatler_;--being a "Christian Hero" in intention, one of those intentions
+with which a certain place is paved; a "Tender Husband," if not a
+true one, to his two ladies; and a _Tatler_ to all persons, in all
+circumstances, and at all times. When Addison first knew this original,
+he was probably uncontaminated, and must have been, as he continued to
+the end to be, an irascible but joyous and genial being; and they became
+intimate at once, although circumstances severed them from each other for
+a long period.
+
+In 1687 Addison entered Queen's College, Oxford; but sometime after,
+(Macaulay says "not many months," Johnson "a year," and Miss Aiken "two
+years,") Dr Lancaster, of Magdalene College, having accidentally seen
+some Latin verses from his pen, exerted himself to procure their author
+admission to the benefits of a foundation, then the wealthiest in Europe.
+Our poet was first elected Demy, then Probationary Fellow in 1697, and
+in the year following, Actual Fellow. During the ten years he resided
+at Oxford, he was a general favourite, remarkable for his diligence in
+study, for the purity and tenderness of his feelings, for his bashful and
+retiring manners, for the excellence of his Latin compositions, and for
+his solitary walks, pursued in a path they still point out below the elms
+which skirt a meadow on the banks of the Cherwell,--a river, we need
+scarcely say, which there weds the Isis. It was in such lonely evening or
+Saturday strolls that he probably acquired the habit of pensive reverie
+to which we owe many of the finest of his speculations in after days,
+such as that in _Spectator_, No. 565, beginning, "I was yesterday, about
+sunset, walking in the open fields, when insensibly the night fell upon
+me," &c.
+
+Prose English essays, however, were as yet strangers to his pen. His
+ambition was to be a poet, and while still under twenty-two, he produced
+and printed some complimentary verses to Dryden, then declining in years,
+and fallen into comparative neglect. The old poet was pleased with the
+homage of the young aspirant, which was as graceful in expression as it
+was generous in purpose. For instance, alluding to Dryden's projected
+translation of "Ovid," he says, that "Ovid," thus transformed, shall
+"reveal"
+
+  "A nobler change than he himself can tell."
+
+This, however, although happy, starts a different view of the subject. It
+suggests the idea that most translations are metamorphoses to the worse,
+like that of a living person into a dead tree, or at least of a superior
+into an inferior being. In Pope's "Iliad," you have the metamorphosis of
+an eagle into a nightingale; in Dryden's "Virgil," you have a stately
+war-horse transformed into a hard-trotting hackney; in Hoole's versions
+of the Italian Poets, you have nymphs nailed up in timber; while, on the
+other hand, in Coleridge's "Wallenstein," you have the "nobler change,"
+spoken of by Addison, of--shall we say?-a cold and stately holly-tree
+turned into a murmuring and oracular oak.
+
+That, after thus introducing himself to Dryden, he met him occasionally
+seems certain, although the rumour circulated by Spence that he taught
+the old man to sit late and drink hard seems ridiculous. Dryden
+introduced him to Congreve, and through Congreve he made the valuable
+acquaintance of Charles Montague, then leader of the Whigs in the House
+of Commons, and Chancellor of the Exchequer.
+
+He afterwards published a translation of that part of the "Fourth Book
+of the Georgics" referring to bees, on which Dryden, who had procured a
+preface to his own complete translation of the same poem from Addison,
+complimented him by saying--"After his bees, my later swarm is scarcely
+worth hiving." He published, too, a poem on "King William," and an
+"Account of the Principal English Poets," in which he ventures on a
+character of Spenser ere he had read his works. It thus is, as might have
+been expected, poor and non-appreciative, and speaks of Spenser as a poet
+pretty nearly forgotten. Some time after this, he collected a volume,
+entitled, "Musae Anglicanae," in which he inserted all his early Latin
+verses.
+
+Charles Montague, himself a poet of a certain small rank, and a man of
+great general talents, became--along with Somers--the patron of Addison.
+He diverted him from the Church, to which his own tastes seemed to
+destine him, suggesting that civil employment had become very corrupt
+through want of men of liberal education and good principles, and should
+be redeemed from this reproach, and declaring that, though he had been
+called an enemy of the Church, he would never do it any other injury than
+keeping Mr Addison out of it. It is likely that the timid temperament of
+our poet concurred with these suggestions of Montague in determining his
+decision. His failure as a Parliamentary orator subsequently seems to
+prove that the pulpit was not his vocation. After all, his Saturday
+papers in the _Spectator_ are as fine as any sermons of that age, and he
+perhaps did more good serving as a volunteer than had he been a regular
+soldier in the army of the Christian faith.
+
+Somers and Montague wished to employ their _protege_ in public service
+abroad. There was, however, one drawback. Addison had plenty of English,
+Greek, and Latin, but he had little French. This he must be sent abroad
+to acquire; and for the purpose of defraying the expenses of his travels,
+a pension of L300 a-year was conferred upon him. Paid thus, as few
+poets or writers of any kind are, in advance, and having his fellowship
+besides, Addison, like a young nobleman, instead of a parson's son, set
+out upon his tour. This was in the summer of 1699. He was twenty-seven
+years of age, exactly one year younger than Byron, and three years
+younger than Milton, when they visited the same regions. He went first to
+Paris, and was received with great distinction by Montague's kinsman, the
+Earl of Manchester, and his beautiful lady. He travelled with his eyes
+quietly open, especially to the humorous aspects of things. In a letter
+to Montague he says that he had not seen a _blush_ from his first landing
+at Calais, and gives a sarcastic description of the spurious devotion
+which the example of the old repentant _roue_, Louis XIV., had rendered
+fashionable among the _literati_ of France: "There is no book comes out
+at present that has not something in it of an air of devotion. Dacier has
+been forced to prove his Plato a very good CHRISTIAN before he ventures
+upon his translation, and has so far complied with the taste of the age,
+that his whole book is overrun with texts of Scripture, and the notion of
+pre-existence, supposed to be stolen from two verses of the prophets."
+The sincere believer is usually the first to detect and be disgusted with
+the sham one; and Addison was always a sincere believer, but he had also
+that happy nature in which disgust is carried quickly and easily off
+through the safety-valve of a smile.
+
+From Paris he went to Blois, the capital of Loir-and-Cher, a small town
+about 110 miles south-west of Paris. Here he had two advantages. He found
+the French language spoken in its perfection; and as he had not a single
+countryman with whom to exchange a word, he was driven on his own
+resources. He remained there a year, and spent his time well, studying
+hard, rising early, having the best French masters, mingling in society,
+although subject, as in previous and after parts of his life, to fits of
+absence. His life was as pure as it was simple, his most intimate friend
+at Blois, the Abbe Philippeaux, saying: "He had no amour whilst here that
+I know of, and I think I should have known it if he had had any." During
+this time he sent home letters to his friends in England--to Montague,
+Colonel Froude, Congreve, and others[1]--which contain sentences of
+exquisite humour. Thus, describing the famous gallery at Versailles, with
+the paintings of Louis' victories, he says: "The history of the present
+King till the sixteenth year of his reign is painted on the roof by Le
+Brun, so that his Majesty has actions enough by him to furnish another
+gallery much longer than the first. He is represented with all the terror
+and majesty that you can imagine in every part of the picture, and see
+his young face as perfectly drawn in the roof as his present one in the
+side. The painter has represented His Most Christian Majesty under the
+figure of Jupiter throwing thunderbolts all about the ceiling, and
+striking terror into the Danube and Rhine, that _lie astonished and
+blasted with lightning a little above the cornice_."
+
+This is Addison all over; and quite as good is his picture of the general
+character of the French: "'Tis not in the power of want or slavery to
+make them miserable. There is nothing to be met with in the country
+but mirth and poverty. Every one sings, laughs, and starves. Their
+conversation is generally agreeable, for if they have any wit or sense,
+they are sure to shew it. Their women are perfect mistresses in the art
+of shewing themselves to the best advantage. They are always gay and
+sprightly, and set off the worst faces in Europe with the best airs.
+Every one knows how to give herself as charming a look and posture as Sir
+Godfrey Kneller could draw her in."
+
+From Blois he returned to Paris, and was now better qualified, from his
+knowledge of the language, to mingle with its philosophers, savants, and
+poets. He had some interesting talk with Malebranche and Boileau, the
+former of whom "very much praised Mr Newton's mathematics; shook his head
+at the name of Hobbes, and told me he thought him a _pauvre esprit_."
+Here follows a genuine Addisonianism: "His book is now reprinted with
+many additions, among which he shewed me a very pretty hypothesis of
+colours, which is different from that of Cartesius or Newton, _though
+they may all three be true_." Boileau, now sixty-four, deaf as a post,
+and full of the "sweltered venom" of ill-natured criticism, nevertheless
+received Addison kindly; and when presented by him with his "Musae
+Anglicanae," is said from that time to have conceived an opinion of the
+English genius for poetry. Addison says that Boileau "hated an ill
+poet." Unfortunately, however, for his judgment, it is notorious that he
+slighted Shakspeare, Milton, and Corneille, and that, next to Homer and
+Virgil, his great idols were Arnaud and Racine.
+
+In December 1700, tired of French manners, which had lost even their
+power of moving him to smiles, and it may be apprehensive of the war
+connected with the Spanish succession, which was about to inflame all
+Europe, Addison embarked from Marseilles for Italy. After a narrow escape
+from one of those sudden Mediterranean storms, in which poor Shelley
+perished, he landed at Savona, and proceeded, through wild mountain
+paths, to Genoa. He afterwards commemorated his deliverance in the
+pleasing lines published in the _Spectator_, beginning with--
+
+  "How are Thy servants blest, O Lord,"
+
+one verse in which was wont to awaken the enthusiasm of the boy Burns,
+
+  "What though in dreadful whirls we hung,
+       High on the broken wave," &c.
+
+The survivor of a shipwreck is, or should be, ever afterwards a sadder
+and a wiser man. And Addison continued long to feel subdued and thankful,
+and could hardly have been more so though he had outlived _that_
+shipwreck which bears now the relation to all recent wrecks which
+"_the_ storm" of November 1703, as we shall see, bore to all inferior
+tempests--the loss of the _Royal Charter_,--the stately and gold-laden
+bark, which, on Wednesday the 26th October 1859, when on the verge of the
+haven which the passengers so much desired to see, was lifted up by
+the blast as by the hand of God, and dashed into ten thousand
+pieces,--hundreds of men, women, and, alas! alas! children, drowned,
+mutilated, crushed by falling machinery, and that, too, at a moment when
+they had just been assured that there was no immediate danger, and
+when hope was beginning to sparkle in the eyes that were sinking into
+despair,--sovereigns, spray, and the mangled fragments of human bodies
+massed together as if in the anarchy of hell, and hurled upon the rocks.
+Addison, no more than one of the escaped from that saloon of horror and
+sea of death, could forget the special Providence by which he was saved;
+and the hymn above referred to, and that other still finer, commencing--
+
+  "When all Thy mercies, O my God!
+      My rising soul surveys,"
+
+seem a pillar erected on the shore to Him that had protected and redeemed
+him.
+
+From Genoa he went to Milan, and thence to Venice, where he saw a play on
+the subject of Cato enacted, and began himself to indite his celebrated
+tragedy, of which he completed four acts ere he quitted Italy. On his way
+to Rome, he visited the miniature mountain republic of San Marino, which
+he contemplated and described with much the same feeling of interest and
+amazement, as afterwards, in the _Guardian_, the little colony of ants
+immortalised there. Like Swift, (whom Macaulay accuses of stealing from
+Addison's Latin poem on the "Pigmies," some hints for his Lilliput,)
+Addison had a finer eye for the little than for the vast. He enjoyed
+Marino, therefore, and must have chuckled over the description of it in
+the geography, as much as if it had been a stroke of his own inventive
+pen. "Besides the mountain on which the town stands, the republic
+possesses _two adjoining hills_." At Rome he did not stay long at this
+time, but as if afraid of the attractions of the approaching Holy
+Week--that blaze of brilliant but false light in which so many moths have
+been consumed--he hurried to Naples and saw Vesuvius burning over its
+beautiful bay with less admiration than has been felt since by many
+inferior men. He returned to Rome and lived there unharmed during the
+sickly season; thence he went to Florence, surveying with interest the
+glories of its art; and in fine he crossed the Alps by Mount Cenis to
+Geneva, composing on his way a poetical epistle to Montague, now Lord
+Halifax. The Alps do not seem to have much delighted his imagination.
+There are a few even still who look upon mountains as excrescences and
+deformities, and give to Glencoe only the homage of their unaffected
+fears, which is certainly better than the false raptures of others. But,
+in Addison's day, admiration for wild scenery was neither pretended nor
+felt. Our poet loved, indeed, the great silent starry night, and has
+whispered and stammered out some beautiful things in its praise. But he
+does this, so to speak, below his breath, while the white Alps, seeming
+the shrouded corpses of the fallen Titans, take that breath away, and he
+shudders all the road through them, and descends delightedly to the green
+pastures and the still waters of lower regions.
+
+At Geneva, where he arrived in December 1701, he remained some time,
+expecting from Lord Manchester the official appointment for which he was
+now qualified. But while waiting there, he heard the tidings of King
+William's death, which put an end to his hopes as well as to those of
+his party. His pension, too, was stopped, and he was obliged to become a
+tutor to a young Englishman of fortune. With him he visited many parts of
+Switzerland and Germany, and spent a portion of his leisure in writing,
+not only his "Travels," but his recondite "Dialogue on Medals,"--a book
+of considerable research and great ingenuity, which was not published,
+however, till after his death. From Germany he passed to Holland, where
+he heard the sad intelligence that his father was no more. During his
+stay in Holland, he watched with keen, yet kindly eye, the manners of
+the inhabitants; and in his letters hits at their drinking habits with a
+mixture of severity and sympathy which is very characteristic. Toward the
+close of 1703 he returned home, and, we doubt not, felt at first desolate
+enough. His father was dead, his pension withdrawn, his political patrons
+out of power, and his literary fame not yet fully established. But,
+on the other hand, he was only thirty-one; he had made some new and
+influential friends on the Continent, particularly the eminent Edward
+Wortley Montague, husband of the still more celebrated Mary Wortley
+Montague, and he had in his portfolio a volume of "Travels" of some mark
+and likelihood, nearly ready for the press. Besides, the Whigs, low as
+they were now in political influence, were still true to their party,
+and they welcomed Addison, as one of their rising hopes, into the famous
+"Kit-Cat Club," an _omniumgaiherum_ of all whose talents, learning,
+accomplishments, wit, or wealth were thought useful to the Whig cause.
+
+Addison's arrival in England seems to have synchronised or preceded the
+great tempest of November 1703, to which we have already referred, and
+to which he afterwards alludes in his simile of the Angel in "The
+Campaign"--
+
+  "Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past."
+
+Our readers will find a sketch of this terrific tempest in the
+commencement of Ainsworth's "Jack Shepherd." Macaulay says of it, "It
+was the only tempest which, in our latitude, has equalled the rage of
+a tropical hurricane. No other tempest was ever in this country the
+occasion of a Parliamentary address, or of a national fast. Whole fleets
+had been cast away. Large mansions had been blown down; one prelate had
+been buried beneath the ruins of his palace. London and Bristol had
+presented the appearance of cities just sacked. Hundreds of families were
+thrown into mourning. The prostrate trunks of large trees, and the ruins
+of houses attested, in all the southern counties, the fury of the blast."
+How Addison felt or fared during this storm, we have no means of knowing.
+Perhaps his timid nature shrank from it in spite of its appeal to
+imagination, or perhaps the poetry that was in him triumphed over his
+fears, and as he felt what _Zanga_ was afterwards to say--
+
+  "I love this rocking of the battlements,"
+
+the image of the Angel, afterwards to be dilated into the vast form of
+Wrath, described in the "Campaign," rose on his vision, and remained
+there indelibly fixed till the time arrived when, used with artistic
+skill, it floated him into fame.
+
+Meanwhile, he spent this winter and spring of 1703-4 in a rather
+precarious manner, and like a true poet. He was lodging in an obscure
+garret in the Haymarket, up three stairs, when one day the Right
+Honourable Henry Boyle, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, called on him
+and communicated a project that had been concocted between Godolphin and
+Halifax. The Whigs were now again in the ascendant, and the battle of
+Blenheim, fought on the 13th August 1704, had brought their triumph to
+a climax. Halifax and Godolphin were mortified at the bad poems in
+commemoration of it which poured from the press. Their feeling was
+sincerely that which Byron affected in reference to Wellington and
+Waterloo--
+
+  "I wish your bards would sing it rather better."
+
+They bethought themselves of Addison, and sent Boyle to request him to
+write some verses on the subject. He readily undertook the task, and when
+he had half-finished the "Campaign," he shewed it to Godolphin, who
+was delighted, especially with the Angel, and in gratitude, instantly
+appointed the lucky poet to a commissionership worth about L200 a-year,
+and assured him that this was only a foretaste of greater favours to
+come. The poem soon after appeared. It was received with acclamation, and
+Addison felt that his fortune and his fame were both secured.
+
+Yet, in truth, the "Campaign" is not a great poem, nor, properly
+speaking, if we except the Angel, a poem at all. It is simply a _Gazette_
+done into tolerable rhyme; and its chief inspiration comes from its
+zealous party-feeling. Marlborough, though a first-rate marshal, was
+not a great man, not by any means so great as Wellington, far less as
+Napoleon; and how can a heroic poem be written without a hero? Yet the
+poem fell in with the humour of the times, and was cried up as though it
+had been another book of the Iliad. Shortly afterwards he published
+his "Travels," which were thought rather cold and classical. To them
+succeeded the opera of "Rosamond," which, being ill-set to music, failed
+on the stage; but became, and is still, a favourite in the closet. It
+is in the lightest and easiest style of Dryden,--that in which he wrote
+"Alexander's Feast," and some other of his lyrics,--but is sustained for
+some fifteen hundred lines with an energy and a grace which we doubt if
+even Dryden could have equalled. Its verses not only move but dance. The
+spirit is genial and sunny, and above the mazy motions shines the light
+of genuine poetry. Johnson truly says, that if Addison had cultivated
+this style he would have excelled.
+
+From the date of the "Campaign," Addison's life became an ascending
+scale of promotion. We find him first in Hanover with Lord Halifax, then
+appointed under-secretary to Sir Charles Hodges, and in a few months
+after to the Earl of Sunderland. In 1708 he was elected member for
+Malmesbury, and the next year he accompanied Thomas, Earl of Wharton,
+Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, to that country as his secretary, and became
+Keeper of the Records in Birmingham's Tower,--a nominal office worth L300
+a-year. His secretary's salary was L2000 per annum.
+
+Previous to this he had resumed his intimacy with Steele, to whom he lent
+money, and on one occasion is said to have recovered it by sending a
+bailiff to his house. This has been called heartless conduct, but the
+probability is that Addison was provoked by the extravagant use made of
+the loan by his reckless friend. In Parliament it is well-known Addison
+never spoke; but he surrounded himself in private life with a parliament
+of his own, and, like Cato, gave his little senate laws. That senate
+consisted of Steele, Ambrose, Phillips; the wretched Eustace Budgell,
+who afterwards drowned himself; sometimes Swift and Pope; and ultimately
+Tickell, who became his most confidential friend and the depositor of his
+literary remains. In mixed societies he was silent; but with a few select
+spirits around him, and especially after the "good wine did the good
+office" of banishing his bashfulness and taciturnity, he became the most
+delightful and fascinating of conversers. The staple of his conversation
+was quiet, sly humour; but there was fine sentiment, touches of pathos,
+and now and then imagination peeped over like an Alp above meaner hills.
+Swift alone, we suspect, was his match; but his power lay rather in
+severe and pungent sarcasm, in broad, coarse, though unsmiling wit, and
+at times in the fierce and terrible sallies of misanthropic rage and
+despair. Addison, on leaving England, had, by his modesty, geniality, and
+amiable manners, become the most popular man in the country, so much so,
+that, says Swift, "he might be king an' he had a mind."
+
+In Ireland--although he sat as member for Cavan, and appears in
+Parliament to have got beyond his famous "I conceive--I conceive--I
+conceive"--(having, as the wag observed, "conceived three times and
+brought forth nothing"), and spoken sometimes, if not often--he did not
+feel himself at home. He must have loathed the licentious and corrupt
+Wharton, and felt besides a longing for the society of London, the
+_noctes coenoeque Deum_ he had left behind him. It was in Ireland,
+however, that his real literary career began. Steele, in the spring of
+1709, had commenced the _Tatler_, a thrice-a-week miscellany of foreign
+news, town gossip, short sharp papers _de omnibus rebus et guibusdum
+aliis_, with a sprinkling of moral and literary criticism. When Addison
+heard of this scheme, he readily lent his aid to it, and then, as honest
+Richard admits, "I fared like a distressed prince who calls in a powerful
+neighbour to his aid,--I was undone by my auxiliary." To the _Tatler_
+Addison contributed a number of papers, which, if slighter than his
+better ones in the _Spectator_, were nevertheless highly characteristic
+of his singular powers of observation, character-painting, humour, and
+invention.
+
+In November 1709, he returned to England, and not long after he shared
+in the downfall of his party, and lost his secretaryship. This also is
+thought to have injured him in a tender point. He had already conceived
+an affection for the Countess-Dowager of Warwick, who had been disposed
+to encourage the addresses of the Secretary, but looked coldly on
+those of the mere man and scribbler Joseph Addison, who, to crown his
+misfortunes at this time, had resigned his Fellowship, suffered some
+severe pecuniary losses of a kind, and from a quarter which are both
+obscure, and was trembling lest he should be deprived of his small Irish
+office too. Yet, although reduced and well-nigh beggared, never did
+his mind approve itself more rich. Besides writing a great deal in the
+_Tatler_, he published a political journal, called the _Whig Examiner_,
+in which, although the wit, we think, is not so fine as in his
+_Freeholder_, there is a vigour and masculine energy which he has seldom
+equalled elsewhere. When it expired, Swift exulted over its death in
+terms which sufficiently proved that he was annoyed and oppressed by its
+life. "He might well," says Johnson, "rejoice at the death of that which
+he could not have killed."
+
+On the 2d of January 1711, the last _Tatler_ came forth; and on the 1st
+of the following March appeared the _Spectator_, which is now the main
+pillar of Addison's fame, and the fullest revelation of his exquisite
+genius. Without being as a whole a great, or in any part of it a profound
+work, there are few productions which, if lost, would be more missed in
+literature. One reclines on its pages as on pillows. The sweetness of the
+spirit,--the trembling beauty of the sentences, like that of a twilight
+wave just touched by the west wind's balmy breath,--the nice strokes
+of humour, so gentle, yet so overpowering,--the feminine delicacy and
+refinement of the allusions,--the art which so dexterously conceals
+itself,--the mild enthusiasm for the works of man and God which glows in
+all its serious effusions,--the good nature of its satire,--the geniality
+of its criticism,--the everlasting April of the style, so soft and
+vivid,--the purity and healthiness of the moral tone,--and the childlike
+religion which breathes in the Saturday papers--one or two of which, such
+as the "Vision of Mirza," are almost scriptural in spirit and beautiful
+simplicity,--combine to throw a charm around the _Spectator_ which works
+of far loftier pretensions, if they need not, certainly do not possess.
+Macaulay (whom we love for his love of Addison and Bunyan more than
+for aught else about his works) truly observes, that few writers have
+discovered so much variety and inventiveness as Addison, who, in
+the papers of a single week, sometimes traverses the whole gamut of
+literature, supplying keen sarcasm, rich portraiture of character, the
+epistle, the tale, the allegory, the apologue, the moral essay, and the
+religious meditation,--all first-rate in quality, and all suggesting the
+idea that his resources are boundless, and that the half has not been
+told. His criticisms have been ridiculed as shallow; but while his
+lucubrations on Milton were useful in their day as plain finger-posts,
+quietly pointing up to the stupendous sublimities of the theme,
+his essays on Wit are subtle, and his papers on the "Pleasures of
+Imagination" throw on the beautiful topic a light like that of a red
+evening west, giving and receiving glory from the autumnal landscape.
+
+In the end of 1712 the _Spectator_, which had circulated at one time to
+the extent of 4000 copies a-day, was discontinued, and in a few weeks the
+_Guardian_ supplied its place. It was two months ere Addison began to
+write, and during that time it was flippantly dull; but when he appeared
+its character changed, and his contributions to the new periodical were
+quite as good as the best of his _Spectators_.
+
+In April 1713 his "Cato" was acted with immense success, and in
+circumstances so well known that they need not be detailed at length.
+Pope wrote the prologue; Booth enacted the hero; Steele packed the house;
+peers, both Tory and Whig, crowded the boxes; claps of applause were
+echoed back from High Churchmen to the members of the "Kit-Cat Club;"
+Bolingbroke sent fifty guineas, during the progress of the play, to
+Booth for defending the cause of liberty against a perpetual dictator,
+(Marlborough;) and with the exception of growling Dennis, everybody was
+in raptures. The play has long found its level. It has passages of
+power and thoughts of beauty, but it has one radical fault--formality.
+Mandeville described Addison as a parson in a tie-wig. "Cato" is a parson
+without the tie-wig; an intolerable mixture of the patriot and the
+pedant. Few would now give one of the _Spectator's_ little papers about
+Sir Roger de Coverley for a century of Catos.
+
+In September 1713 the _Guardian_ stopped; but in June 1714 Addison, now
+separated from Steele, who was carrying on a political paper called the
+_Englishman_, added an eighth volume to the _Spectator_. Its contents
+are more uniformly serious than those of the first seven volumes, and
+it contains, besides Addison's matchless papers, some only inferior to
+these, especially four by Mr Grove, a dissenting minister in Taunton. It
+is recorded in "Boswell" that Baretti having, on the Continent, met with
+Grove's paper on "Novelty," it quickened his curiosity to visit Britain,
+for he thought, if such were the lighter periodical essays of our
+authors, their productions on more weighty occasions must be wonderful
+indeed!
+
+When George I. succeeded to the throne, Addison's fortunes began to
+improve. A Council having been appointed to manage matters till the King
+arrived, Addison was chosen their secretary; and afterwards he went
+over again to Ireland in his old capacity, Sunderland being now
+Lord-Lieutenant. Here, much as he differed from Swift in politics, he
+resumed his intimacy with him,--an intimacy, considering the dispositions
+of the two men, singular, as though a lamb and a flayed bear were to form
+an alliance. In 1715 our poet returned to England, and obtained a seat at
+the Board of Trade. Early in the year he brought out, anonymously, on the
+stage his comedy of the "Drummer," which was coldly received. And towards
+the close of it, he commenced a very clever periodical called the
+_Freeholder_. We only met with this series a few years ago, but can
+assure our readers that some of the most delectable bits of Addison are
+to be found in it. There is a Tory fox-hunter yet riding along there,
+whom we would advise you to join if you would enjoy one of the richest
+treats of humour; and there is a Jacobite army still on its way to
+Preston, the only danger connected with approaching which, is lest you be
+killed with laughter.
+
+Shortly after occurred his famous quarrel with Pope, to which we have
+already referred in our life of that poet, and do not intend to recur.
+Next year Addison's long courtship came to a successful close. He
+wedded the Dowager Warwick, went to reside at Holland-house, and became
+miserable for life. She was a proud, imperious woman, who, instead of
+seeking to wean Addison from his convivial habits, (if such habits in
+any excessive measure were his,) drove him deeper into the slough by her
+bitter words and haughty carriage. The tavern, which had formerly been
+his occasional resort, became now his nightly refuge. In 1717 he received
+his highest civil honour, being made Secretary of State under Lord
+Sunderland; but, as usual, the slave soon appeared in the chariot. His
+health began to break down, and asthma soon obliged him to resign his
+office, on receiving a retiring pension of L1500 a-year. Next Steele
+and he, having taken opposite sides in politics, got engaged in a paper
+war--Steele in the _Plebeian_, and Addison in the _Old Whig_; and
+personalities of a disagreeable kind passed between the two friends. In
+the meantime Addison was dying fast. Dropsy had supervened on asthma, and
+the help of physicians was vain. He prepared himself, like a man and a
+Christian, to meet the last stern foe. He sent for Gay and asked his
+forgiveness for some act of unkindness he had done him. Gay granted it,
+although utterly ignorant of what the offence had been. He had probably,
+on account of his Toryism, been deprived, through Addison's means, of
+some preferment. He entrusted his works to the care of Tickell, and
+dedicated them to Craggs, his successor in the secretaryship, in a
+touching and beautiful letter, written a few days before his death. He
+called, it is said, the young Earl of Warwick, his wife's son, a very
+dissipated young man, and of unsettled religious principles, to his
+bedside, and said, "I have sent for you that you may see how a Christian
+can die." He breathed his last on the 17th June 1709, forty-seven years
+old, and leaving one child, a daughter, who died, at an advanced age, at
+Bilton, Warwickshire, in 1797. His funeral took place, at dead of night,
+in Westminster Abbey, Bishop Atterbury meeting the procession and reading
+the service by torch-light. He was laid beside his friend Montague, and
+in a few months his successor, Craggs, was laid beside him. Nearly a
+century elapsed ere the present monument was erected over his dust.
+Tickell wrote a fine poem to his memory; and a splendid edition of his
+works was published by subscription in 1721.
+
+Addison was cut off in the prime of life, and interrupted in some
+literary undertakings and projects of great pith and moment. He had
+written a portion of a treatise on the "Evidences of Christianity," and
+was meditating some works, such as a "Metrical Version of the Psalms" and
+a tragedy on the history of Socrates, still more suitable to his cast of
+mind.
+
+We have already indicated our opinion alike of Addison's character and
+genius, but must be permitted a few closing remarks. Both partook of the
+feminine type. He was an amiable and highly gifted, rather than a strong
+or great man. His shrinking timidity of temperament, his singular modesty
+of manners, his quiet, sly power of humorous yet kindly observation,
+his minute style of criticism, even the peculiar cast of his piety, all
+served to stamp the lady-man. In taciturnity alone he bore the sex no
+resemblance. And hence it is that Campbell in poetry, and Addison in
+prose, are, or were, the great favourites of female readers. He had many
+weaknesses, but, as in the character of woman, they appeared beautiful,
+and cognate to his gentle nature. His fear of giving offence was one of
+the most prominent of these. In his writings and in his life, he seems
+always treading on thin ice. Pope said truly of him--
+
+  "He hints a fault, and hesitates dislike."
+
+But this was not owing to malice, but to the bashful good nature which
+distinguished him. It is true, too, that he hints a beauty, and hesitates
+in his expressions of love. He says himself the finest things, and then
+blushes as if detected in a crime; or he praises an obvious and colossal
+merit in another, and then starts at the sound himself had made. His
+encomiums resemble the evening talk of lovers, being low, sweet, and
+trembling. Were we to speak of Addison phrenologically, we should say
+that, next to veneration, wit, and ideality, his principal faculties were
+caution and secretiveness. He was cautious to the brink of cowardice. We
+fancy him in a considerable fright in the storm on the Ligurian Gulf,
+amidst the exhalations of the unhealthy Campagna, and while the
+avalanches of the Alps--"the thunderbolts of snow"--were falling around
+him. We know that he walked about behind the scenes perspiring with
+agitation while the fate of "Cato" was still undecided. Had it failed,
+Addison never could, as Dr Johnson, when asked how he felt after "Irene"
+was damned, have replied, "Like the Monument." We know, too, that he
+sought to soothe the fury and stroke down the angry bristles of John
+Dennis. To call the author of the "Campaign" a coward were going too far;
+but he felt, we believe, more of a martial glow while writing it in
+his Haymarket garret than had he mingled in the fray. And as to his
+secretiveness, his still, deep, scarce-rippling stream of humour, his
+habit, commemorated by Swift, when he found any man invincibly wrong, of
+flattering his opinions by acquiescence, and sinking him yet deeper in
+absurdity; even the fact that no word is found more frequently in his
+writings than "secret" ("secret joy," "secret satisfaction," "secret
+solace," are phrases constantly occurring,) prove that, whatever else
+he had possessed of the female character, the title of the play, "A
+Wonder--a Woman keeps a Secret," had been no paradox in reference to him.
+
+Having his lips in general barred by the double bolts of caution and
+secretiveness, one ceases to wonder that the "invisible spirit of wine"
+was welcomed by him as a key to open occasionally the rich treasures of
+his mind; but that he was a habitual drunkard is one calumny; that he
+wrote his best _Spectators_ when too much excited with wine is another;
+and that he "died drunk" is a third,--and the most atrocious of all,
+propagated though it has been by Walpole and Byron. His habits, however,
+were undoubtedly too careless and convivial; and there used to be a
+floating tradition in Holland-house, that, when meditating his writings
+there, he was wont to walk along a gallery, at each end of which stood a
+separate bottle, out of both of which he never failed, _en passant_, to
+sip! This, after all, however, may be only a mythical fable.
+
+While, as an author, the favourite of ladies, of the young, and of
+catholic-minded critics generally, Addison has had, and has still, severe
+and able detractors, who are wont to speak of him in such a manner as
+this:--"He is a highly cultivated artist, but not one thought of any
+vivid novelty did he put out in all his many books. You become placid
+reading him, but think of Ossian and Shakspeare, and be silent. He is
+a lapidary polishing pebbles,--a pretty art, but not vested with the
+glories of sculpture, nor the mathematical magnitude of architecture. He
+does not walk a demigod, but a stiff Anglicised imitator of French paces.
+He is a symmetrical, but a small invisible personage at rapier practice."
+Now, clever as this is, it only proves that Addison is not a Shakspeare
+or Milton. He does not pretend to be either. He is no demigod, but he is
+a man, a lady-man if you will, but the lovelier on that account. Besides,
+he was cut off in his prime, and when he might have girt himself up to
+achieve greater things than he has done. And although the French taste of
+his age somewhat affected and chilled his genius, yet he knew of other
+models than Racine and Boileau. He drank of "Siloa's brook." He admired
+and imitated the poetry of the Bible. He loves not, indeed, its wilder
+and higher strains; he gets giddy on the top of Lebanon; the Valley of
+Dry Bones he treads with timid steps; and his look up to the "Terrible
+Crystal" is more of fright than of exultation. But the lovelier, softer,
+simpler, and more pensive parts of the Bible are very dear to the gentle
+_Spectator_, and are finely, if faintly, reproduced in his writings.
+Indeed, the principle which would derogate from Addison's works, would
+lead to the depreciation of portions of the Scriptures too. "Ruth" is not
+so grand as the "Revelation;" the "Song of Solomon" is not so sublime as
+the "Song of Songs, which is Isaiah's;" and the story of Joseph has not
+the mystic grandeur or rushing fire of Ezekiel's prophecy. But there they
+are in the same Book of God, and are even dearer to many hearts than the
+loftier portions; and so with Addison's papers beside the works of Bacon,
+Milton, and Coleridge.
+
+His poetry is now in our readers' hands, and should be read with a candid
+spirit. They will admire the elegance and gracefully-used learning of the
+"Epistle to Halifax." They will not be astonished at the "Campaign," but
+they will regard it with interest as the lever which first lifted Addison
+into his true place in society and letters. They will find much to please
+them in his verses to Dryden, Somers, King William, and his odes on St
+Cecilia's Day; and they will pause with peculiar fondness over those
+delightful hymns, some of which they have sung or repeated from infancy,
+which they will find again able to "beat the heavenward flame," and start
+the tender and pious tear, and which are of themselves sufficient to rank
+Addison high on the list of Christian poets.
+
+
+[Footnote 1: Among these "others" was Abraham Stanyan, plenipotentiary
+extraordinary at Neufchatel at the settlement of the rival claims of the
+Duke of Brandenberg, Holland, and France, to that principality. He was
+afterwards ambassador to France. He married a daughter of Dr Pritchett,
+Bishop of Gloucester. It is said, that, having on one occasion borrowed
+a sum of money from Addison, the latter observed him to be very
+subservient, agreeing with every opinion Mr A. expressed, till Addison,
+provoked, and guessing the cause, said, "Stanyan, either contradict me,
+or pay me my money." Our friend, Mr J. Stanyan Bigg, author of the
+very brilliant poem, "Night and the Soul," is a descendant of Abraham
+Stanyan.]
+
+
+
+
+ADDISON'S POETICAL WORKS.
+
+
+POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+
+TO MR DRYDEN.
+
+  How long, great poet, shall thy sacred lays
+  Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise?
+  Can neither injuries of time, nor age,
+  Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?
+  Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote;
+  Grief chilled his breast, and checked his rising thought;
+  Pensive and sad, his drooping Muse betrays
+  The Roman genius in its last decays.
+     Prevailing warmth has still thy mind possess'd,
+  And second youth is kindled in thy breast;
+_10
+  Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known,
+  And England boasts of riches not her own;
+  Thy lines have heightened Virgil's majesty,
+  And Horace wonders at himself in thee.
+  Thou teachest Persius to inform our isle
+  In smoother numbers, and a clearer style;
+  And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
+  Edges his satire, and improves his rage.
+  Thy copy casts a fairer light on all,
+  And still outshines the bright original.
+_20
+     Now Ovid boasts the advantage of thy song,
+  And tells his story in the British tongue;
+  Thy charming verse and fair translations show
+  How thy own laurel first began to grow;
+  How wild Lycaon, changed by angry gods,
+  And frighted at himself, ran howling through the woods.
+     Oh, mayst thou still the noble task prolong,
+  Nor age nor sickness interrupt thy song!
+  Then may we wondering read, how human limbs
+  Have watered kingdoms, and dissolved in streams;
+_30
+  Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould
+  Turned yellow by degrees, and ripened into gold:
+  How some in feathers, or a ragged hide,
+  Have lived a second life, and different natures tried.
+  Then will thy Ovid, thus transformed, reveal
+  A nobler change than he himself can tell.
+
+_Mag. Coll. Oxon, June 2, 1693.
+  The Author's age_, 22.
+
+
+
+A POEM TO HIS MAJESTY,[2] PRESENTED TO THE LORD KEEPER.
+
+TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN SOMERS,
+
+LOKD KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL.
+
+  If yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs,
+  Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares,
+  If yet your time and actions are your own,
+  Receive the present of a Muse unknown:
+  A Muse that in adventurous numbers sings
+  The rout of armies, and the fall of kings,
+  Britain advanced, and Europe's peace restored,
+  By Somers' counsels, and by Nassau's sword.
+     To you, my lord, these daring thoughts belong,
+  Who helped to raise the subject of my song;
+_10
+  To you the hero of my verse reveals
+  His great designs; to you in council tells
+  His inmost thoughts, determining the doom
+  Of towns unstormed, and battles yet to come.
+  And well could you, in your immortal strains,
+  Describe his conduct, and reward his pains:
+  But since the state has all your cares engross'd,
+  And poetry in higher thoughts is lost,
+  Attend to what a lesser Muse indites,
+  Pardon her faults and countenance her flights.
+_20
+     On you, my lord, with anxious fear I wait,
+  And from your judgment must expect my fate,
+  Who, free from vulgar passions, are above
+  Degrading envy, or misguided love;
+  If you, well pleased, shall smile upon my lays,
+  Secure of fame, my voice I'll boldly raise;
+  For next to what you write, is what you praise.
+
+
+TO THE KING.
+
+  When now the business of the field is o'er,
+  The trumpets sleep, and cannons cease to roar;
+  When every dismal echo is decay'd,
+  And all the thunder of the battle laid;
+  Attend, auspicious prince, and let the Muse
+  In humble accents milder thoughts infuse.
+     Others, in bold prophetic numbers skill'd,
+  Set thee in arms, and led thee to the field;
+  My Muse, expecting, on the British strand
+  Waits thy return, and welcomes thee to land:
+_10
+  She oft has seen thee pressing on the foe,
+  When Europe was concerned in every blow;
+  But durst not in heroic strains rejoice; is
+  The trumpets, drums, and cannons drowned her voice:
+  She saw the Boyne run thick with human gore,
+  And floating corps lie beating on the shore:
+  She saw thee climb the banks, but tried in vain
+  To trace her hero through the dusty plain,
+  When through the thick embattled lines he broke,
+  Now plunged amidst the foes, now lost in clouds of smoke.
+_20
+     Oh that some Muse, renowned for lofty verse,
+  In daring numbers would thy toils rehearse!
+  Draw thee beloved in peace, and feared in wars,
+  Inured to noonday sweats, and midnight cares!
+  But still the godlike man, by some hard fate,
+  Receives the glory of his toils too late;
+  Too late the verse the mighty act succeeds;
+  One age the hero, one the poet breeds.
+     A thousand years in full succession ran
+  Ere Virgil raised his voice, and sung the man
+_30
+  Who, driven by stress of fate, such dangers bore
+  On stormy seas and a disastrous shore,
+  Before he settled in the promised earth,
+  And gave the empire of the world its birth.
+     Troy long had found the Grecians bold and fierce,
+  Ere Homer mustered up their troops in verse;
+  Long had Achilles quelled the Trojans' lust,
+  And laid the labour of the gods in dust,
+  Before the towering Muse began her flight,
+  And drew the hero raging in the fight,
+_40
+  Engaged in tented fields and rolling floods,
+  Or slaughtering mortals, or a match for gods.
+     And here, perhaps, by fate's unerring doom,
+  Some mighty bard lies hid in years to come,
+  That shall in William's godlike acts engage,
+  And with his battles warm a future age.
+  Hibernian fields shall here thy conquests show,
+  And Boyne be sung when it has ceased to flow;
+  Here Gallic labours shall advance thy fame,
+  And here Seneffe[3] shall wear another name.
+_50
+  Our late posterity, with secret dread,
+  Shall view thy battles, and with pleasure read
+  How, in the bloody field, too near advanced,
+  The guiltless bullet on thy shoulder glanced.
+     The race of Nassaus was by Heaven design'd
+  To curb the proud oppressors of mankind,
+  To bind the tyrants of the earth with laws,
+  And fight in every injured nation's cause,
+  The world's great patriots; they for justice call,
+  And, as they favour, kingdoms rise or fall.
+_60
+  Our British youth, unused to rough alarms,
+  Careless of fame, and negligent of arms,
+  Had long forgot to meditate the foe,
+  And heard unwarmed the martial trumpet blow;
+  But now, inspired by thee, with fresh delight
+  Their swords they brandish, and require the fight,
+  Renew their ancient conquests on the main,
+  And act their fathers' triumphs o'er again;
+  Fired, when they hear how Agincourt was strow'd
+  With Gallic corps and Cressi swam in blood,
+_70
+  With eager warmth they fight, ambitious all
+  Who first shall storm the breach, or mount the wall.
+  In vain the thronging enemy by force
+  Would clear the ramparts, and repel their course;
+  They break through all, for William leads the way,
+  Where fires rage most, and loudest engines play.
+  Namur's late terrors and destruction show
+  What William, warmed with just revenge, can do:
+  Where once a thousand turrets raised on high
+  Their gilded spires, and glittered in the sky,
+_80
+  An undistinguished heap of dust is found,
+  And all the pile lies smoking on the ground,
+     His toils, for no ignoble ends design'd,
+  Promote the common welfare of mankind;
+  No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears,
+  The cries of orphans, and the widow's tears;
+  Oppressed religion gives the first alarms,
+  And injured justice sets him in his arms;
+  His conquests freedom to the world afford,
+  And nations bless the labours of his sword.
+_90
+     Thus when the forming Muse would copy forth
+  A perfect pattern of heroic worth,
+  She sets a man triumphant in the field,
+  O'er giants cloven down, and monsters kill'd,
+  Reeking in blood, and smeared with dust and sweat,
+  Whilst angry gods conspire to make him great.
+     Thy navy rides on seas before unpress'd,
+  And strikes a terror through the haughty East;
+  Algiers and Tunis from their sultry shore
+  With horror hear the British engines roar;
+_100
+  Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they run,
+  And wish themselves still nearer to the sun.
+  The Gallic ships are in their ports confined,
+  Denied the common use of sea and wind,
+  Nor dare again the British strength engage;
+  Still they remember that destructive rage
+  Which lately made their trembling host retire,
+  Stunned with the noise, and wrapt in smoke and fire;
+  The waves with wide unnumbered wrecks were strow'd,
+  And planks, and arms, and men, promiscuous flow'd.
+_110
+     Spain's numerous fleet, that perished on our coast,
+  Could scarce a longer line of battle boast,
+  The winds could hardly drive them to their fate,
+  And all the ocean laboured with the weight.
+     Where'er the waves in restless errors roll,
+  The sea lies open now to either pole:
+  Now may we safely use the northern gales,
+  And in the Polar Circle spread our sails;
+  Or deep in southern climes, secure from wars,
+  New lands explore, and sail by other stars;
+_120
+  Fetch uncontrolled each labour of the sun,
+  And make the product of the world our own.
+     At length, proud prince, ambitious Louis, cease
+  To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace;
+  Think on the structures which thy pride has razed,
+  On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste;
+  Think on the heaps of corps and streams of blood,
+  On every guilty plain, and purple flood,
+  Thy arms have made, and cease an impious war,
+  Nor waste the lives intrusted to thy care.
+_130
+  Or if no milder thought can calm thy mind,
+  Behold the great avenger of mankind,
+  See mighty Nassau through the battle ride,
+  And see thy subjects gasping by his side:
+  Fain would the pious prince refuse the alarm,
+  Fain would he check the fury of his arm;
+  But when thy cruelties his thoughts engage,
+  The hero kindles with becoming rage,
+  Then countries stolen, and captives unrestored,
+  Give strength to every blow, and edge his sword.
+_140
+  Behold with what resistless force he falls
+  On towns besieged, and thunders at thy walls!
+  Ask Villeroy, for Villeroy beheld
+  The town surrendered, and the treaty seal'd,
+  With what amazing strength the forts were won,
+  Whilst the whole power of France stood looking on.
+     But stop not here: behold where Berkley stands,
+  And executes his injured king's commands!
+  Around thy coast his bursting bombs he pours
+  On flaming citadels and falling towers;
+_150
+  With hissing streams of fire the air they streak,
+  And hurl destruction round them where they break;
+  The skies with long ascending flames are bright,
+  And all the sea reflects a quivering light.
+     Thus AEtna, when in fierce eruptions broke,
+  Fills heaven with ashes, and the earth with smoke;
+  Here crags of broken rocks are twirled on high,
+  Here molten stones and scattered cinders fly:
+  Its fury reaches the remotest coast,
+  And strows the Asiatic shore with dust.
+_160
+     Now does the sailor from the neighbouring main
+  Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain;
+  No more his wonted marks he can descry,
+  But sees a long unmeasured ruin lie;
+  Whilst, pointing to the naked coast, he shows
+  His wondering mates where towns and steeples rose,
+  Where crowded citizens he lately view'd,
+  And singles out the place where once St Maloes stood.
+     Here Russel's actions should my Muse require;
+  And, would my strength but second my desire,
+_170
+  I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse,
+  And draw his cannons thundering in my verse:
+  High on the deck should the great leader stand,
+  Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand;
+  Like Homer's Hector, when he flung his fire
+  Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece retire.
+     But who can run the British triumphs o'er,
+  And count the flames dispersed on every shore?
+  Who can describe the scattered victory,
+
+  And draw the reader on from sea to sea?
+_180
+  Else who could Ormond's godlike acts refuse,
+  Ormond the theme of every Oxford Muse?
+  Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim,
+  Attend him in the noble chase of fame,
+  Through all the noise and hurry of the fight,
+  Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight.
+  Oh, did our British peers thus court renown,
+  And grace the coats their great forefathers won,
+  Our arms would then triumphantly advance,
+  Nor Henry be the last that conquered France!
+_190
+  What might not England hope, if such abroad
+  Purchased their country's honour with their blood:
+  When such, detained at home, support our state
+  In William's stead, and bear a kingdom's weight,
+  The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow,
+  And blast the counsels of the common foe;
+  Direct our armies, and distribute right,
+  And render our Maria's loss more light.
+     But stop, my Muse, the ungrateful sound forbear,
+  Maria's name still wounds each British ear:
+_200
+  Each British heart Maria still does wound,
+  And tears burst out unbidden at the sound;
+  Maria still our rising mirth destroys,
+  Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys.
+     But see, at length, the British ships appear!
+  Our Nassau comes! and, as his fleet draws near,
+  The rising masts advance, the sails grow white,
+  And all his pompous navy floats in sight.
+  Come, mighty prince, desired of Britain, come!
+  May heaven's propitious gales attend thee home!
+_210
+  Come, and let longing crowds behold that look
+  Which such confusion and amazement strook
+  Through Gallic hosts: but, oh! let us descry
+  Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thy eye;
+  Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found;
+  But for awhile forget the trumpet's sound;
+  Well-pleased, thy people's loyalty approve,
+  Accept their duty, and enjoy their love.
+  For as, when lately moved with fierce delight,
+  You plunged amidst the tumult of the fight,
+_220
+  Whole heaps of dead encompassed you around,
+  And steeds o'erturned lay foaming on the ground:
+  So crowned with laurels now, where'er you go,
+  Around you blooming joys and peaceful blessings flow.
+
+
+A TRANSLATION OF ALL
+
+VIRGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC,
+
+EXCEPT THE STORY OF ARISTAEUS.
+
+  Ethereal sweets shall next my Muse engage,
+  And this, Maecenas, claims your patronage.
+  Of little creatures' wondrous acts I treat,
+  The ranks and mighty leaders of their state,
+  Their laws, employments, and their wars relate.
+  A trifling theme provokes my humble lays.
+  Trifling the theme, not so the poet's praise,
+  If great Apollo and the tuneful Nine
+     First, for your bees a proper station find,
+_10
+  That's fenced about, and sheltered from the wind;
+  For winds divert them in their flight, and drive
+  The swarms, when loaden homeward, from their hive.
+  Nor sheep, nor goats, must pasture near their stores,
+  To trample underfoot the springing flowers;
+  Nor frisking heifers bound about the place,
+  To spurn the dew-drops off, and bruise the rising grass;
+  Nor must the lizard's painted brood appear,
+  Nor wood-pecks, nor the swallow, harbour near.
+  They waste the swarms, and, as they fly along,
+_20
+  Convey the tender morsels to their young.
+     Let purling streams, and fountains edged with moss,
+  And shallow rills run trickling through the grass;
+  Let branching olives o'er the fountain grow;
+  Or palms shoot up, and shade the streams below;
+  That when the youth, led by their princes, shun
+  The crowded hive and sport it in the sun,
+  Refreshing springs may tempt them from the heat,
+  And shady coverts yield a cool retreat.
+     Whether the neighbouring water stands or runs,
+_30
+  Lay twigs across and bridge it o'er with stones
+  That if rough storms, or sudden blasts of wind,
+  Should dip or scatter those that lag behind,
+  Here they may settle on the friendly stone,
+  And dry their reeking pinions at the sun.
+  Plant all the flowery banks with lavender,
+  With store of savory scent the fragrant air;
+  Let running betony the field o'erspread,
+  And fountains soak the violet's dewy bed.
+     Though barks or plaited willows make your hive,
+_40
+  A narrow inlet to their cells contrive;
+  For colds congeal and freeze the liquors up,
+  And, melted down with heat, the waxen buildings drop.
+  The bees, of both extremes alike afraid,
+  Their wax around the whistling crannies spread,
+  And suck out clammy dews from herbs and flowers,
+  To smear the chinks, and plaster up the pores;
+  For this they hoard up glue, whose clinging drops,
+  Like pitch or bird-lime, hang in stringy ropes.
+  They oft, 'tis said, in dark retirements dwell,
+_50
+  And work in subterraneous caves their cell;
+  At other times the industrious insects live
+  In hollow rocks, or make a tree their hive.
+     Point all their chinky lodgings round with mud,
+  And leaves must thinly on your work be strow'd;
+  But let no baleful yew-tree flourish near,
+  Nor rotten marshes send out steams of mire;
+  Nor burning crabs grow red, and crackle in the fire:
+  Nor neighbouring caves return the dying sound,
+  Nor echoing rocks the doubled voice rebound.
+_60
+  Things thus prepared----
+  When the under-world is seized with cold and night,
+  And summer here descends in streams of light,
+  The bees through woods and forests take their flight.
+  They rifle every flower, and lightly skim
+  The crystal brook, and sip the running stream;
+  And thus they feed their young with strange delight,
+  And knead the yielding wax, and work the slimy sweet.
+  But when on high you see the bees repair,
+  Borne on the winds through distant tracts of air,
+_70
+  And view the winged cloud all blackening from afar;
+  While shady coverts and fresh streams they choose,
+  Milfoil and common honeysuckles bruise,
+  And sprinkle on their hives the fragrant juice.
+  On brazen vessels beat a tinkling sound,
+  And shake the cymbals of the goddess round;
+  Then all will hastily retreat, and fill
+  The warm resounding hollow of their cell.
+     If once two rival kings their right debate,
+  And factions and cabals embroil the state,
+_80
+  The people's actions will their thoughts declare;
+  All their hearts tremble, and beat thick with war;
+  Hoarse, broken sounds, like trumpets' harsh alarms,
+  Run through the hive, and call them to their arms;
+  All in a hurry spread their shivering wings,
+  And fit their claws, and point their angry stings:
+  In crowds before the king's pavilion meet,
+  And boldly challenge out the foe to fight:
+  At last, when all the heavens are warm and fair,
+  They rush together out, and join; the air
+_90
+  Swarms thick, and echoes with the humming war.
+  All in a firm round cluster mix, and strow
+  With heaps of little corps the earth below,
+  As thick as hailstones from the floor rebound,
+  Or shaken acorns rattle on the ground.
+  No sense of danger can their kings control,
+  Their little bodies lodge a mighty soul:
+  Each obstinate in arms pursues his blow,
+  Till shameful flight secures the routed foe.
+  This hot dispute and all this mighty fray
+_100
+  A little dust flung upward will allay.
+     But when both kings are settled in their hive,
+  Mark him who looks the worst, and, lest he live
+  Idle at home in ease and luxury,
+  The lazy monarch must be doomed to die;
+  So let the royal insect rule alone,
+  And reign without a rival in his throne.
+     The kings are different; one of better note,
+  All speck'd with gold, and many a shining spot,
+  Looks gay, and glistens in a gilded coat;
+_110
+  But love of ease, and sloth, in one prevails,
+  That scarce his hanging paunch behind him trails:
+  The people's looks are different as their kings',
+  Some sparkle bright, and glitter in their wings;
+  Others look loathsome and diseased with sloth,
+  Like a faint traveller, whose dusty mouth
+  Grows dry with heat, and spits a mawkish froth.
+  The first are best----
+  From their o'erflowing combs you'll often press
+  Pure luscious sweets, that mingling in the glass
+_120
+  Correct the harshness of the racy juice,
+  And a rich flavour through the wine diffuse.
+  But when they sport abroad, and rove from home,
+  And leave the cooling hive, and quit the unfinished comb,
+  Their airy ramblings are with ease confined,
+  Clip their king's wings, and if they stay behind
+  No bold usurper dares invade their right,
+  Nor sound a march, nor give the sign for flight.
+  Let flowery banks entice them to their cells,
+  And gardens all perfumed with native smells;
+_130
+  Where carved Priapus has his fixed abode,
+  The robber's terror, and the scarecrow god.
+  Wild thyme and pine-trees from their barren hill
+  Transplant, and nurse them in the neighbouring soil,
+  Set fruit-trees round, nor e'er indulge thy sloth,
+  But water them, and urge their shady growth.
+     And here, perhaps, were not I giving o'er,
+  And striking sail, and making to the shore,
+  I'd show what art the gardener's toils require,
+  Why rosy paestum blushes twice a year;
+_140
+  What streams the verdant succory supply,
+  And how the thirsty plant drinks rivers dry;
+  With what a cheerful green does parsley grace,
+  And writhes the bellying cucumber along the twisted grass;
+  Nor would I pass the soft acanthus o'er,
+  Ivy nor myrtle-trees that love the shore;
+  Nor daffodils, that late from earth's slow womb
+  Unrumple their swoln buds, and show their yellow bloom.
+     For once I saw in the Tarentine vale,
+  Where slow Galesus drenched the washy soil,
+_150
+  An old Corician yeoman, who had got
+  A few neglected acres to his lot,
+  Where neither corn nor pasture graced the field,
+  Nor would the vine her purple harvest yield;
+  But savoury herbs among the thorns were found,
+  Vervain and poppy-flowers his garden crown'd,
+  And drooping lilies whitened all the ground.
+  Blest with these riches he could empires slight,
+  And when he rested from his toils at night,
+  The earth unpurchased dainties would afford,
+_160
+  And his own garden furnished out his board:
+  The spring did first his opening roses blow,
+  First ripening autumn bent his fruitful bough.
+  When piercing colds had burst the brittle stone,
+  And freezing rivers stiffened as they run,
+  He then would prune the tenderest of his trees,
+  Chide the late spring, and lingering western breeze:
+  His bees first swarmed, and made his vessels foam
+  With the rich squeezing of the juicy comb.
+  Here lindens and the sappy pine increased;
+_170
+  Here, when gay flowers his smiling orchard dressed,
+  As many blossoms as the spring could show,
+  So many dangling apples mellowed on the bough.
+  In rows his elms and knotty pear-trees bloom,
+  And thorns ennobled now to bear a plum,
+  And spreading plane-trees, where, supinely laid,
+  He now enjoys the cool, and quaffs beneath the shade.
+  But these for want of room I must omit,
+  And leave for future poets to recite.
+     Now I'll proceed their natures to declare,
+_180
+  Which Jove himself did on the bees confer
+  Because, invited by the timbrel's sound,
+  Lodged in a cave, the almighty babe they found,
+  And the young god nursed kindly under-ground.
+     Of all the winged inhabitants of air,
+  These only make their young the public care;
+  In well-disposed societies they live,
+  And laws and statutes regulate their hive;
+  Nor stray like others unconfined abroad,
+  But know set stations, and a fixed abode:
+_190
+  Each provident of cold in summer flies
+  Through fields and woods, to seek for new supplies,
+  And in the common stock unlades his thighs.
+  Some watch the food, some in the meadows ply,
+  Taste every bud, and suck each blossom dry;
+  Whilst others, labouring in their cells at home,
+  Temper Narcissus' clammy tears with gum,
+  For the first groundwork of the golden comb;
+  On this they found their waxen works, and raise
+  The yellow fabric on its gluey base.
+_200
+  Some educate the young, or hatch the seed
+  With vital warmth, and future nations breed;
+  Whilst others thicken all the slimy dews,
+  And into purest honey work the juice;
+  Then fill the hollows of the comb, and swell
+  With luscious nectar every flowing cell.
+  By turns they watch, by turns with curious eyes
+  Survey the heavens, and search the clouded skies,
+  To find out breeding storms, and tell what tempests rise.
+  By turns they ease the loaden swarms, or drive
+_210
+  The drone, a lazy insect, from their hive.
+  The work is warmly plied through all the cells,
+  And strong with thyme the new-made honey smells.
+     So in their caves the brawny Cyclops sweat,
+  When with huge strokes the stubborn wedge they beat,
+  And all the unshapen thunderbolt complete;
+  Alternately their hammers rise and fall;
+  Whilst griping tongs turn round the glowing ball.
+  With puffing bellows some the flames increase,
+  And some in waters dip the hissing mass;
+_220
+  Their beaten anvils dreadfully resound,
+  And AEtna shakes all o'er, and thunders under-ground.
+     Thus, if great things we may with small compare,
+  The busy swarms their different labours share.
+  Desire of profit urges all degrees;
+  The aged insects, by experience wise,
+  Attend the comb, and fashion every part,
+  And shape the waxen fret-work out with art:
+  The young at night, returning from their toils,
+  Bring home their thighs clogged with the meadows' spoils.
+_230
+  On lavender and saffron buds they feed,
+  On bending osiers and the balmy reed,
+  From purple violets and the teile they bring
+  Their gathered sweets, and rifle all the spring.
+     All work together, all together rest,
+  The morning still renews their labours past;
+  Then all rush out, their different tasks pursue,
+  Sit on the bloom, and suck the ripening dew;
+  Again, when evening warns them to their home,
+  With weary wings and heavy thighs they come,
+_240
+  And crowd about the chink, and mix a drowsy hum.
+  Into their cells at length they gently creep,
+  There all the night their peaceful station keep,
+  Wrapt up in silence, and dissolved in sleep.
+  None range abroad when winds and storms are nigh,
+  Nor trust their bodies to a faithless sky,
+  But make small journeys with a careful wing,
+  And fly to water at a neighbouring spring;
+  And lest their airy bodies should be cast
+  In restless whirls, the sport of every blast,
+_250
+  They carry stones to poise them in their flight,
+  As ballast keeps the unsteady vessel right.
+     But, of all customs that the bees can boast,
+  'Tis this may challenge admiration most;
+  That none will Hymen's softer joys approve,
+  Nor waste their spirits in luxurious love,
+  But all a long virginity maintain,
+  And bring forth young without a mother's pain:
+  From herbs and flowers they pick each tender bee,
+  And cull from plants a buzzing progeny;
+_260
+  From these they choose out subjects, and create
+  A little monarch of the rising state;
+  Then build wax kingdoms for the infant prince,
+  And form a palace for his residence.
+     But often in their journeys, as they fly,
+  On flints they tear their silken wings, or lie
+  Grovelling beneath their flowery load, and die.
+  Thus love of honey can an insect fire,
+  And in a fly such generous thoughts inspire.
+  Yet by repeopling their decaying state,
+_270
+  Though seven short springs conclude their vital date,
+  Their ancient stocks eternally remain,
+  And in an endless race their children's children reign.
+     No prostrate vassal of the East can more
+  With slavish fear his haughty prince adore;
+  His life unites them all; but, when he dies,
+  All in loud tumults and distractions rise;
+  They waste their honey and their combs deface,
+  And wild confusion reigns in every place.
+  Him all admire, all the great guardian own,
+_280
+  And crowd about his courts, and buzz about his throne.
+  Oft on their backs their weary prince they bear,
+  Oft in his cause, embattled in the air,
+  Pursue a glorious death, in wounds and war.
+     Some, from such instances as these, have taught,
+  'The bees' extract is heavenly; for they thought
+  The universe alive; and that a soul,
+  Diffused throughout the matter of the whole,
+  To all the vast unbounded frame was given,
+  And ran through earth, and air, and sea, and all the deep of heaven;
+_290
+  That this first kindled life in man and beast,
+  Life, that again flows into this at last.
+  That no compounded animal could die,
+  But when dissolved, the spirit mounted high,
+  Dwelt in a star, and settled in the sky.'
+     Whene'er their balmy sweets you mean to seize,
+  And take the liquid labours of the bees,
+  Spurt draughts of water from your mouth, and drive
+  A loathsome cloud of smoke amidst their hive,
+     Twice in the year their flowery toils begin,
+_300
+  And twice they fetch their dewy harvest in;
+  Once, when the lovely Pleiades arise,
+  And add fresh lustre to the summer skies;
+  And once, when hastening from the watery sign,
+  They quit their station, and forbear to shine.
+     The bees are prone to rage, and often found
+  To perish for revenge, and die upon the wound
+  Their venomed sting produces aching pains,
+  And swells the flesh, and shoots among the veins.
+  When first a cold hard winter's storms arrive,
+_310
+  And threaten death or famine to their hive,
+  If now their sinking state and low affairs
+  Can move your pity, and provoke your cares,
+  Fresh burning thyme before their cells convey,
+  And cut their dry and husky wax away;
+  For often lizards seize the luscious spoils,
+  Or drones, that riot on another's toils:
+  Oft broods of moths infest the hungry swarms,
+  And oft the furious wasp their hive alarms
+  With louder hums, and with unequal arms;
+_320
+  Or else the spider at their entrance sets.
+  Her snares, and spins her bowels into nets.
+     When sickness reigns, for they as well as we
+  Feel all the effects of frail mortality,
+  By certain marks the new disease is seen,
+  Their colour changes, and their looks are thin;
+  Their funeral rites are formed, and every bee
+  With grief attends the sad solemnity;
+  The few diseased survivors hang before
+  Their sickly cells, and droop about the door,
+_330
+  Or slowly in their hives their limbs unfold,
+  Shrunk up with hunger, and benumbed with cold;
+  In drawling hums the feeble insects grieve,
+  And doleful buzzes echo through the hive,
+  Like winds that softly murmur through the trees,
+  Like flames pent up, or like retiring seas.
+  Now lay fresh honey near their empty rooms,
+  In troughs of hollow reeds, whilst frying gums
+  Cast round a fragrant mist of spicy fumes.
+  Thus kindly tempt the famished swarm to eat,
+_340
+  And gently reconcile them to their meat.
+  Mix juice of galls, and wine, that grow in time
+  Condensed by fire, and thicken to a slime;
+  To these, dried roses, thyme, and ccntaury join,
+  And raisins, ripened on the Psythian vine.
+     Besides, there grows a flower in marshy ground,
+  Its name amellus, easy to be found;
+  A mighty spring works in its root, and cleaves
+  The sprouting stalk, and shows itself in leaves:
+  The flower itself is of a golden hue,
+_350
+  The leaves inclining to a darker blue;
+  The leaves shoot thick about the flower, and grow
+  Into a bush, and shade the turf below:
+  The plant in holy garlands often twines
+  The altars' posts, and beautifies the shrines;
+  Its taste is sharp, in vales new-shorn it grows,
+  Where Mella's stream in watery mazes flows.
+  Take plenty of its roots, and boil them well
+  In wine, and heap them up before the cell.
+     But if the whole stock fail, and none survive;
+_360
+  To raise new people, and recruit the hive,
+  I'll here the great experiment declare,
+  That spread the Arcadian shepherd's name so far.
+  How bees from blood of slaughtered bulls have fled,
+  And swarms amidst the red corruption bred.
+     For where the Egyptians yearly see their bounds
+  Refreshed with floods, and sail about their grounds,
+  Where Persia borders, and the rolling Nile
+  Drives swiftly down the swarthy Indian's soil,
+  Till into seven it multiplies its stream,
+_370
+  And fattens Egypt with a fruitful slime:
+  In this last practice all their hope remains,
+  And long experience justifies their pains.
+     First, then, a close contracted space of ground,
+  With straitened walls and low-built roof, they found;
+  A narrow shelving light is next assign'd
+  To all the quarters, one to every wind;
+  Through these the glancing rays obliquely pierce:
+  Hither they lead a bull that's young and fierce,
+  When two years' growth of horn he proudly shows,
+_380
+  And shakes the comely terrors of his brows:
+  His nose and mouth, the avenues of breath,
+  They muzzle up, and beat his limbs to death;
+  With violence to life and stifling pain
+  He flings and spurns, and tries to snort in vain,
+  Loud heavy blows fall thick on every side,
+  Till his bruised bowels burst within the hide;
+  When dead, they leave him rotting on the ground,
+  With branches, thyme, and cassia, strowed around.
+  All this is done, when first the western breeze
+_390
+  Becalms the year, and smooths the troubled seas;
+  Before the chattering swallow builds her nest,
+  Or fields in spring's embroidery are dress'd.
+  Meanwhile the tainted juice ferments within,
+  And quickens as its works: and now are seen
+  A wondrous swarm, that o'er the carcase crawls,
+  Of shapeless, rude, unfinished animals.
+  No legs at first the insect's weight sustain,
+  At length it moves its new-made limbs with pain;
+  Now strikes the air with quivering wings, and tries
+_400
+  To lift its body up, and learns to rise;
+  Now bending thighs and gilded wings it wears
+  Full grown, and all the bee at length appears;
+  From every side the fruitful carcase pours
+  Its swarming brood, as thick as summer showers,
+  Or flights of arrows from the Parthian bows,
+  When twanging strings first shoot them on the foes.
+     Thus have I sung the nature of the bee;
+  While Caesar, towering to divinity,
+  The frighted Indians with his thunder awed,
+_410
+  And claimed their homage, and commenced a god;
+  I flourished all the while in arts of peace,
+  Retired and sheltered in inglorious ease;
+  I who before the songs of shepherds made,
+  When gay and young my rural lays I play'd,
+  And set my Tityrus beneath his shade.
+
+
+A SONG FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY,
+
+AT OXFORD.
+
+I.
+
+        Cecilia, whose exalted hymns
+           With joy and wonder fill the blest,
+        In choirs of warbling seraphims,
+           Known and distinguished from the rest,
+        Attend, harmonious saint, and see
+        Thy vocal sons of harmony;
+  Attend, harmonious saint, and hear our prayers;
+           Enliven all our earthly airs,
+  And, as thou sing'st thy God, teach us to sing of thee;
+           Tune every string and every tongue,
+        Be thou the Muse and subject of our song.
+
+  II.
+
+        Let all Cecilia's praise proclaim,
+        Employ the echo in her name,
+        Hark how the flutes and trumpets raise,
+        At bright Cecilia's name, their lays;
+        The organ labours in her praise.
+  Cecilia's name does all our numbers grace,
+      From every voice the tuneful accents fly,
+      In soaring trebles now it rises high,
+  And now it sinks, and dwells upon the base.
+      Cecilia's name through all the notes we sing,
+          The work of every skilful tongue,
+          The sound of every trembling string,
+          The sound and triumph of our song.
+
+  III.
+
+          For ever consecrate the day,
+          To music and Cecilia;
+      Music, the greatest good that mortals know,
+      And all of heaven we have below.
+         Music can noble hints impart,
+  Engender fury, kindle love;
+  With unsuspected eloquence can move,
+         And manage all the man with secret art.
+         When Orpheus strikes the trembling lyre,
+         The streams stand still, the stones admire;
+         The listening savages advance,
+            The wolf and lamb around him trip,
+            The bears in awkward measures leap,
+         And tigers mingle in the dance.
+  The moving woods attended, as he play'd,
+  And Rhodope was left without a shade.
+
+
+  IV.
+
+         Music religious heats inspires,
+             It wakes the soul, and lifts it high,
+         And wings it with sublime desires,
+             And fits it to bespeak the Deity.
+         The Almighty listens to a tuneful tongue,
+         And seems well-pleased and courted with a song.
+  Soft moving sounds and heavenly airs
+  Give force to every word, and recommend our prayers.
+         When time itself shall be no more,
+  And all things in confusion hurled,
+         Music shall then exert its power,
+  And sound survive the ruins of the world:
+         Then saints and angels shall agree
+         In one eternal jubilee:
+  All heaven shall echo with their hymns divine,
+         And God himself with pleasure see
+  The whole creation in a chorus join.
+
+
+  CHORUS.
+
+             Consecrate the place and day,
+             To music and Cecilia.
+         Let no rough winds approach, nor dare
+            Invade the hallowed bounds,
+         Nor rudely shake the tuneful air,
+            Nor spoil the fleeting sounds.
+         Nor mournful sigh nor groan be heard,
+            But gladness dwell on every tongue;
+         Whilst all, with voice and strings prepared,
+            Keep up the loud harmonious song,
+               And imitate the blest above,
+               In joy, and harmony, and love.
+
+
+
+AN ODE FOR ST CECILIA'S DAY.
+
+SET TO MUSIC BY MR DANIEL PURCELL. PERFORMED AT OXFORD 1699.
+
+  Prepare the hallowed strain, my Muse,
+  Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbers choose;
+  The bright Cecilia's praise rehearse,
+  In warbling words, and gliding verse,
+  That smoothly run into a song,
+  And gently die away, and melt upon the tongue.
+  First let the sprightly violin
+  The joyful melody begin,
+     And none of all her strings be mute;
+
+  While the sharp sound and shriller lay
+_10
+  In sweet harmonious notes decay,
+     Softened and mellowed by the flute.
+         'The flute that sweetly can complain,
+         Dissolve the frozen nymph's disdain;
+         Panting sympathy impart,
+         Till she partake her lover's smart.'[4]
+
+
+  CHORUS.
+
+  Next, let the solemn organ join
+  Religious airs, and strains divine,
+  Such as may lift us to the skies,
+  And set all Heaven before our eyes:
+_20
+          'Such as may lift us to the skies;
+          So far at least till they
+          Descend with kind surprise,
+       And meet our pious harmony half-way.'
+
+  Let then the trumpet's piercing sound
+  Our ravished ears with pleasure wound.
+       The soul o'erpowering with delight,
+  As, with a quick uncommon ray,
+  A streak of lightning clears the day,
+       And flashes on the sight.
+_30
+  Let Echo too perform her part,
+  Prolonging every note with art,
+       And in a low expiring strain
+       Play all the concert o'er again.
+
+  Such were the tuneful notes that hung
+  On bright Cecilia's charming tongue:
+  Notes that sacred heats inspired,
+  And with religious ardour fired:
+  The love-sick youth, that long suppress'd
+  His smothered passion in his breast,
+_40
+  No sooner heard the warbling dame,
+     But, by the secret influence turn'd,
+  He felt a new diviner flame,
+     And with devotion burn'd.
+
+  With ravished soul, and looks amazed,
+  Upon her beauteous face he gazed;
+     Nor made his amorous complaint:
+  In vain her eyes his heart had charm'd,
+  Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm'd,
+     And changed the lover to a saint.
+_50
+
+  GRAND CHORUS.
+
+  And now the choir complete rejoices,
+  With trembling strings and melting voices.
+         The tuneful ferment rises high,
+         And works with mingled melody:
+  Quick divisions run their rounds,
+  A thousand trills and quivering sounds
+     In airy circles o'er us fly,
+  Till, wafted by a gentle breeze,
+  They faint and languish by degrees,
+     And at a distance die.
+_60
+
+
+AN ACCOUNT OF THE GREATEST ENGLISH POETS
+
+TO MR HENRY SACHEVERELL. APRIL 3, 1694.
+
+  Since, dearest Harry, you will needs request
+  A short account of all the Muse-possess'd,
+  That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times,
+  Have spent their noble rage in British rhymes;
+  Without more preface, writ in formal length,
+  To speak the undertaker's want of strength,
+  I'll try to make their several beauties known,
+  And show their verses' worth, though not my own.
+
+     Long had our dull forefathers slept supine,
+  Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine;
+_10
+  Till Chaucer first, the merry bard, arose,
+  And many a story told in rhyme and prose.
+  But age has rusted what the poet writ,
+  Worn out his language, and obscured his wit;
+  In vain he jests in his unpolished strain,
+  And tries to make his readers laugh in vain.
+     Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage,
+  In ancient tales amused a barbarous age;
+  An age that yet uncultivate and rude,
+  Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued
+_20
+  Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods,
+  To dens of dragons and enchanted woods.
+  But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore,
+  Can charm an understanding age no more;
+  The long-spun allegories fulsome grow,
+  While the dull moral lies too plain below.
+  We view well-pleased at distance all the sights
+  Of arms and palfreys, battles, fields, and fights,
+  And damsels in distress, and courteous knights;
+  But when we look too near, the shades decay,
+_30
+  And all the pleasing landscape fades away.
+     Great Cowley then (a mighty genius) wrote,
+  O'errun with wit, and lavish of his thought:
+  His turns too closely on the reader press;
+  He more had pleased us, had he pleased us less.
+  One glittering thought no sooner strikes our eyes
+  With silent wonder, but new wonders rise.
+  As in the milky-way a shining white
+  O'erflows the heavens with one continued light;
+  That not a single star can show his rays,
+_40
+  Whilst jointly all promote the common blaze.
+  Pardon, great poet, that I dare to name
+  The unnumbered beauties of thy verse with blame;
+  Thy fault is only wit in its excess,
+  But wit like thine in any shape will please.
+  What Muse but thine can equal hints inspire,
+  And fit the deep-mouthed Pindar to thy lyre;
+  Pindar, whom others, in a laboured strain
+  And forced expression, imitate in vain?
+  Well-pleased in thee he soars with new delight,
+_50
+  And plays in more unbounded verse, and takes a nobler flight.
+     Blest man! whose spotless life and charming lays
+  Employed the tuneful prelate in thy praise:
+  Blest man! who now shalt be for ever known
+  In Sprat's successful labours and thy own.
+     But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks,
+  Unfettered in majestic numbers walks;
+  No vulgar hero can his Muse engage;
+  Nor earth's wide scene confine his hallowed rage.
+  See! see! he upward springs, and towering high,
+_60
+  Spurns the dull province of mortality,
+  Shakes heaven's eternal throne with dire alarms,
+  And sets the Almighty thunderer in arms.
+  Whate'er his pen describes I more than see,
+  Whilst every verse arrayed in majesty,
+  Bold, and sublime, my whole attention draws,
+  And seems above the critic's nicer laws.
+  How are you struck with terror and delight,
+  When angel with archangel copes in fight!
+  When great Messiah's outspread banner shines,
+_70
+  How does the chariot rattle in his lines!
+  What sounds of brazen wheels, what thunder, scare,
+  And stun the reader with the din of war!
+  With fear my spirits and my blood retire,
+  To see the seraphs sunk in clouds of fire;
+  But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise,
+  And view the first gay scenes of Paradise,
+  What tongue, what words of rapture, can express
+  A vision so profuse of pleasantness!
+  Oh, had the poet ne'er profaned his pen,
+_80
+  To varnish o'er the guilt of faithless men,
+  His other works might have deserved applause;
+  But now the language can't support the cause;
+  While the clean current, though serene and bright,
+  Betrays a bottom odious to the sight.
+     But now, my Muse, a softer strain rehearse,
+  Turn every line with art, and smooth thy verse;
+  The courtly Waller next commands thy lays:
+  Muse, tune thy verse with art to Waller's praise.
+  While tender airs and lovely dames inspire
+_90
+  Soft melting thoughts, and propagate desire;
+  So long shall Waller's strains our passion move,
+  And Sacharissa's beauties kindle love.
+  Thy verse, harmonious bard, and flattering song,
+  Can make the vanquished great, the coward strong.
+  Thy verse can show even Cromwell's innocence,
+  And compliment the storms that bore him hence.
+  Oh, had thy Muse not come an age too soon,
+  But seen great Nassau on the British throne,
+  How had his triumphs glittered in thy page,
+_100
+  And warmed thee to a more exalted rage!
+  What scenes of death and horror had we view'd,
+  And how had Boyne's wide current reeked in blood!
+  Or, if Maria's charms thou wouldst rehearse,
+  In smoother numbers and a softer verse,
+  Thy pen had well described her graceful air,
+  And Gloriana would have seemed more fair.
+     Nor must Roscommon pass neglected by,
+  That makes even rules a noble poetry:
+  Rules, whose deep sense and heavenly numbers show
+_110
+  The best of critics, and of poets too.
+  Nor, Denham, must we e'er forget thy strains,
+  While Cooper's Hill commands the neighbouring plains.
+     But see where artful Dryden next appears,
+  Grown old in rhyme, but charming even in years.
+  Great Dryden next, whose tuneful Muse affords
+  The sweetest numbers, and the fittest words.
+  Whether in comic sounds or tragic airs
+  She forms her voice, she moves our smiles or tears.
+  If satire or heroic strains she writes,
+_120
+  Her hero pleases and her satire bites.
+  From her no harsh unartful numbers fall,
+  She wears all dresses, and she charms in all.
+  How might we fear our English poetry,
+  That long has flourished, should decay with thee;
+  Did not the Muses' other hope appear,
+  Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear:
+  Congreve! whose fancy's unexhausted store
+  Has given already much, and promised more.
+  Congreve shall still preserve thy fame alive,
+_130
+  And Dryden's Muse shall in his friend survive.
+     I'm tired with rhyming, and would fain give o'er,
+  But justice still demands one labour more:
+  The noble Montague remains unnamed,
+  For wit, for humour, and for judgment famed;
+  To Dorset he directs his artful Muse,
+  In numbers such as Dorset's self might use.
+  How negligently graceful he unreins
+  His verse, and writes in loose familiar strains!
+  How Nassau's godlike acts adorn his lines,
+_140
+  And all the hero in full glory shines!
+  We see his army set in just array,
+  And Boyne's dyed waves run purple to the sea.
+  Nor Simois choked with men, and arms, and blood;
+  Nor rapid Xanthus' celebrated flood,
+  Shall longer be the poet's highest themes,
+  Though gods and heroes fought promiscuous in their streams.
+  But now, to Nassau's secret councils raised,
+  He aids the hero, whom before he praised.
+     I've done at length; and now, dear friend, receive
+_150
+  The last poor present that my Muse can give.
+  I leave the arts of poetry and verse
+  To them that practise them with more success.
+  Of greater truths I'll now prepare to tell,
+  And so at once, dear friend and Muse, farewell.
+
+
+A LETTER FROM ITALY,
+
+TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES LORD HALIFAX, IN THE YEAR 1701.
+
+                Salve magna parens frugum Saturnia tellus,
+                Magna virum! tibi res antiquae laudis et artis
+                Aggredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes.
+      VIRG., Geor. ii.
+
+  While you, my lord, the rural shades admire,
+  And from Britannia's public posts retire,
+  Nor longer, her ungrateful sons to please,
+  For their advantage sacrifice your ease;
+  Me into foreign realms my fate conveys,
+  Through nations fruitful of immortal lays,
+  Where the soft season and inviting clime
+  Conspire to trouble your repose with rhyme.
+     For wheresoe'er I turn my ravished eyes,
+  Gay gilded scenes and shining prospects rise,
+_10
+  Poetic fields encompass me around
+  And still I seem to tread on classic ground;
+  For here the Muse so oft her harp has strung,
+  That not a mountain rears its head unsung,
+  Renowned in verse each shady thicket grows,
+  And every stream in heavenly numbers flows.
+     How am I pleased to search the hills and woods
+  For rising springs and celebrated floods!
+  To view the Nar, tumultuous in his course,
+  And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source,
+_20
+  To see the Mincio draw his watery store
+  Through the long windings of a fruitful shore,
+  And hoary Albula's infected tide
+  O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide.
+     Fired with a thousand raptures I survey
+  Eridanus[5] through flowery meadows stray,
+  The king of floods! that, rolling o'er the plains,
+  The towering Alps of half their moisture drains,
+  And proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows,
+  Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows.
+_30
+     Sometimes, misguided by the tuneful throng
+  I look for streams immortalised in song,
+  That lost in silence and oblivion lie,
+  (Dumb are their fountains and their channels dry,)
+  Yet run for ever by the Muse's skill,
+  And in the smooth description murmur still.
+     Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire,
+  And the famed river's empty shores admire,
+  That, destitute of strength, derives its course
+  From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source,
+_40
+  Yet sung so often in poetic lays,
+  With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys;
+  So high the deathless Muse exalts her theme!
+  Such was the Boyne, a poor inglorious stream,
+  That in Hibernian vales obscurely stray'd,
+  And unobserved in wild meanders play'd;
+  Till by your lines and Nassau's sword renowned,
+  Its rising billows through the world resound,
+  Where'er the hero's godlike acts can pierce,
+  Or where the fame of an immortal verse.
+_50
+     Oh could the Muse my ravished breast inspire
+  With warmth like yours, and raise an equal fire,
+  Unnumbered beauties in my verse should shine,
+  And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine!
+     See how the golden groves around me smile,
+  That shun the coast of Britain's stormy isle,
+  Or when transplanted and preserved with care,
+  Curse the cold clime, and starve in northern air.
+  Here kindly warmth their mounting juice ferments
+  To nobler tastes, and more exalted scents:
+_60
+  Even the rough rocks with tender myrtle bloom,
+  And trodden weeds send out a rich perfume.
+  Bear me, some god, to Baia's gentle seats,
+  Or cover me in Umbria's green retreats;
+  Where western gales eternally reside,
+  And all the seasons lavish all their pride:
+  Blossoms, and fruits, and flowers together rise,
+  And the whole year in gay confusion lies.
+     Immortal glories in my mind revive,
+  And in my soul a thousand passions strive,
+_70
+  When Rome's exalted beauties I descry
+  Magnificent in piles of ruin lie.
+  An amphitheatre's amazing height
+  Here fills my eye with terror and delight,
+  That on its public shows unpeopled Rome,
+  And held uncrowded nations in its womb;
+  Here pillars rough with sculpture pierce the skies;
+  And here the proud triumphal arches rise,
+  Where the old Romans' deathless acts displayed,
+  Their base, degenerate progeny upbraid:
+_80
+  Whole rivers here forsake the fields below,
+  And wondering at their height through airy channels flow.
+     Still to new scenes my wandering Muse retires,
+  And the dumb show of breathing rocks admires;
+  Where the smooth chisel all its force has shown,
+  And softened into flesh the rugged stone.
+  In solemn silence, a majestic band,
+  Heroes, and gods, and Roman consuls stand;
+  Stern tyrants, whom their cruelties renown,
+  And emperors in Parian marble frown;
+_90
+  While the bright dames, to whom they humble sued,
+  Still show the charms that their proud hearts subdued.
+     Fain would I Raphael's godlike art rehearse,
+  And show the immortal labours in my verse,
+  Where from the mingled strength of shade and light
+  A new creation rises to my sight,
+  Such heavenly figures from his pencil flow,
+  So warm with life his blended colours glow.
+  From theme to theme with secret pleasure toss'd,
+  Amidst the soft variety I'm lost:
+_100
+  Here pleasing airs my ravish'd soul confound
+  With circling notes and labyrinths of sound;
+  Here domes and temples rise in distant views,
+  And opening palaces invite my Muse.
+     How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land,
+  And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand!
+  But what avail her unexhausted stores,
+  Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores,
+  With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart,
+  The smiles of nature, and the charms of art,
+_110
+  While proud oppression in her valleys reigns,
+  And tyranny usurps her happy plains?
+  The poor inhabitant beholds in vain
+  The reddening orange and the swelling grain:
+  Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
+  And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines:
+  Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curs'd,
+  And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst.
+     O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright,
+_120
+  Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight!
+  Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign,
+  And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train;
+  Eased of her load, subjection grows more light,
+  And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight;
+  Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay,
+  Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.
+     Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores;
+  How has she oft exhausted all her stores,
+  How oft in fields of death thy presence sought,
+  Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought!
+_130
+  On foreign mountains may the sun refine
+  The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine,
+  With citron groves adorn a distant soil,
+  And the fat olive swell with floods of oil:
+  We envy not the warmer clime, that lies
+  In ten degrees of more indulgent skies,
+  Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine,
+  Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine:
+  'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle,
+  And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile.
+_140
+     Others with towering piles may please the sight,
+  And in their proud aspiring domes delight;
+  A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give,
+  Or teach their animated rocks to live:
+  'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate,
+  And hold in balance each contending state,
+  To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war,
+  And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer.
+  The Dane and Swede, roused up by fierce alarms,
+  Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms:
+_150
+  Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease,
+  And all the northern world lies hushed in peace.
+     The ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread
+  Her thunder aimed at his aspiring head,
+  And fain her godlike sons would disunite
+  By foreign gold, or by domestic spite;
+  But strives in vain to conquer or divide,
+  Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide.
+     Fired with the name, which I so oft have found
+  The distant climes and different tongues resound,
+_160
+  I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain,
+  That longs to launch into a bolder strain.
+     But I've already troubled you too long,
+  Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song.
+  My humble verse demands a softer theme,
+  A painted meadow, or a purling stream;
+  Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,
+  And lines like Virgil's, or like yours, should praise.
+
+
+
+  MILTON'S STYLE IMITATED,
+
+  IN A TRANSLATION OF A STORY OUT OF THE THIRD AENEID.
+
+  Lost in the gloomy horror of the night,
+  We struck upon the coast where AEtna lies,
+  Horrid and waste, its entrails fraught with fire,
+  That now casts out dark fumes and pitchy clouds,
+  Vast showers of ashes hovering in the smoke;
+  Now belches molten stones and ruddy flame,
+  Incensed, or tears up mountains by the roots,
+  Or slings a broken rock aloft in air.
+  The bottom works with smothered fire involved
+  In pestilential vapours, stench, and smoke.
+_10
+     'Tis said, that thunder-struck Enceladus
+  Groveling beneath the incumbent mountain's weight,
+  Lies stretched supine, eternal prey of flames;
+  And, when he heaves against the burning load,
+  Reluctant, to invert his broiling limbs,
+  A sudden earthquake shoots through all the isle,
+  And AEtna thunders dreadful under-ground,
+  Then pours out smoke in wreathing curls convolved,
+  And shades the sun's bright orb, and blots out day.
+     Here in the shelter of the woods we lodged,
+_20
+  And frighted heard strange sounds and dismal yells,
+  Nor saw from whence they came; for all the night
+  A murky storm deep lowering o'er our heads
+  Hung imminent, that with impervious gloom
+  Opposed itself to Cynthia's silver ray,
+  And shaded all beneath. But now the sun
+  With orient beams had chased the dewy night
+  From earth and heaven; all nature stood disclosed:
+  When, looking on the neighbouring woods, we saw
+  The ghastly visage of a man unknown,
+_30
+  An uncouth feature, meagre, pale, and wild;
+  Affliction's foul and terrible dismay
+  Sat in his looks, his face, impaired and worn
+  With marks of famine, speaking sore distress;
+  His locks were tangled, and his shaggy beard
+  Matted with filth; in all things else a Greek.
+     He first advanced in haste; but, when he saw
+  Trojans and Trojan arms, in mid career
+  Stopp'd short, he back recoiled as one surprised:
+  But soon recovering speed he ran, he flew
+  Precipitant, and thus with piteous cries
+_40
+  Our ears assailed: 'By heaven's eternal fires,
+  By every god that sits enthroned on high,
+  By this good light, relieve a wretch forlorn,
+  And bear me hence to any distant shore,
+  So I may shun this savage race accursed.
+  'Tis true I fought among the Greeks that late
+  With sword and fire o'erturned Neptunian Troy
+  And laid the labours of the gods in dust;
+  For which, if so the sad offence deserves,
+_50
+  Plunged in the deep, for ever let me lie
+  Whelmed under seas; if death must be my doom,
+  Let man inflict it, and I die well-pleased.'
+     He ended here, and now profuse to tears
+  In suppliant mood fell prostrate at our feet:
+  We bade him speak from whence and what he was,
+  And how by stress of fortune sunk thus low;
+  Anchises too, with friendly aspect mild,
+  Gave him his hand, sure pledge of amity;
+  When, thus encouraged, he began his tale.
+_60
+     'I'm one,' says he, 'of poor descent; my name
+  Is Achaemenides, my country Greece;
+  Ulysses' sad compeer, who, whilst he fled
+  The raging Cyclops, left me here behind,
+  Disconsolate, forlorn; within the cave
+  He left me, giant Polypheme's dark cave;
+  A dungeon wide and horrible, the walls
+  On all sides furred with mouldy damps, and hung
+  With clots of ropy gore, and human limbs,
+  His dire repast: himself of mighty size,
+_70
+  Hoarse in his voice, and in his visage grim,
+  Intractable, that riots on the flesh
+  Of mortal men, and swills the vital blood.
+  Him did I see snatch up with horrid grasp
+  Two sprawling Greeks, in either hand a man;
+  I saw him when with huge, tempestuous sway
+  He dashed and broke them on the grundsil edge;
+  The pavement swam in blood, the walls around
+  Were spattered o'er with brains. He lapp'd the blood,
+  And chewed the tender flesh still warm with life,
+_80
+  That swelled and heaved itself amidst his teeth
+  As sensible of pain. Not less meanwhile
+  Our chief, incensed and studious of revenge,
+  Plots his destruction, which he thus effects.
+  The giant, gorged with flesh, and wine, and blood,
+  Lay stretched at length and snoring in his den,
+  Belching raw gobbets from his maw, o'ercharged
+  With purple wine and cruddled gore confused.
+  We gathered round, and to his single eye,
+  The single eye that in his forehead glared
+_90
+  Like a full moon, or a broad burnished shield,
+  A forky staff we dexterously applied,
+  Which, in the spacious socket turning round,
+  Scooped out the big round jelly from its orb.
+  But let me not thus interpose delays;
+  Fly, mortals, fly this cursed, detested race:
+  A hundred of the same stupendous size,
+  A hundred Cyclops live among the hills,
+  Gigantic brotherhood, that stalk along
+  With horrid strides o'er the high mountains' tops,
+_100
+  Enormous in their gait; I oft have heard
+  Their voice and tread, oft seen them as they passed,
+  Sculking and cowering down, half dead with fear.
+  Thrice has the moon washed all her orb in light,
+  Thrice travelled o'er, in her obscure sojourn,
+  The realms of night inglorious, since I've lived
+  Amidst these woods, gleaning from thorns and shrubs
+  A wretched sustenance.' As thus he spoke,
+  We saw descending from a neighbouring hill
+  Blind Polypheme; by weary steps and slow
+_110
+  The groping giant with a trunk of pine
+  Explored his way; around, his woolly flocks
+  Attended grazing; to the well-known shore
+  He bent his course, and on the margin stood,
+  A hideous monster, terrible, deformed;
+  Full in the midst of his high front there gaped
+  The spacious hollow where his eye-ball rolled,
+  A ghastly orifice: he rinsed the wound,
+  And washed away the strings and clotted blood
+  That caked within; then, stalking through the deep,
+_120
+  He fords the ocean, while the topmost wave
+  Scarce reaches up his middle side; we stood
+  Amazed, be sure; a sudden horror chill
+  Ran through each nerve, and thrilled in every vein,
+  Till, using all the force of winds and oars,
+  We sped away; he heard us in our course,
+  And with his outstretched arms around him groped,
+  But finding nought within his reach, he raised
+  Such hideous shouts that all the ocean shook.
+  Even Italy, though many a league remote,
+_130
+  In distant echoes answered; AEtna roared,
+  Through all its inmost winding caverns roared.
+     Roused with the sound, the mighty family
+  Of one-eyed brothers hasten to the shore,
+  And gather round the bellowing Polypheme,
+  A dire assembly: we with eager haste
+  Work every one, and from afar behold
+  A host of giants covering all the shore.
+     So stands a forest tall of mountain oaks
+  Advanced to mighty growth: the traveller
+_140
+  Hears from the humble valley where he rides
+  The hollow murmurs of the winds that blow
+  Amidst the boughs, and at the distance sees
+  The shady tops of trees unnumbered rise,
+  A stately prospect, waving in the clouds.
+
+
+THE CAMPAIGN, A POEM.
+
+TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH.
+
+                        Rheni paeator et Istri.
+  Omnis in hoc uno variis discordia cessit
+  Ordinibus; laectatur eques, plauditque senator,
+  Votaque patricio certant plebeia favori.
+                                               CLAUD. DE LAUD. STILIC.
+
+  Esse aliquam in terris gentem quae sua impensa, suo labore ac periculo
+  bella gerat pro libertate aliorum. Nec hoc finitimis, aut propinquae
+  vicinitatis hominibus, aut terris continenti junctis praestet. Maria
+  trajiciat: ne quod toto orbe terrarum injustum imperium sit, et ubique
+  jus, fas, lex, potentissima sint.
+    LIV. HIST. lib. 36.
+
+  While crowds of princes your deserts proclaim,
+  Proud in their number to enrol your name;
+  While emperors to you commit their cause,
+  And Anna's praises crown the vast applause;
+  Accept, great leader, what the Muse recites,
+  That in ambitious verse attempts your fights.
+  Fired and transported with a theme so new,
+  Ten thousand wonders opening to my view
+  Shine forth at once; sieges and storms appear,
+  And wars and conquests fill the important year,
+_10
+  Rivers of blood I see, and hills of slain,
+  An Iliad rising out of one campaign.
+     The haughty Gaul beheld, with towering pride,
+  His ancient bounds enlarged on every side,
+  Pirene's lofty barriers were subdued,
+  And in the midst of his wide empire stood;
+  Ausonia's states, the victor to restrain,
+  Opposed their Alps and Apennines in vain,
+  Nor found themselves, with strength of rocks immured,
+  Behind their everlasting hills secured;
+_20
+  The rising Danube its long race began,
+  And half its course through the new conquests ran;
+  Amazed and anxious for her sovereign's fates,
+  Germania trembled through a hundred states;
+  Great Leopold himself was seized with fear;
+  He gazed around, but saw no succour near;
+  He gazed, and half abandoned to despair
+  His hopes on Heaven, and confidence in prayer.
+     To Britain's queen the nations turn their eyes,
+  On her resolves the Western world relies,
+_30
+  Confiding still, amidst its dire alarms,
+  In Anna's councils and in Churchill's arms.
+  Thrice happy Britain, from the kingdoms rent,
+  To sit the guardian of the continent!
+  That sees her bravest son advanced so high,
+  And flourishing so near her prince's eye;
+  Thy favourites grow not up by fortune's sport,
+  Or from the crimes or follies of a court;
+  On the firm basis of desert they rise,
+  From long-tried, faith, and friendship's holy ties:
+_40
+  Their sovereign's well-distinguished smiles they share,
+  Her ornaments in peace, her strength in war;
+  The nation thanks them with a public voice,
+  By showers of blessings Heaven approves their choice;
+  Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,
+  And factions strive who shall applaud them most.
+     Soon as soft vernal breezes warm the sky,
+  Britannia's colours in the zephyrs fly;
+  Her chief already has his march begun,
+  Crossing the provinces himself had won,
+_50
+  Till the Moselle, appearing from afar,
+  Retards the progress of the moving war.
+  Delightful stream, had Nature bid her fall
+  In distant climes, far from the perjured Gaul;
+  But now a purchase to the sword she lies,
+  Her harvests for uncertain owners rise,
+  Each vineyard doubtful of its master grows,
+  And to the victor's bowl each vintage flows.
+  The discontented shades of slaughtered hosts,
+  That wandered on her banks, her heroes' ghosts,
+_60
+  Hoped, when they saw Britannia's arms appear,
+  The vengeance due to their great deaths was near.
+     Our godlike leader, ere the stream he passed,
+  The mighty scheme of all his labours cast,
+  Forming the wondrous year within his thought;
+  His bosom glowed with battles yet unfought.
+  The long, laborious march he first surveys,
+  And joins the distant Danube to the Maese,
+  Between whose floods such pathless forests grow,
+  Such mountains rise, so many rivers flow:
+_70
+  The toil looks lovely in the hero's eyes,
+  And danger serves but to enhance the prize.
+     Big with the fate of Europe, he renews
+  His dreadful course, and the proud foe pursues:
+  Infected by the burning Scorpion's heat,
+  The sultry gales round his chafed temples beat,
+  Till on the borders of the Maine he finds
+  Defensive shadows and refreshing winds.
+  Our British youth, with inborn freedom bold,
+  Unnumbered scenes of servitude behold,
+_80
+  Nations of slaves, with tyranny debased,
+  (Their Maker's image more than half defaced,)
+  Hourly instructed, as they urge their toil,
+  To prize their queen, and love their native soil.
+     Still to the rising sun they take their way
+  Through clouds of dust, and gain upon the clay;
+  When now the Neckar on its friendly coast
+  With cooling streams revives the fainting host,
+  That cheerfully its labours past forgets,
+  The midnight watches, and the noonday heats.
+_90
+     O'er prostrate towns and palaces they pass,
+  (Now covered o'er with weeds and hid in grass,)
+  Breathing revenge; whilst anger and disdain
+  Fire every breast, and boil in every vein:
+  Here shattered walls, like broken rocks, from far
+  Rise up in hideous views, the guilt of war,
+  Whilst here the vine o'er hills of ruin climbs,
+  Industrious to conceal great Bourbon's crimes,
+     At length the fame of England's hero drew,
+  Eugenio to the glorious interview.
+_100
+  Great souls by instinct to each other turn,
+  Demand alliance, and in friendship burn;
+  A sudden friendship, while with stretched-out rays
+  They meet each other, mingling blaze with blaze.
+  Polished in courts, and hardened in the field,
+  Renowned for conquest, and in council skilled,
+  Their courage dwells not in a troubled flood
+  Of mounting spirits, and fermenting blood:
+  Lodged in the soul, with virtue overruled,
+  Inflamed by reason, and by reason cooled,
+_110
+  In hours of peace content to be unknown,
+  And only in the field of battle shown:
+  To souls like these, in mutual friendship joined,
+  Heaven dares intrust the cause of humankind.
+     Britannia's graceful sons appear in arms,
+  Her harassed troops the hero's presence warms,
+  Whilst the high hills and rivers all around
+  With thundering peals of British shouts resound:
+  Doubling their speed, they march with fresh delight,
+  Eager for glory, and require the fight.
+_120
+  So the staunch hound the trembling deer pursues,
+  And smells his footsteps in the tainted dews,
+  The tedious track unravelling by degrees:
+  But when the scent comes warm in every breeze,
+  Fired at the near approach, he shoots away
+  On his full stretch, and bears upon his prey.
+     The march concludes, the various realms are past,
+  The immortal Schellenberg appears at last:
+  Like hills the aspiring ramparts rise on high,
+  Like valleys at their feet the trenches lie;
+_130
+  Batteries on batteries guard each fatal pass,
+  Threatening destruction; rows of hollow brass,
+  Tube behind tube, the dreadful entrance keep,
+  Whilst in their wombs ten thousand thunders sleep:
+  Great Churchill owns, charmed with the glorious sight,
+  His march o'erpaid by such a promised fight.
+     The western sun now shot a feeble ray,
+  And faintly scattered the remains of day;
+  Evening approached; but, oh! what hosts of foes
+  Were never to behold that evening close!
+_140
+  Thickening their ranks, and wedged in firm array,
+  The close-compacted Britons win their way:
+  In vain the cannon their thronged war defaced
+  With tracts of death, and laid the battle waste;
+  Still pressing forward to the fight, they broke
+  Through flames of sulphur, and a night of smoke,
+  Till slaughtered legions filled the trench below,
+  And bore their fierce avengers to the foe.
+     High on the works the mingling hosts engage;
+  The battle, kindled into tenfold rage
+_150
+  With showers of bullets and with storms of fire,
+  Burns in full fury; heaps on heaps expire;
+  Nations with nations mixed confus'dly die,
+  And lost in one promiscuous carnage lie.
+     How many generous Britons meet their doom,
+  New to the field, and heroes in the bloom!
+  The illustrious youths, that left their native shore
+  To march where Britons never marched before,
+  (O fatal love of fame! O glorious heat,
+  Only destructive to the brave and great!)
+_160
+  After such toils o'ercome, such dangers past,
+  Stretched on Bavarian ramparts breathe their last.
+  But hold, my Muse, may no complaints appear,
+  Nor blot the day with an ungrateful tear:
+  While Marlborough lives, Britannia's stars dispense
+  A friendly light, and shine in innocence.
+  Plunging through seas of blood his fiery steed
+  Where'er his friends retire, or foes succeed;
+  Those he supports, these drives to sudden flight,
+  And turns the various fortune of the fight.
+_170
+     Forbear, great man, renowned in arms, forbear
+  To brave the thickest terrors of the war,
+  Nor hazard thus, confused in crowds of foes,
+  Britannia's safety, and the world's repose;
+  Let nations, anxious for thy life, abate
+  This scorn of danger and contempt of fate:
+  Thou liv'st not for thyself; thy queen demands
+  Conquest and peace from thy victorious hands;
+  Kingdoms and empires in thy fortune join,
+  And Europe's destiny depends on thine.
+_180
+     At length the long-disputed pass they gain,
+  By crowded armies fortified in vain;
+  The war breaks in, the fierce Bavarians yield,
+  And see their camp with British legions filled.
+  So Belgian mounds bear on their shattered sides
+  The sea's whole weight, increased with swelling tides;
+  But if the rushing wave a passage finds,
+  Enraged by watery moons, and warring winds,
+  The trembling peasant sees his country round
+  Covered with tempests, and in oceans drowned.
+_190
+     The few surviving foes dispersed in flight,
+  (Refuse of swords, and gleanings of a fight,)
+  In every rustling wind the victor hear,
+  And Marlborough's form in every shadow fear,
+  Till the dark cope of night with kind embrace
+  Befriends the rout, and covers their disgrace.
+     To Donawert, with unresisted force,
+  The gay, victorious army bends its course.
+  The growth of meadows, and the pride of fields,
+  Whatever spoils Bavaria's summer yields,
+_200
+  (The Danube's great increase,) Britannia shares,
+  The food of armies, and support of wars:
+  With magazines of death, destructive balls,
+  And cannons doomed to batter Landau's walls,
+  The victor finds each hidden cavern stored,
+  And turns their fury on their guilty lord.
+     Deluded prince! how is thy greatness crossed,
+  And all the gaudy dream of empire lost,
+  That proudly set thee on a fancied throne,
+  And made imaginary realms thy own!
+_210
+  Thy troops that now behind the Danube join,
+  Shall shortly seek for shelter from the Rhine,
+  Nor find it there: surrounded with alarms,
+  Thou hopest the assistance of the Gallic arms;
+  The Gallic arms in safety shall advance,
+  And crowd thy standards with the power of France,
+  While to exalt thy doom, the aspiring Gaul
+  Shares thy destruction, and adorns thy fall.
+     Unbounded courage and compassion joined,
+  Tempering each other in the victor's mind,
+_220
+  Alternately proclaim him good and great,
+  And make the hero and the man complete.
+  Long did he strive the obdurate foe to gain
+  By proffered grace, but long he strove in vain;
+  Till fired at length, he thinks it vain to spare
+  His rising wrath, and gives a loose to war.
+  In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand
+  With sword and fire, and ravages the land,
+  A thousand villages to ashes turns,
+  In crackling flames a thousand harvests burns.
+_230
+  To the thick woods the woolly flocks retreat,
+  And mixed with bellowing herds confus'dly bleat;
+  Their trembling lords the common shade partake,
+  And cries of infants sound in every brake:
+  The listening soldier fixed in sorrow stands,
+  Loth to obey his leader's just commands;
+  The leader grieves, by generous pity swayed,
+  To see his just commands so well obeyed.
+     But now the trumpet, terrible from far,
+  In shriller clangors animates the war,
+_240
+  Confederate drums in fuller consort beat,
+  And echoing hills the loud alarm repeat:
+  Gallia's proud standards, to Bavaria's joined,
+  Unfurl their gilded lilies in the wind;
+  The daring prince his blasted hopes renews,
+  And while the thick embattled host he views
+  Stretched out in deep array, and dreadful length,
+  His heart dilates, and glories in his strength.
+     The fatal day its mighty course began,
+  That the grieved world had long desired in vain:
+_250
+  States that their new captivity bemoaned,
+  Armies of martyrs that in exile groaned,
+  Sighs from the depth of gloomy dungeons heard,
+  And prayers in bitterness of soul preferred,
+  Europe's loud cries, that Providence assailed,
+  And Anna's ardent vows, at length prevailed;
+  The day was come when heaven designed to show
+  His care and conduct of the world below.
+     Behold, in awful march and dread array
+  The long-expected squadrons shape their way!
+_260
+  Death, in approaching terrible, imparts
+  An anxious horror to the bravest hearts;
+  Yet do their beating breasts demand the strife,
+  And thirst of glory quells the love of life.
+  No vulgar fears can British minds control:
+  Heat of revenge and noble pride of soul
+  O'erlook the foe, advantaged by his post,
+  Lessen his numbers, and contract his host.
+  Though fens and floods possessed the middle space,
+  That unprovoked they would have feared to pass,
+_270
+  Nor fens nor floods can stop Britannia's bands,
+  When her proud foe ranged on their borders stands.
+     But, O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find
+  To sing the furious troops in battle joined!
+  Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound
+  The victor's shouts and dying groans confound,
+  The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,
+  And all the thunder of the battle rise.
+  'Twas then great Marlborough's mighty soul was proved,
+  That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved,
+_280
+  Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
+  Examined all the dreadful scenes of war;
+  In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed,
+  To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
+  Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
+  And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
+  So when an angel by divine command
+  With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,
+  Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,[6]
+  Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;
+_290
+  And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,
+  Hides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
+     But see the haughty household-troops advance!
+  The dread of Europe, and the pride of France.
+  The war's whole art each private soldier knows,
+  And with a general's love of conquest glows;
+  Proudly he marches on, and, void of fear,
+  Laughs at the shaking of the British spear:
+  Vain insolence! with native freedom brave,
+  The meanest Briton scorns the highest slave;
+_300
+  Contempt and fury fire their souls by turns,
+  Each nation's glory in each warrior burns,
+  Each fights, as in his arm the important day
+  And all the fate of his great monarch lay:
+  A thousand glorious actions, that might claim
+  Triumphant laurels, and immortal fame,
+  Confused in clouds of glorious actions lie,
+  And troops of heroes undistinguished die.
+  O Dormer, how can I behold thy fate,
+  And not the wonders of thy youth relate!
+_310
+  How can I see the gay, the brave, the young,
+  Fall in the cloud of war and lie unsung!
+  In joys of conquest he resigns his breath,
+  And, filled with England's glory, smiles in death.
+     The rout begins, the Gallic squadrons run,
+  Compelled in crowds to meet the fate they shun;
+  Thousands of fiery steeds with wounds transfixed
+  Floating in gore, with their dead masters mixed,
+  Midst heaps of spears and standards driven around,
+  Lie in the Danube's bloody whirlpools drowned,
+_320
+  Troops of bold youths, born on the distant Soane,
+  Or sounding borders of the rapid Rhone,
+  Or where the Seine her flowery fields divides,
+  Or where the Loire through winding vineyards glides;
+  In heaps the rolling billows sweep away,
+  And into Scythian seas their bloated corps convey.
+  From Blenheim's towers the Gaul, with wild affright,
+  Beholds the various havoc of the fight;
+  His waving banners, that so oft had stood,
+  Planted in fields of death, and streams of blood,
+_330
+  So wont the guarded enemy to reach,
+  And rise triumphant in the fatal breach,
+  Or pierce the broken foe's remotest lines,
+  The hardy veteran with tears resigns.
+     Unfortunate Tallard![7] Oh, who can name
+  The pangs of rage, of sorrow, and of shame,
+  That with mixed tumult in thy bosom swelled!
+  When first thou saw'st thy bravest troops repelled,
+  Thine only son pierced with a deadly wound,
+  Choked in his blood, and gasping on the ground,
+_340
+  Thyself in bondage by the victor kept!
+  The chief, the father, and the captive wept.
+  An English Muse is touched with generous woe,
+  And in the unhappy man forgets the foe.
+  Greatly distressed! thy loud complaints forbear,
+  Blame not the turns of fate, and chance of war;
+  Give thy brave foes their due, nor blush to own
+  The fatal field by such great leaders won,
+  The field whence famed Eugenio bore away
+  Only the second honours of the day.
+_350
+     With floods of gore that from the vanquished fell,
+  The marshes stagnate, and the rivers swell.
+  Mountains of slain lie heaped upon the ground,
+  Or 'midst the roarings of the Danube drowned;
+  Whole captive hosts the conqueror detains
+  In painful bondage and inglorious chains;
+  Even those who'scape the fetters and the sword,
+  Nor seek the fortunes of a happier lord,
+  Their raging king dishonours, to complete
+  Marlborough's great work, and finish the defeat.
+_360
+     From Memminghen's high domes, and Augsburg's walls,
+  The distant battle drives the insulting Gauls;
+  Freed by the terror of the victor's name,
+  The rescued states his great protection claim;
+  Whilst Ulm the approach of her deliverer waits,
+  And longs to open her obsequious gates.
+     The hero's breast still swells with great designs,
+  In every thought the towering genius shines:
+  If to the foe his dreadful course he bends,
+  O'er the wide continent his march extends;
+_370
+  If sieges in his labouring thoughts are formed,
+  Camps are assaulted, and an army stormed;
+  If to the fight his active soul is bent,
+  The fate of Europe turns on its event.
+  What distant land, what region, can afford
+  An action worthy his victorious sword?
+  Where will he next the flying Gaul defeat,
+  To make the series of his toils complete?
+     Where the swoln Rhine, rushing with all its force,
+  Divides the hostile nations in its course,
+_380
+  While each contracts its bounds, or wider grows,
+  Enlarged or straitened as the river flows,
+  On Gallia's side a mighty bulwark stands,
+  That all the wide extended plain commands;
+  Twice, since the war was kindled, has it tried
+  The victor's rage, and twice has changed its side;
+  As oft whole armies, with the prize o'erjoyed,
+  Have the long summer on its walls employed.
+  Hither our mighty chief his arms directs,
+  Hence future triumphs from the war expects;
+_390
+  And though the dog-star had its course begun,
+  Carries his arms still nearer to the sun:
+  Fixed on the glorious action, he forgets
+  The change of seasons, and increase of heats:
+  No toils are painful that can danger show,
+  No climes unlovely that contain a foe.
+     The roving Gaul, to his own bounds restrained,
+  Learns to encamp within his native land,
+  But soon as the victorious host he spies,
+  From hill to hill, from stream to stream he flies:
+_400
+  Such dire impressions in his heart remain
+  Of Marlborough's sword, and Hochstet's fatal plain:
+  In vain Britannia's mighty chief besets
+  Their shady coverts, and obscure retreats;
+  They fly the conqueror's approaching fame,
+  That bears the force of armies in his name,
+     Austria's young monarch, whose imperial sway
+  Sceptres and thrones are destined to obey,
+  Whose boasted ancestry so high extends
+  That in the pagan gods his lineage ends,
+_410
+  Comes from afar, in gratitude to own
+  The great supporter of his father's throne;
+  What tides of glory to his bosom ran,
+  Clasped in the embraces of the godlike man!
+  How were his eyes with pleasing wonder fixed
+  To see such fire with so much sweetness mixed,
+  Such easy greatness, such a graceful port,
+  So turned and finished for the camp or court!
+  Achilles thus was formed with every grace,
+  And Nireus shone but in the second place;
+_420
+  Thus the great father of almighty Rome
+  (Divinely flushed with an immortal bloom,
+  That Cytherea's fragrant breath bestowed)
+  In all the charms of his bright mother glowed.
+  The royal youth by Marlborough's presence charmed,
+  Taught by his counsels, by his actions warmed,
+  On Landau with redoubled fury falls,
+  Discharges all his thunder on its walls,
+  O'er mines and caves of death provokes the fight,
+  And learns to conquer in the hero's sight.
+_430
+     The British chief, for mighty toils renowned,
+  Increased in titles, and with conquests crowned,
+  To Belgian coasts his tedious march renews,
+  And the long windings of the Rhine pursues,
+  Clearing its borders from usurping foes,
+  And blessed by rescued nations as he goes.
+  Treves fears no more, freed from its dire alarms;
+  And Traerbach feels the terror of his arms,
+  Seated on rocks her proud foundations shake,
+  While Marlborough presses to the bold attack,
+_440
+  Plants all his batteries, bids his cannon roar,
+  And shows how Landau might have fallen before.
+  Scared at his near approach, great Louis fears
+  Vengeance reserved for his declining years,
+  Forgets his thirst of universal sway,
+  And scarce can teach his subjects to obey;
+  His arms he finds on vain attempts employed,
+  The ambitious projects for his race destroyed,
+  The work of ages sunk in one campaign,
+  And lives of millions sacrificed in vain.
+_450
+     Such are the effects of Anna's royal cares:
+  By her, Britannia, great in foreign wars,
+  Ranges through nations, wheresoo'er disjoined,
+  Without the wonted aid of sea and wind.
+  By her the unfettered Ister's states are free,
+  And taste the sweets of English liberty:
+  But who can tell the joys of those that lie
+  Beneath the constant influence of her eye!
+  Whilst in diffusive showers her bounties fall,
+  Like heaven's indulgence, and descend on all,
+_460
+  Secure the happy, succour the distressed,
+  Make every subject glad, and a whole people blessed.
+     Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,
+  In the smooth records of a faithful verse;
+  That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
+  May tell posterity the wondrous tale.
+  When actions, unadorned, are faint and weak,
+  Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
+  Gods may descend in factions from the skies,
+  And rivers from their oozy beds arise;
+_470
+  Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
+  And round the hero cast a borrowed blaze.
+  Marlborough's exploits appear divinely bright,
+  And proudly shine in their own native light;
+  Raised of themselves, their genuine charms they boast,
+  And those who paint them truest praise them most.
+
+
+COWLEY'S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF.
+
+TRANSLATED BY MR ADDISON.
+
+  From life's superfluous cares enlarged,
+  His debt of human toil discharged,
+  Here Cowley lies! beneath this shed,
+  To every worldly interest dead;
+  With decent poverty content,
+  His hours of ease not idly spent;
+  To fortune's goods a foe profess'd,
+  And hating wealth by all caress'd.
+  'Tis true he's dead; for oh! how small
+
+  A spot of earth is now his all:
+_10
+  Oh! wish that earth may lightly lay,
+  And every care be far away;
+  Bring flowers; the short-lived roses bring,
+  To life deceased, fit offering:
+  And sweets around the poet strow,
+  Whilst yet with life his ashes glow.
+
+
+  PROLOGUE TO THE TENDER HUSBAND.[8]
+
+  SPOKEN BY MR WILKS.
+
+  In the first rise and infancy of Farce,
+  When fools were many, and when plays were scarce,
+  The raw, unpractised authors could, with ease,
+  A young and unexperienced audience please:
+  No single character had e'er been shown,
+  But the whole herd of fops was all their own;
+  Rich in originals, they set to view,
+  In every piece, a coxcomb that was new.
+     But now our British theatre can boast
+  Drolls of all kinds, a vast, unthinking host!
+_10
+  Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows
+  Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and beaux;
+  Rough country knights are found of every shire;
+  Of every fashion gentle fops appear;
+  And punks of different characters we meet,
+  As frequent on the stage as in the pit.
+  Our modern wits are forced to pick and cull,
+  And here and there by chance glean up a fool:
+  Long ere they find the necessary spark,
+  They search the town, and beat about the Park;
+_20
+  To all his most frequented haunts resort,
+  Oft dog him to the ring, and oft to court,
+  As love of pleasure or of place invites;
+  And sometimes catch him taking snuff at White's.
+     Howe'er, to do you right, the present age
+  Breeds very hopeful monsters for the stage;
+  That scorn the paths their dull forefathers trod,
+  And wont be blockheads in the common road.
+  Do but survey this crowded house to-night:--
+  Here's still encouragement for those that write.
+_30
+     Our author, to divert his friends to-day,
+  Stocks with variety of fools his play;
+  And that there may be something gay and new,
+  Two ladies-errant has exposed to view:
+  The first a damsel, travelled in romance;
+  The t'other more refined; she comes from France:
+  Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger;
+  And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger.
+
+
+EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH
+
+ENCHANTERS.[9]
+
+  When Orpheus tuned his lyre with pleasing woe,
+  Rivers forgot to run, and winds to blow,
+  While listening forests covered as he played,
+  The soft musician in a moving shade.
+  That this night's strains the same success may find,
+  The force of magic is to music joined;
+  Where sounding strings and artful voices fail,
+  The charming rod and muttered spells prevail.
+  Let sage Urganda wave the circling wand
+  On barren mountains, or a waste of sand,
+_10
+  The desert smiles; the woods begin to grow,
+  The birds to warble, and the springs to flow.
+     The same dull sights in the same landscape mixed,
+  Scenes of still life, and points for ever fixed,
+  A tedious pleasure on the mind bestow,
+  And pall the sense with one continued show;
+  But as our two magicians try their skill,
+  The vision varies, though the place stands still,
+  While the same spot its gaudy form renews,
+  Shifting the prospect to a thousand views.
+_20
+  Thus (without unity of place transgressed)
+  The enchanter turns the critic to a jest.
+     But howsoe'er, to please your wandering eyes,
+  Bright objects disappear and brighter rise:
+  There's none can make amends for lost delight,
+  While from that circle we divert your sight.
+
+
+PROLOGUE TO SMITH'S[10] PHAEDRA AND HIPPOLITUS.
+
+SPOKEN BY MR WILKS.
+
+  Long has a race of heroes fill'd the stage,
+  That rant by note, and through the gamut rage;
+  In songs and airs express their martial fire,
+  Combat in trills, and in a fugue expire:
+  While, lull'd by sound, and undisturb'd by wit,
+  Calm and serene you indolently sit,
+  And, from the dull fatigue of thinking free,
+  Hear the facetious fiddle's repartee:
+  Our home-spun authors must forsake the field,
+  And Shakspeare to the soft Scarletti yield.
+_10
+     To your new taste the poet of this day
+  Was by a friend advised to form his play.
+  Had Valentini, musically coy,
+  Shunn'd Phaedra's arms, and scorn'd the proffer'd joy,
+  It had not moved your wonder to have seen
+  An eunuch fly from an enamour'd queen:
+  How would it please, should she in English speak,
+  And could Hippolitus reply in Greek!
+  But he, a stranger to your modish way,
+  By your old rules must stand or fall to-day,
+_20
+  And hopes you will your foreign taste command,
+  To bear, for once, with what you understand.
+
+
+HORACE.-ODE III., BOOK III.
+
+Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy, and make it the metropolis of the
+Roman empire, having closeted several senators on the project: Horace is
+supposed to have written the following Ode on this occasion.
+
+  The man resolved, and steady to his trust,
+  Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just,
+  May the rude rabble's insolence despise,
+  Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries;
+  The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles,
+  And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies,
+  And with superior greatness smiles.
+     Not the rough whirlwind, that deforms
+  Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms,
+  The stubborn virtue of his soul can move;
+_10
+  Not the red arm of angry Jove,
+  That flings the thunder from the sky,
+  And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly.
+     Should the whole frame of nature round him break,
+  In ruin and confusion hurled,
+  He, unconcerned, would hear the mighty crack,
+  And stand secure amidst a falling world.
+     Such were the godlike arts that led
+  Bright Pollux to the blest abodes;
+  Such did for great Alcides plead,
+_20
+  And gained a place among the gods;
+  Where now Augustus, mixed with heroes, lies,
+  And to his lips the nectar bowl applies:
+  His ruddy lips the purple tincture show,
+  And with immortal strains divinely glow.
+     By arts like these did young Lyaeus [11] rise:
+  His tigers drew him to the skies,
+  Wild from the desert and unbroke:
+  In vain they foamed, in vain they stared,
+  In vain their eyes with fury glared;
+_30
+  He tamed them to the lash, and bent them to the yoke.
+     Such were the paths that Rome's great founder trod,
+  When in a whirlwind snatched on high,
+  He shook off dull mortality,
+  And lost the monarch in the god.
+  Bright Juno then her awful silence broke,
+  And thus the assembled deities bespoke.
+     'Troy,' says the goddess, 'perjured Troy has felt
+  The dire effects of her proud tyrant's guilt;
+  The towering pile, and soft abodes,
+_40
+  Walled by the hand of servile gods,
+  Now spreads its ruins all around,
+  And lies inglorious on the ground.
+  An umpire, partial and unjust,
+  And a lewd woman's impious lust,
+  Lay heavy on her head, and sunk her to the dust.
+     Since false Laomedon's tyrannic sway,
+  That durst defraud the immortals of their pay,
+  Her guardian gods renounced their patronage,
+  Nor would the fierce invading foe repel;
+_50
+  To my resentment, and Minerva's rage,
+  The guilty king and the whole people fell.
+     And now the long protracted wars are o'er,
+  The soft adulterer shines no more;
+  No more does Hector's force the Trojans shield,
+  That drove whole armies back, and singly cleared the field.
+     My vengeance sated, I at length resign
+  To Mars his offspring of the Trojan line:
+  Advanced to godhead let him rise,
+  And take his station in the skies;
+_60
+  There entertain his ravished sight
+  With scenes of glory, fields of light;
+  Quaff with the gods immortal wine,
+  And see adoring nations crowd his shrine:
+     The thin remains of Troy's afflicted host,
+  In distant realms may seats unenvied find,
+  And flourish on a foreign coast;
+  But far be Rome from Troy disjoined,
+  Removed by seas from the disastrous shore;
+  May endless billows rise between, and storms unnumbered roar.
+_70
+     Still let the cursed, detested place,
+  Where Priam lies, and Priam's faithless race,
+  Be cover'd o'er with weeds, and hid in grass.
+  There let the wanton flocks unguarded stray;
+  Or, while the lonely shepherd sings,
+  Amidst the mighty ruins play,
+  And frisk upon the tombs of kings.
+  May tigers there, and all the savage kind,
+  Sad, solitary haunts and silent deserts find;
+  In gloomy vaults, and nooks of palaces,
+_80
+  May the unmolested lioness
+  Her brinded whelps securely lay,
+  Or couched, in dreadful slumbers waste the day.
+     While Troy in heaps of ruins lies,
+  Rome and the Roman Capitol shall rise;
+  The illustrious exiles unconfined
+  Shall triumph far and near, and rule mankind.
+     In vain the sea's intruding tide
+  Europe from Afric shall divide,
+  And part the severed world in two:
+_90
+  Through Afric's sands their triumphs they shall spread,
+  And the long train of victories pursue
+  To Nile's yet undiscovered head.
+  Riches the hardy soldier shall despise,
+  And look on gold with undesiring eyes,
+  Nor the disbowelled earth explore
+  In search of the forbidden ore;
+  Those glittering ills concealed within the mine,
+  Shall lie untouched, and innocently shine.
+  To the last bounds that nature sets,
+_100
+  The piercing colds and sultry heats,
+  The godlike race shall spread their arms;
+  Now fill the polar circle with alarms,
+  Till storms and tempests their pursuits confine;
+  Now sweat for conquest underneath the line.
+     This only law the victor shall restrain,
+  On these conditions shall he reign;
+  If none his guilty hand employ
+  To build again a second Troy,
+  If none the rash design pursue,
+_110
+  Nor tempt the vengeance of the gods anew.
+     A curse there cleaves to the devoted place,
+  That shall the new foundations raze:
+  Greece shall in mutual leagues conspire
+  To storm the rising town with fire,
+  And at their armies' head myself will show
+  What Juno, urged to all her rage, can do.
+  Thrice should Apollo's self the city raise,
+  And line it round with walls of brass,
+  Thrice should my favourite Greeks his works confound,
+_120
+  And hew the shining fabric to the ground;
+  Thrice should her captive dames to Greece return,
+  And their dead sons and slaughtered husbands mourn.'
+     But hold, my Muse, forbear thy towering flight,
+  Nor bring the secrets of the gods to light:
+  In vain would thy presumptuous verse
+  The immortal rhetoric rehearse;
+  The mighty strains, in lyric numbers bound,
+  Forget their majesty, and lose their sound.
+
+
+
+  THE VESTAL.
+
+  FROM OVID DE FASTIS, LIB. III. EL. 1.
+
+  Blanda quies victis furtim subrepit ocellis, &c.
+
+  As the fair vestal to the fountain came,
+  (Let none be startled at a vestal's name)
+  Tired with the walk, she laid her down to rest,
+  And to the winds exposed her glowing breast,
+  To take the freshness of the morning-air,
+  And gather'd in a knot her flowing hair;
+  While thus she rested, on her arm reclined,
+  The hoary willows waving with the wind,
+  And feather'd choirs that warbled in the shade,
+  And purling streams that through the meadow stray'd,
+_10
+  In drowsy murmurs lull'd the gentle maid.
+  The god of war beheld the virgin lie,
+  The god beheld her with a lover's eye;
+  And by so tempting an occasion press'd,
+  The beauteous maid, whom he beheld, possess'd:
+  Conceiving as she slept, her fruitful womb
+  Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome.
+
+
+
+  OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.
+
+  BOOK II.
+
+  THE STORY OF PHAETON.
+
+  The sun's bright palace, on high columns raised,
+  With burnished gold and flaming jewels blazed;
+  The folding gates diffused a silver light,
+  And with a milder gleam refreshed the sight;
+  Of polished ivory was the covering wrought:
+  The matter vied not with the sculptor's thought,
+  For in the portal was displayed on high
+  (The work of Vulcan) a fictitious sky;
+  A waving sea the inferior earth embraced,
+  And gods and goddesses the waters graced.
+_10
+  AEgeon here a mighty whale bestrode;
+  Triton, and Proteus, (the deceiving god,)
+  With Doris here were carved, and all her train,
+  Some loosely swimming in the figured main,
+  While some on rocks their dropping hair divide,
+  And some on fishes through the waters glide:
+  Though various features did the sisters grace,
+  A sister's likeness was in every face.
+  On earth a different landscape courts the eyes,
+  Men, towns, and beasts, in distant prospects rise,
+_20
+  And nymphs, and streams, and woods, and rural deities.
+  O'er all, the heaven's refulgent image shines;
+  On either gate were six engraven signs.
+     Here Phaeton, still gaining on the ascent,
+  To his suspected father's palace went,
+  Till, pressing forward through the bright ahode,
+  He saw at distance the illustrious god:
+  He saw at distance, or the dazzling light
+  Had flashed too strongly on his aching sight.
+     The god sits high, exalted on a throne
+_30
+  Of blazing gems, with purple garments on:
+  The Hours, in order ranged on either hand,
+  And days, and months, and years, and ages, stand.
+  Here Spring appears with flowery chaplets bound;
+  Here Summer in her wheaten garland crowned;
+  Here Autumn the rich trodden grapes besmear;
+  And hoary Winter shivers in the rear.
+     Phoebus beheld the youth from off his throne;
+  That eye, which looks on all, was fixed on one.
+  He saw the boy's confusion in his face,
+_40
+  Surprised at all the wonders of the place;
+  And cries aloud, 'What wants my son? for know
+  My son thou art, and I must call thee so.'
+    'Light of the world,' the trembling youth replies,
+  'Illustrious parent! since you don't despise
+  The parent's name, some certain token give,
+  That I may Clymene's proud boast believe,
+  Nor longer under false reproaches grieve.'
+     The tender sire was touched with what he said.
+  And flung the blaze of glories from his head,
+_50
+  And bid the youth advance: 'My son,' said he,
+  'Come to thy father's arms! for Clymene
+  Has told thee true; a parent's name I own,
+  And deem thee worthy to be called my son.
+  As a sure proof, make some request, and I,
+  Whate'er it be, with that request comply;
+  By Styx I swear, whose waves are hid in night,
+  And roll impervious to my piercing sight.'
+     The youth transported, asks, without delay,
+  To guide the Sun's bright chariot for a day.
+_60
+     The god repented of the oath he took,
+  For anguish thrice his radiant head he shook;
+  'My son,' says he, 'some other proof require,
+  Rash was my promise, rash is thy desire.
+  I'd fain deny this wish which thou hast made,
+  Or, what I can't deny, would fain dissuade.
+  Too vast and hazardous the task appears,
+  Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years.
+  Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly
+  Beyond the province of mortality:
+_70
+  There is not one of all the gods that dares
+  (However skilled in other great affairs)
+  To mount the burning axle-tree, but I;
+  Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky,
+  That hurls the three-forked thunder from above,
+  Dares try his strength; yet who so strong as Jove?
+  The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain:
+  And when the middle firmament they gain,
+  If downward from the heavens my head I bow,
+  And see the earth and ocean hang below;
+_80
+  Even I am seized with horror and affright,
+  And my own heart misgives me at the sight.
+  A mighty downfal steeps the evening stage,
+  And steady reins must curb the horses' rage.
+  Tethys herself has feared to see me driven
+  Down headlong from the precipice of heaven.
+  Besides, consider what impetuous force
+  Turns stars and planets in a different course:
+  I steer against their motions; nor am I 89
+  Born back by all the current of the sky.
+_90
+  But how could you resist the orbs that roll
+  In adverse whirls, and stem the rapid pole?
+  But you perhaps may hope for pleasing woods,
+  And stately domes, and cities filled with gods;
+  While through a thousand snares your progress lies,
+  Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies:
+  For, should you hit the doubtful way aright,
+  The Bull with stooping horns stands opposite;
+  Next him the bright Haemonian Bow is strung;
+  And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung:
+_100
+  The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent,
+  And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent.
+  Nor would you find it easy to compose
+  The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils flows
+  The scorching fire, that in their entrails glows.
+  Even I their headstrong fury scarce restrain,
+  When they grow warm and restive to the rein.
+  Let not my son a fatal gift require,
+  But, oh! in time recall your rash desire;
+  You ask a gift that may your parent tell,
+_110
+  Let these my fears your parentage reveal;
+  And learn a father from a father's care:
+  Look on my face; or if my heart lay bare,
+  Could you but look, you'd read the father there.
+  Choose out a gift from seas, or earth, or skies,
+  For open to your wish all nature lies,
+  Only decline this one unequal task,
+  For 'tis a mischief, not a gift you ask;
+  You ask a real mischief, Phaeton:
+  Nay, hang not thus about my neck, my son:
+_120
+  I grant your wish, and Styx has heard my voice,
+  Choose what you will, but make a wiser choice.'
+     Thus did the god the unwary youth advise;
+  But he still longs to travel through the skies,
+  When the fond father (for in vain he pleads)
+  At length to the Vulcanian chariot leads.
+  A golden axle did the work uphold,
+  Gold was the beam, the wheels were orbed with gold.
+  The spokes in rows of silver pleased the sight,
+  The seat with party-coloured gems was bright;
+_130
+  Apollo shined amid the glare of light.
+  The youth with secret joy the work surveys;
+  When now the morn disclosed her purple rays;
+  The stars were fled; for Lucifer had chased
+  The stars away, and fled himself at last.
+  Soon as the father saw the rosy morn,
+  And the moon shining with a blunter horn,
+  He bid the nimble Hours without delay
+  Bring forth the steeds; the nimble Hours obey:
+  From their full racks the generous steeds retire,
+_140
+  Dropping ambrosial foams and snorting fire.
+  Still anxious for his son, the god of day,
+  To make him proof against the burning ray,
+  His temples with celestial ointment wet,
+  Of sovereign virtue to repel the heat;
+  Then fixed the beaming circle on his head,
+  And fetched a deep, foreboding sigh, and said,
+     'Take this at least, this last advice, my son:
+  Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on:
+  The coursers of themselves will run too fast,
+_150
+  Your art must be to moderate their haste.
+  Drive them not on directly through the skies,
+  But where the Zodiac's winding circle lies,
+  Along the midmost zone; but sally forth
+  Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north.
+  The horses' hoofs a beaten track will show,
+  But neither mount too high nor sink too low,
+  That no new fires or heaven or earth infest;
+  Keep the mid-way, the middle way is best.
+  Nor, where in radiant folds the Serpent twines,
+_160
+  Direct your course, nor where the Altar shines.
+  Shun both extremes; the rest let Fortune guide,
+  And better for thee than thyself provide!
+  See, while I speak the shades disperse away,
+  Aurora gives the promise of a day;
+  I'm called, nor can I make a longer stay.
+  Snatch up the reins; or still the attempt forsake,
+  And not my chariot, but my counsel take,
+  While yet securely on the earth you stand;
+  Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand.
+_170
+  Let me alone to light the world, while you
+  Enjoy those beams which you may safely view.'
+  He spoke in vain: the youth with active heat
+  And sprightly vigour vaults into the seat;
+  And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives
+  Those thanks his father with remorse receives.
+     Meanwhile the restless horses neighed aloud,
+  Breathing out fire, and pawing where they stood.
+  Tethys, not knowing what had passed, gave way,
+  And all the waste of heaven before them lay.
+_180
+  They spring together out, and swiftly bear
+  The flying youth through clouds and yielding air;
+  With wingy speed outstrip the eastern wind,
+  And leave the breezes of the morn behind.
+  The youth was light, nor could he fill the seat,
+  Or poise the chariot with its wonted weight:
+  But as at sea the unballast vessel rides,
+  Cast to and fro, the sport of winds and tides;
+  So in the bounding chariot tossed on high,
+  The youth is hurried headlong through the sky.
+_190
+  Soon as the steeds perceive it, they forsake
+  Their stated course, and leave the beaten track.
+  The youth was in a maze, nor did he know
+  Which way to turn the reins, or where to go;
+  Nor would the horses, had he known, obey.
+  Then the Seven Stars first felt Apollo's ray
+  And wished to dip in the forbidden sea.
+  The folded Serpent next the frozen pole,
+  Stiff and benumbed before, began to roll,
+  And raged with inward heat, and threatened war,
+_200
+  And shot a redder light from every star;
+  Nay, and 'tis said, Bootes, too, that fain
+  Thou wouldst have fled, though cumbered with thy wain.
+     The unhappy youth then, bending down his head,
+  Saw earth and ocean far beneath him spread:
+  His colour changed, he startled at the sight,
+  And his eyes darkened by too great a light.
+  Now could he wish the fiery steeds untried,
+  His birth obscure, and his request denied:
+  Now would he Merops for his father own,
+_210
+  And quit his boasted kindred to the Sun.
+     So fares the pilot, when his ship is tossed
+  In troubled seas, and all its steerage lost,
+  He gives her to the winds, and in despair
+  Seeks his last refuge in the gods and prayer.
+     What could he do? his eyes, if backward cast,
+  Find a long path he had already passed;
+  If forward, still a longer path they find:
+  Both he compares, and measures in his mind;
+  And sometimes casts an eye upon the east,
+_220
+  And sometimes looks on the forbidden west.
+  The horses' names he knew not in the fright:
+  Nor would he loose the reins, nor could he hold them tight.
+     Now all the horrors of the heavens he spies,
+  And monstrous shadows of prodigious size,
+  That, decked with stars, lie scattered o'er the skies.
+  There is a place above, where Scorpio, bent
+  In tail and arms, surrounds a vast extent;
+  In a wide circuit of the heavens he shines,
+  And fills the space of two celestial signs.
+_230
+  Soon as the youth beheld him, vexed with heat,
+  Brandish his sting, and in his poison sweat,
+  Half dead with sudden fear he dropped the reins;
+  The horses felt them loose upon their manes,
+  And, flying out through all the plains above,
+  Ran uncontrolled where'er their fury drove;
+  Rushed on the stars, and through a pathless way
+  Of unknown regions hurried on the day.
+  And now above, and now below they flew,
+  And near the earth the burning chariot drew.
+_240
+     The clouds disperse in fumes, the wondering Moon
+  Beholds her brother's steeds beneath her own;
+  The highlands smoke, cleft by the piercing rays,
+  Or, clad with woods, in their own fuel blaze.
+  Next o'er the plains, where ripened harvests grow,
+  The running conflagration spreads below.
+  But these are trivial ills; whole cities burn,
+  And peopled kingdoms into ashes turn.
+     The mountains kindle as the car draws near,
+  Athos and Tmolus red with fires appear;
+_250
+  Oeagrian Haemus (then a single name)
+  And virgin Helicon increase the flame;
+  Taurus and Oete glare amid the sky,
+  And Ida, spite of all her fountains, dry.
+  Eryx, and Othrys, and Cithgeron, glow;
+  And Rhodope, no longer clothed in snow;
+  High Pindus, Mimas, and Parnassus sweat,
+  And AEtna rages with redoubled heat.
+  Even Scythia, through her hoary regions warmed,
+  In vain with all her native frost was armed.
+_260
+  Covered with flames, the towering Apennine,
+  And Caucasus, and proud Olympus, shine;
+  And, where the long extended Alps aspire,
+  Now stands a huge, continued range of fire.
+     The astonished youth, where'er his eyes could turn,
+  Beheld the universe around him burn:
+  The world was in a blaze; nor could he bear
+  The sultry vapours and the scorching air,
+  Which from below as from a furnace flowed,
+  And now the axle-tree beneath him glowed:
+_270
+  Lost in the whirling clouds, that round him broke,
+  And white with ashes, hovering in the smoke,
+  He flew where'er the horses drove, nor knew
+  Whither the horses drove, or where he flew.
+     'Twas then, they say, the swarthy Moor begun
+  To change his hue, and blacken in the sun.
+  Then Libya first, of all her moisture drained,
+  Became a barren waste, a wild of sand.
+  The water-nymphs lament their empty urns,
+  Boeotia, robbed of silver Dirce, mourns;
+_280
+  Corinth, Pyrene's wasted spring bewails,
+  And Argos grieves whilst Aniymone fails.
+     The floods are drained from every distant coast,
+  Even Tanais, though fixed in ice, was lost.
+  Enraged Caicus and Lycormas roar,
+  And Xanthus, fated to be burned once more.
+  The famed Meeander, that unwearied strays
+  Through mazy windings, smokes in every maze.
+  From his loved Babylon Euphrates flies;
+  The big-swoln Ganges and the Danube rise
+_290
+  In thickening fumes, and darken half the skies.
+  In flames Ismenos and the Phasis rolled,
+  And Tagus floating in his melted gold.
+  The swans, that on Cayster often tried
+  Their tuneful songs, now sung their last, and died.
+  The frighted Nile ran off, and under-ground
+  Concealed his head, nor can it yet be found:
+  His seven divided currents all are dry,
+  And where they rolled seven gaping trenches lie.
+  No more the Rhine or Rhone their course maintain,
+_300
+  Nor Tiber, of his promised empire vain.
+     The ground, deep cleft, admits the dazzling ray,
+  And startles Pluto with the flash of day.
+  The seas shrink in, and to the sight disclose
+  Wide, naked plains, where once their billows rose;
+  Their rocks are all discovered, and increase
+  The number of the scattered Cyclades.
+  The fish in shoals about the bottom creep,
+  Nor longer dares the crooked dolphin leap;
+  Gasping for breath, the unshapen phocae die,
+_310
+  And on the boiling wave extended lie.
+  Nereus, and Doris with her virgin train,
+  Seek out the last recesses of the main;
+  Beneath unfathomable depths they faint,
+  And secret in their gloomy regions pant,
+  Stern Neptune thrice above the waves upheld
+  His face, and thrice was by the flames repelled.
+     The Earth at length, on every side embraced
+  With scalding seas, that floated round her waist,
+  When now she felt the springs and rivers come,
+_320
+  And crowd within the hollow of her womb.
+  Uplifted to the heavens her blasted head,
+  And clapped her hands upon her brows, and said;
+  (But first, impatient of the sultry heat,
+  Sunk deeper down, and sought a cooler seat:)
+  'If you, great king of gods, my death approve,
+  And I deserve it, let me die by Jove;
+  If I must perish by the force of fire,
+  Let me transfixed with thunderbolts expire.
+  See, whilst I speak, my breath the vapours choke,
+_330
+  (For now her face lay wrapt in clouds of smoke,)
+  See my singed hair, behold my faded eye
+  And withered face, where heaps of cinders lie!
+  And does the plough for this my body tear?
+  This the reward for all the fruits I bear,
+  Tortured with rakes, and harassed all the year?
+  That herbs for cattle daily I renew,
+  And food for man, and frankincense for you?
+  But grant me guilty; what has Neptune done?
+  Why are his waters boiling in the sun?
+_340
+  The wavy empire, which by lot was given,
+  Why does it waste, and further shrink from heaven?
+  If I nor lie your pity can provoke,
+  See your own heavens, the heavens begin to smoke!
+  Should once the sparkles catch those bright abodes,
+  Destruction seizes on the heavens and gods;
+  Atlas becomes unequal to his freight,
+  And almost faints beneath the glowing weight.
+  If heaven, and earth, and sea together burn,
+  All must again into their chaos turn.
+_350
+  Apply some speedy cure, prevent our fate,
+  And succour nature, e'er it be too late.'
+  She ceased; for, choked with vapours round her spread,
+  Down to the deepest shades she sunk her head.
+     Jove called to witness every power above,
+  And even the god whose son the chariot drove,
+  That what he acts he is compelled to do,
+  Or universal ruin must ensue.
+  Straight he ascends the high ethereal throne,
+  From whence he used to dart his thunder down,
+_360
+  From whence his showers and storms he used to pour,
+  But now could meet with neither storm nor shower.
+  Then aiming at the youth, with lifted hand,
+  Full at his head he hurled the forky brand,
+  In dreadful thunderings. Thus the almighty sire
+  Suppressed the raging of the fires with fire.
+     At once from life and from the chariot driven,
+  The ambitious boy fell thunder-struck from heaven.
+  The horses started with a sudden bound,
+  And flung the reins and chariot to the ground:
+_370
+  The studded harness from their necks they broke,
+  Here fell a wheel, and here a silver spoke,
+  Here were the beam and axle torn away;
+  And, scattered o'er the earth, the shining fragments lay.
+  The breathless Phaeton, with flaming hair,
+  Shot from the chariot, like a falling star,
+  That in a summer's evening from the top
+  Of heaven drops down, or seems at least to drop;
+  Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurled,
+  Far from his country, in the western world.
+_380
+
+
+  PHAETON'S SISTERS TRANSFORMED INTO TREES.
+
+     The Latian nymphs came round him, and amazed
+  On the dead youth, transfixed with thunder, gazed;
+  And, whilst yet smoking from the bolt he lay,
+  His shattered body to a tomb convey;
+  And o'er the tomb an epitaph devise:
+  'Here he who drove the Sun's bright chariot lies;
+  His father's fiery steeds he could not guide,
+  But in the glorious enterprise he died.'
+     Apollo hid his face, and pined for grief,
+  And, if the story may deserve belief,
+_10
+  The space of one whole day is said to run,
+  From morn to wonted even, without a sun:
+  The burning ruins, with a fainter ray,
+  Supply the sun, and counterfeit a day,
+  A day that still did nature's face disclose:
+  This comfort from the mighty mischief rose.
+     But Clymene, enraged with grief, laments,
+  And, as her grief inspires, her passion vents:
+  Wild for her son, and frantic in her woes,
+  With hair dishevelled, round the world she goes,
+_20
+  To seek where'er his body might be cast;
+  Till, on the borders of the Po, at last
+  The name inscribed on the new tomb appears:
+  The dear, dear name she bathes in flowing tears,
+  Hangs o'er the tomb, unable to depart,
+  And hugs the marble to her throbbing heart.
+     Her daughters too lament, and sigh, and mourn,
+  (A fruitless tribute to their brother's urn,)
+  And beat their naked bosoms, and complain,
+  And call aloud for Phaeton in vain:
+_30
+  All the long night their mournful watch they keep,
+  And all the day stand round the tomb, and weep.
+     Four times revolving the full moon returned;
+  So long the mother and the daughters mourned:
+  When now the eldest, Phaethusa, strove
+  To rest her weary limbs, but could not move;
+  Lampetia would have helped her, but she found
+  Herself withheld, and rooted to the ground:
+  A third in wild affliction, as she grieves,
+  Would rend her hair, but fills her hands with leaves;
+_40
+  One sees her thighs transformed, another views
+  Her arms shot out, and branching into boughs.
+  And now their legs and breasts and bodies stood
+  Crusted with bark, and hardening into wood;
+  But still above were female heads displayed,
+  And mouths, that called the mother to their aid.
+  What could, alas! the weeping mother do?
+  From this to that with eager haste she flew,
+  And kissed her sprouting daughters as they grew.
+  She tears the bark that to each body cleaves,
+_50
+  And from their verdant fingers strips the leaves:
+  The blood came trickling, where she tore away
+  The leaves and bark: the maids were heard to say,
+  'Forbear, mistaken parent, oh! forbear;
+  A wounded daughter in each tree you tear;
+  Farewell for ever.' Here the bark increased,
+  Closed on their faces, and their words suppressed.
+     The new-made trees in tears of amber run,
+  Which, hardened into value by the sun,
+  Distil for ever on the streams below:
+_60
+  The limpid streams their radiant treasure show,
+  Mixed in the sand; whence the rich drops conveyed,
+  Shine in the dress of the bright Latian maid.
+
+
+  THE TRANSFORMATION OF CYCNUS INTO A SWAN.
+
+     Cycnus beheld the nymphs transformed, allied
+  To their dead brother on the mortal side,
+  In friendship and affection nearer bound;
+  He left the cities and the realms he owned,
+  Through pathless fields and lonely shores to range,
+  And woods, made thicker by the sisters' change.
+  Whilst here, within the dismal gloom, alone,
+  The melancholy monarch made his moan,
+  His voice was lessened, as he tried to speak,
+  And issued through a long extended neck;
+_10
+  His hair transforms to down, his fingers mee
+  In skinny films, and shape his oary feet;
+  From both his sides the wings and feathers break;
+  And from his mouth proceeds a blunted beak:
+  All Cycnus now into a swan was turned,
+  Who, still remembering how his kinsman burned,
+  To solitary pools and lakes retires,
+  And loves the waters as opposed to fires.
+     Meanwhile Apollo, in a gloomy shade
+  (The native lustre of his brows decayed)
+_20
+  Indulging sorrow, sickens at the sight
+  Of his own sunshine, and abhors the light:
+  The hidden griefs, that in his bosom rise,
+  Sadden his looks, and overcast his eyes,
+  As when some dusky orb obstructs his ray,
+  And sullies in a dim eclipse the day.
+     Now secretly with inward griefs he pined,
+  Now warm resentments to his grief he joined,
+  And now renounced his office to mankind.
+  'E'er since the birth of time,' said he, 'I've borne
+_30
+  A long, ungrateful toil without return;
+  Let now some other manage, if he dare,
+  The fiery steeds, and mount the burning car;
+  Or, if none else, let Jove his fortune try,
+  And learn to lay his murdering thunder by;
+  Then will he own, perhaps, but own too late,
+  My son deserved not so severe a fate.'
+     The gods stand round him, as he mourns, and pray
+  He would resume the conduct of the day,
+  Nor let the world be lost in endless night:
+_40
+  Jove too himself descending from his height,
+  Excuses what had happened, and entreats,
+  Majestically mixing prayers and threats.
+  Prevailed upon, at length, again he took
+  The harnessed steeds, that still with horror shook,
+  And plies them with the lash, and whips them on,
+  And, as he whips, upbraids them with his son.
+
+
+  THE STORY OF CALISTO.
+
+     The day was settled in its course; and Jove
+  Walked the wide circuit of the heavens above,
+  To search if any cracks or flaws were made;
+  But all was safe: the earth he then surveyed,
+  And cast an eye on every different coast,
+  And every land; but on Arcadia most.
+  Her fields he clothed, and cheered her blasted face
+  With running fountains, and with springing grass.
+  No tracks of heaven's destructive fire remain,
+  The fields and woods revive, and nature smiles again.
+_10
+     But as the god walked to and fro the earth,
+  And raised the plants, and gave the spring its birth,
+  By chance a fair Arcadian nymph he viewed,
+  And felt the lovely charmer in his blood.
+  The nymph nor spun, nor dressed with artful pride;
+  Her vest was gathered up, her hair was tied;
+  Now in her hand a slender spear she bore,
+  Now a light quiver on her shoulders wore;
+  To chaste Diana from her youth inclined,
+  The sprightly warriors of the wood she joined.
+_20
+  Diana too the gentle huntress loved,
+  Nor was there one of all the nymphs that roved
+  O'er Maenalus, amid the maiden throng,
+  More favoured once; but favour lasts not long.
+     The sun now shone in all its strength, and drove
+  The heated virgin panting to a grove;
+  The grove around a grateful shadow cast:
+  She dropped her arrows, and her bow unbraced;
+  She flung herself on the cool, grassy bed;
+  And on the painted quiver raised her head.
+_30
+  Jove saw the charming huntress unprepared,
+  Stretched on the verdant turf, without a guard.
+  'Here I am safe,' he cries, 'from Juno's eye;
+  Or should my jealous queen the theft descry,
+  Yet would I venture on a theft like this,
+  And stand her rage for such, for such a bliss!'
+  Diana's shape and habit straight he took,
+  Softened his brows, and smoothed his awful look,
+  And mildly in a female accent spoke.
+  'How fares my girl? How went the morning chase?'
+_40
+  To whom the virgin, starting from the grass,
+  'All hail, bright deity, whom I prefer
+  To Jove himself, though Jove himself were here.'
+  The god was nearer than she thought, and heard,
+  Well-pleased, himself before himself preferr'd.
+     He then salutes her with a warm embrace,
+  And, ere she half had told the morning chase,
+  With love inflamed, and eager on his bliss,
+  Smothered her words, and stopped her with a kiss;
+  His kisses with unwonted ardour glow'd,
+_50
+  Nor could Diana's shape conceal the god.
+  The virgin did whate'er a virgin could;
+  (Sure Juno must have pardoned, had she view'd;)
+  With all her might against his force she strove;
+  But how can mortal maids contend with Jove!
+     Possessed at length of what his heart desired,
+  Back to his heavens the exulting god retired.
+  The lovely huntress, rising from the grass,
+  With downcast eyes, and with a blushing face
+  By shame confounded, and by fear dismay'd,
+_60
+  Flew from the covert of the guilty shade,
+  And almost, in the tumult of her mind,
+  Left her forgotten bow and shafts behind.
+     But now Diana, with a sprightly train
+  Of quivered virgins, bounding over the plain,
+  Called to the nymph; the nymph began to fear
+  A second fraud, a Jove disguised in her;
+  But, when she saw the sister nymphs, suppress'd
+  Her rising fears, and mingled with the rest.
+     How in the look does conscious guilt appear!
+_70
+  Slowly she moved, and loitered in the rear;
+  Nor slightly tripped, nor by the goddess ran,
+  As once she used, the foremost of the train.
+  Her looks were flushed, and sullen was her mien,
+  That sure the virgin goddess (had she been
+  Aught but a virgin) must the guilt have seen.
+  'Tis said the nymphs saw all, and guessed aright:
+  And now the moon had nine times lost her light,
+  When Dian, fainting in the mid-day beams,
+  Found a cool covert, and refreshing streams
+_80
+  That in soft murmurs through the forest flow'd,
+  And a smooth bed of shining gravel show'd.
+     A covert so obscure, and streams so clear,
+  The goddess praised: 'And now no spies are near,
+  Let's strip, my gentle maids, and wash,' she cries.
+  Pleased with the motion, every maid complies;
+  Only the blushing huntress stood confused,
+  And formed delays, and her delays excused;
+  In vain excused; her fellows round her press'd,
+  And the reluctant nymph by force undress'd.
+_90
+  The naked huntress all her shame reveal'd,
+  In vain her hands the pregnant womb conceal'd;
+  'Begone!' the goddess cries with stern disdain,
+  'Begone! nor dare the hallowed stream to stain:'
+  She fled, for ever banished from the train.
+     This Juno heard, who long had watched her time
+  To punish the detested rival's crime:
+  The time was come; for, to enrage her more,
+  A lovely boy the teeming rival bore.
+  The goddess cast a furious look, and cried,
+_100
+  'It is enough! I'm fully satisfied!
+  This boy shall stand a living mark, to prove
+  My husband's baseness, and the strumpet's love:
+  But vengeance shall awake: those guilty charms,
+  That drew the Thunderer from Juno's arms,
+  No longer shall their wonted force retain,
+  Nor please the god, nor make the mortal vain.'
+     This said, her hand within her hair she wound,
+  Swung her to earth, and dragged her on the ground.
+  The prostrate wretch lifts up her arms in prayer;
+_110
+  Her arms grow shaggy, and deformed with hair,
+  Her nails are sharpened into pointed claws,
+  Her hands bear half her weight, and turn to paws;
+  Her lips, that once could tempt a god, begin
+  To grow distorted in an ugly grin.
+  And, lest the supplicating brute might reach
+  The ears of Jove, she was deprived of speech:
+  Her surly voice through a hoarse passage came
+  In savage sounds: her mind was still the same.
+  The furry monster fixed her eyes above,
+_120
+  And heaved her new unwieldy paws to Jove,
+  And begged his aid with inward groans; and though
+  She could not call him false, she thought him so.
+     How did she fear to lodge in woods alone,
+  And haunt the fields and meadows once her own!
+  How often would the deep-mouthed dogs pursue,
+  Whilst from her hounds the frighted huntress flew!
+  How did she fear her fellow-brutes, and shun
+  The shaggy bear, though now herself was one!
+  How from the sight of rugged wolves retire,
+_130
+  Although the grim Lycaon was her sire!
+     But now her son had fifteen summers told,
+  Fierce at the chase, and in the forest bold;
+  When, as he beat the woods in quest of prey,
+  He chanced to rouse his mother where she lay.
+  She knew her son, and kept him in her sight,
+  And fondly gazed: the boy was in a fright,
+  And aimed a pointed arrow at her breast,
+  And would have slain his mother in the beast;
+  But Jove forbade, and snatched them through the air
+_140
+  In whirlwinds up to heaven, and fixed them there:
+  Where the new constellations nightly rise,
+  And add a lustre to the northern skies.
+     When Juno saw the rival in her height,
+  Spangled with stars, and circled round with light,
+  She sought old Ocean in his deep abodes,
+  And Tethys; both revered among the gods.
+  They ask what brings her there: 'Ne'er ask,' says she,
+  'What brings me here, heaven is no place for me.
+  You'll see, when night has covered all things o'er,
+_150
+  Jove's starry bastard and triumphant whore
+  Usurp the heavens; you 'll see them proudly roll
+  In their new orbs, and brighten all the pole.
+  And who shall now on Juno's altars wait,
+  When those she hates grow greater by her hate?
+  I on the nymph a brutal form impress'd,
+  Jove to a goddess has transformed the beast;
+  This, this was all my weak revenge could do:
+  But let the god his chaste amours pursue,
+  And, as he acted after Io's rape,
+_160
+  Restore the adulteress to her former shape.
+  Then may he cast his Juno off, and lead
+  The great Lycaon's offspring to his bed.
+  But you, ye venerable powers, be kind,
+  And, if my wrongs a due resentment find,
+  Receive not in your waves their setting beams,
+  Nor let the glaring strumpet taint your streams.'
+     The goddess ended, and her wish was given.
+  Back she returned in triumph up to heaven;
+  Her gaudy peacocks drew her through the skies,
+_170
+  Their tails were spotted with a thousand eyes;
+  The eyes of Argus on their tails were ranged,
+  At the same time the raven's colour changed.
+
+
+  THE STORY OF CORONIS, AND BIRTH OF AESCULAPIUS.
+
+  The raven once in snowy plumes was dress'd,
+  White as the whitest dove's unsullied breast,
+  Fair as the guardian of the Capitol,
+  Soft as the swan; a large and lovely fowl;
+  His tongue, his prating tongue, had changed him quite
+  To sooty blackness from the purest white.
+     The story of his change shall here be told:
+  In Thessaly there lived a nymph of old,
+  Coronis named; a peerless maid she shined,
+  Confessed the fairest of the fairer kind.
+_10
+  Apollo loved her, till her guilt he knew,
+  While true she was, or whilst he thought her true.
+  But his own bird, the raven, chanced to find
+  The false one with a secret rival joined.
+  Coronis begged him to suppress the tale,
+  But could not with repeated prayers prevail.
+  His milk-white pinions to the god he plied;
+  The busy daw flew with him, side by side,
+  And by a thousand teasing questions drew
+  The important secret from him as they flew.
+_20
+  The daw gave honest counsel, though despised,
+  And, tedious in her tattle, thus advised:
+     'Stay, silly bird, the ill-natured task refuse,
+  Nor be the bearer of unwelcome news.
+  Be warned by my example: you discern
+  What now I am, and what I was shall learn.
+  My foolish honesty was all my crime;
+  Then hear my story. Once upon a time,
+  The two-shaped Ericthonius had his birth
+  (Without a mother) from the teeming earth;
+_30
+  Minerva nursed him, and the infant laid
+  Within a chest, of twining osiers made.
+  The daughters of King Cecrops undertook
+  To guard the chest, commanded not to look
+  On what was hid within. I stood to see
+  The charge obeyed, perched on a neighbouring tree.
+  The sisters Pandrosos and Herse keep
+  The strict command; Aglauros needs would peep,
+  And saw the monstrous infant in a fright,
+  And called her sisters to the hideous sight:
+_40
+  A boy's soft shape did to the waist prevail,
+  But the boy ended in a dragon's tail.
+  I told the stern Minerva all that passed,
+  But for my pains, discarded and disgraced,
+  The frowning goddess drove me from her sight,
+  And for her favourite chose the bird of night.
+  Be then no tell-tale; for I think my wrong
+  Enough to teach a bird to hold her tongue.
+     'But you, perhaps, may think I was removed,
+  As never by the heavenly maid beloved:
+_50
+  But I was loved; ask Pallas if I lie;
+  Though Pallas hate me now, she won't deny:
+  For I, whom in a feathered shape you view,
+  Was once a maid, (by heaven, the story's true,)
+  A blooming maid, and a king's daughter too.
+  A crowd of lovers owned my beauty's charms;
+  My beauty was the cause of all my harms;
+  Neptune, as on his shores I went to rove,
+  Observed me in my walks, and fell in love.
+  He made his courtship, he confessed his pain,
+_60
+  And offered force when all his arts were vain;
+  Swift he pursued: I ran along the strand,
+  Till, spent and wearied on the sinking sand,
+  I shrieked aloud, with cries I filled the air
+  To gods and men; nor god nor man was there:
+  A virgin goddess heard a virgin's prayer.
+  For, as my arms I lifted to the skies,
+  I saw black feathers from my fingers rise;
+  I strove to fling my garment to the ground;
+  My garment turned to plumes, and girt me round:
+_70
+  My hands to beat my naked bosom try;
+  Nor naked bosom now nor hands had I.
+  Lightly I tripped, nor weary as before
+  Sunk in the sand, but skimmed along the shore;
+  Till, rising on my wings, I was preferred
+  To be the chaste Minerva's virgin bird:
+  Preferred in vain! I now am in disgrace:
+  Nyctimene, the owl, enjoys my place.
+     'On her incestuous life I need not dwell,
+  (In Lesbos still the horrid tale they tell,)
+_80
+  And of her dire amours you must have heard,
+  For which she now does penance in a bird,
+  That, conscious of her shame, avoids the light,
+  And loves the gloomy covering of the night;
+  The birds, where'er she flutters, scare away
+  The hooting wretch, and drive her from the day.'
+     The raven, urged by such impertinence,
+  Grew passionate, it seems, and took offence,
+  And cursed the harmless daw; the daw withdrew:
+  The raven to her injured patron flew,
+_90
+  And found him out, and told the fatal truth
+  Of false Coronis and the favoured youth.
+     The god was wroth; the colour left his look,
+  The wreath his head, the harp his hand forsook:
+  His silver bow and feathered shafts he took,
+  And lodged an arrow in the tender breast,
+  That had so often to his own been pressed.
+  Down fell the wounded nymph, and sadly groaned,
+  And pulled his arrow reeking from the wound;
+  And weltering in her blood, thus faintly cried,
+_100
+  'Ah, cruel god! though I have justly died,
+  What has, alas! my unborn infant done,
+  That he should fall, and two expire in one?
+  This said, in agonies she fetched her breath.
+     The god dissolves in pity at her death;
+  He hates the bird that made her falsehood known,
+  And hates himself for what himself had done;
+  The feathered shaft, that sent her to the fates,
+  And his own hand that sent the shaft he hates.
+  Fain would he heal the wound, and ease her pain,
+_110
+  And tries the compass of his art in vain.
+  Soon as he saw the lovely nymph expire,
+  The pile made ready, and the kindling fire,
+  With sighs and groans her obsequies he kept,
+  And, if a god could weep, the god had wept.
+  Her corpse he kissed, and heavenly incense brought,
+  And solemnised the death himself had wrought.
+     But, lest his offspring should her fate partake,
+  Spite of the immortal mixture in his make,
+  He ripped her womb, and set the child at large,
+_120
+  And gave him to the centaur Chiron's charge:
+  Then in his fury blacked the raven o'er,
+  And bid him prate in his white plumes no more.
+
+  OCYRRHOE TRANSFORMED TO A MARE.
+
+     Old Chiron took the babe with secret joy,
+  Proud of the charge of the celestial boy.
+  His daughter too, whom on the sandy shore
+  The nymph Chariclo to the centaur bore,
+  With hair dishevelled on her shoulders came
+  To see the child, Ocyrrhoee was her name;
+  She knew her father's arts, and could rehearse
+  The depths of prophecy in sounding verse.
+  Once, as the sacred infant she surveyed,
+  The god was kindled in the raving maid,
+_10
+  And thus she uttered her prophetic tale;
+  'Hail, great physician of the world, all hail;
+  Hail, mighty infant, who in years to come
+  Shalt heal the nations and defraud the tomb;
+  Swift be thy growth! thy triumphs unconfined!
+  Make kingdoms thicker, and increase mankind.
+  Thy daring art shall animate the dead,
+  And draw the thunder on thy guilty head:
+  Then shalt thou die; but from the dark abode
+  Rise up victorious, and be twice a god.
+_20
+  And thou, my sire, not destined by thy birth
+  To turn to dust, and mix with common earth,
+  How wilt thou toss, and rave, and long to die,
+  And quit thy claim to immortality;
+  When thou shalt feel, enraged with inward pains,
+  The Hydra's venom rankling in thy veins'?
+  The gods, in pity, shall contract thy date,
+  And give thee over to the power of Fate.'
+     Thus, entering into destiny, the maid
+  The secrets of offended Jove betrayed;
+_30
+  More had she still to say; but now appears
+  Oppressed with sobs and sighs, and drowned in tears.
+     'My voice,' says she, 'is gone, my language fails;
+  Through every limb my kindred shape prevails:
+  Why did the god this fatal gift impart,
+  And with prophetic raptures swell my heart!
+  What new desires are these? I long to pace
+  O'er flowery meadows, and to feed on grass:
+  I hasten to a brute, a maid no more;
+  But why, alas! am I transformed all o'er?
+_40
+  My sire does half a human shape retain,
+  And in his upper parts preserves the man.'
+     Her tongue no more distinct complaints affords,
+  But in shrill accents and mishapen words
+  Pours forth such hideous wailings, as declare
+  The human form confounded in the mare:
+  Till by degrees accomplished in the beast,
+  She neighed outright, and all the steed expressed.
+  Her stooping body on her hands is borne,
+  Her hands are turned to hoofs, and shod in horn;
+_50
+  Her yellow tresses ruffle in a mane,
+  And in a flowing tail she frisks her train.
+  The mare was finished in her voice and look,
+  And a new name from the new figure took.
+
+  THE TRANSFORMATION OF BATTUS TO A TOUCHSTONE.
+
+     Sore wept the centaur, and to Phoebus prayed;
+  But how could Phoebus give the centaur aid?
+  Degraded of his power by angry Jove,
+  In Elis then a herd of beeves he drove;
+  And wielded in his hand a staff of oak,
+  And o'er his shoulders threw the shepherd's cloak;
+  On seven compacted reeds he used to play,
+  And on his rural pipe to waste the day.
+     As once, attentive to his pipe, he played,
+  The crafty Hermes from the god conveyed
+_10
+  A drove, that separate from their fellows strayed.
+  The theft an old insidious peasant viewed,
+  (They called him Battus in the neighbourhood,)
+  Hired by a wealthy Pylian prince to feed
+  His favourite mares, and watch the generous breed.
+  The thievish god suspected him, and took
+  The hind aside, and thus in whispers spoke:
+  'Discover not the theft, whoe'er thou be,
+  And take that milk-white heifer for thy fee.'
+  'Go, stranger,' cries the clown, 'securely on,
+_20
+  That stone shall sooner tell;' and showed a stone.
+     The god withdrew, but straight returned again,
+  In speech and habit like a country swain;
+  And cries out, 'Neighbour, hast thou seen a stray
+  Of bullocks and of heifers pass this way?
+  In the recovery of my cattle join,
+  A bullock and a heifer shall be thine.'
+  The peasant quick replies, 'You'll find 'em there,
+  In yon dark vale:' and in the vale they were.
+  The double bribe had his false heart beguiled:
+_30
+  The god, successful in the trial, smiled;
+  'And dost thou thus betray myself to me?
+  Me to myself dost thou betray?' says he:
+  Then to a touchstone turns the faithless spy,
+  And in his name records his infamy.
+
+THE STORY OF AGLAUROS, TRANSFORMED INTO A STATUE.
+
+     This done, the god flew up on high, and passed
+  O'er lofty Athens, by Minerva graced,
+  And wide Munichia, whilst his eyes survey
+  All the vast region that beneath him lay.
+     'Twas now the feast, when each Athenian maid
+  Her yearly homage to Minerva paid;
+  In canisters, with garlands covered o'er,
+  High on their heads their mystic gifts they bore;
+  And now, returning in a solemn train,
+  The troop of shining virgins filled the plain.
+_10
+     The god well-pleased beheld the pompous show,
+  And saw the bright procession pass below;
+  Then veered about, and took a wheeling flight,
+  And hovered o'er them: as the spreading kite,
+  That smells the slaughtered victim from on high,
+  Flies at a distance, if the priests are nigh,
+  And sails around, and keeps it in her eye;
+  So kept the god the virgin choir in view,
+  And in slow winding circles round them flew.
+     As Lucifer excels the meanest star,
+_20
+  Or as the full-orbed Phoebe, Lucifer,
+  So much did Herse all the rest outvie,
+  And gave a grace to the solemnity.
+  Hermes was fired, as in the clouds he hung:
+  So the cold bullet, that with fury slung
+  From Balearic engines mounts on high,
+  Glows in the whirl, and burns along the sky.
+  At length he pitched upon the ground, and showed
+  The form divine, the features of a god.
+  He knew their virtue o'er a female heart,
+_30
+  And yet he strives to better them by art.
+  He hangs his mantle loose, and sets to show
+  The golden edging on the seam below;
+  Adjusts his flowing curls, and in his hand
+  Waves with an air the sleep-procuring wand;
+  The glittering sandals to his feet applies,
+  And to each heel the well-trimmed pinion ties.
+     His ornaments with nicest art displayed,
+  He seeks the apartment of the royal maid.
+  The roof was all with polished ivory lined,
+_40
+  That, richly mixed, in clouds of tortoise shined.
+  Three rooms, contiguous, in a range were placed,
+  The midmost by the beauteous Herse graced;
+  Her virgin sisters lodged on either side.
+  Aglauros first the approaching god descried,
+  And as he crossed her chamber, asked his name,
+  And what his business was, and whence he came.
+  'I come,' replied the god, 'from heaven, to woo
+  Your sister, and to make an aunt of you;
+  I am the son and messenger of Jove,
+_50
+  My name is Mercury, my business, love;
+  Do you, kind damsel, take a lover's part,
+  And gain admittance to your sister's heart.'
+     She stared him in the face with looks amazed,
+  As when she on Minerva's secret gazed,
+  And asks a mighty treasure for her hire,
+  And, till he brings it, makes the god retire.
+  Minerva grieved to see the nymph succeed;
+  And now remembering the late impious deed,
+  When, disobedient to her strict command,
+_60
+  She touched the chest with an unhallowed hand;
+  In big-swoln sighs her inward rage expressed,
+  That heaved the rising AEgis on her breast;
+  Then sought out Envy in her dark abode,
+  Defiled with ropy gore and clots of blood:
+  Shut from the winds, and from the wholesome skies,
+  In a deep vale the gloomy dungeon lies,
+  Dismal and cold, where not a beam of light
+  Invades the winter, or disturbs the night.
+     Directly to the cave her course she steered;
+_70
+  Against the gates her martial lance she reared;
+  The gates flew open, and the fiend appeared.
+  A poisonous morsel in her teeth she chewed,
+  And gorged the flesh of vipers for her food.
+  Minerva loathing turned away her eye;
+  The hideous monster, rising heavily,
+  Came stalking forward with a sullen pace,
+  And left her mangled offals on the place.
+  Soon as she saw the goddess gay and bright,
+  She fetched a groan at such a cheerful sight.
+_80
+  Livid and meagre were her looks, her eye
+  In foul, distorted glances turned awry;
+  A hoard of gall her inward parts possessed,
+  And spread a greenness o'er her cankered breast;
+  Her teeth were brown with rust; and from her tongue,
+  In dangling drops, the stringy poison hung.
+  She never smiles but when the wretched weep,
+  Nor lulls her malice with a moment's sleep,
+  Restless in spite: while watchful to destroy,
+  She pines and sickens at another's joy;
+_90
+  Foe to herself, distressing and distressed,
+  She bears her own tormentor in her breast.
+  The goddess gave (for she abhorred her sight)
+  A short command: 'To Athens speed thy flight;
+  On cursed Aglauros try thy utmost art.
+  And fix thy rankest venoms in her heart.'
+  This said, her spear she pushed against the ground,
+  And mounting from it with an active bound,
+  Flew off to heaven: the hag with eyes askew
+  Looked up, and muttered curses as she flew;
+_100
+  For sore she fretted, and began to grieve
+  At the success which she herself must give.
+  Then takes her staff, hung round with wreaths of thorn,
+  And sails along, in a black whirlwind borne,
+  O'er fields and flowery meadows: where she steers
+  Her baneful course, a mighty blast appears,
+  Mildews and blights; the meadows are defaced,
+  The fields, the flowers, and the whole year laid waste;
+  On mortals next and peopled towns she falls,
+  And breathes a burning plague among their walls,
+_110
+     When Athens she beheld, for arts renowned,
+  With peace made happy, and with plenty crowned,
+  Scarce could the hideous fiend from tears forbear,
+  To find out nothing that deserved a tear.
+  The apartment now she entered, where at rest
+  Aglauros lay, with gentle sleep oppressed.
+  To execute Minerva's dire command,
+  She stroked the virgin with her cankered hand,
+  Then prickly thorns into her breast conveyed,
+  That stung to madness the devoted maid;
+_120
+  Her subtle venom still improves the smart,
+  Frets in the blood, and festers in the heart.
+     To make the work more sure, a scene she drew,
+  And placed before the dreaming virgin's view
+  Her sister's marriage, and her glorious fate:
+  The imaginary bride appears in state;
+  The bridegroom with unwonted beauty glows,
+  For Envy magnifies whate'er she shows.
+     Full of the dream, Aglauros pined away
+  In tears all night, in darkness all the day;
+_130
+  Consumed like ice, that just begins to run,
+  When feebly smitten by the distant sun;
+  Or like unwholesome weeds, that, set on fire,
+  Are slowly wasted, and in smoke expire.
+  Given up to Envy, (for in every thought,
+  The thorns, the venom, and the vision wrought).
+  Oft did she call on death, as oft decreed,
+  Rather than see her sister's wish succeed,
+  To tell her awful father what had passed:
+  At length before the door herself she cast;
+_140
+  And, sitting on the ground with sullen pride,
+  A passage to the love-sick god denied.
+  The god caressed, and for admission prayed,
+  And soothed, in softest words, the envenomed maid.
+  In vain he soothed; 'Begone!' the maid replies,
+  'Or here I keep my seat, and never rise.'
+  'Then keep thy seat for ever!' cries the god,
+  And touched the door, wide-opening to his rod.
+  Fain would she rise, and stop him, but she found
+  Her trunk too heavy to forsake the ground;
+_150
+  Her joints are all benumbed, her hands are pale,
+  And marble now appears in every nail.
+  As when a cancer in her body feeds,
+  And gradual death from limb to limb proceeds;
+  So does the dullness to each vital part
+  Spread by degrees, and creeps into her heart;
+  Till, hardening everywhere, and speechless grown,
+  She sits unmoved, and freezes to a stone.
+  But still her envious hue and sullen mien
+  Are in the sedentary figure seen.
+_160
+
+
+  EUROPA'S RAPE.
+
+    When now the god his fury had allayed,
+  And taken vengeance of the stubborn maid,
+  From where the bright Athenian turrets rise
+  He mounts aloft, and reascends the skies.
+  Jove saw him enter the sublime abodes,
+  And, as he mixed among the crowd of gods,
+  Beckoned him out, and drew him from the rest,
+  And in soft whispers thus his will expressed.
+     'My trusty Hermes, by whose ready aid
+  Thy sire's commands are through the world conveyed,
+_10
+  Resume thy wings, exert their utmost force,
+  And to the walls of Sidon speed they course;
+  There find a herd of heifers wandering o'er
+  The neighbouring hill, and drive them to the shore.'
+     Thus spoke the god, concealing his intent.
+  The trusty Hermes on his message went,
+  And found the herd of heifers wandering o'er
+  A neighbouring hill, and drove them to the shore;
+  Where the king's daughter, with a lovely train
+  Of fellow-nymphs, was sporting on the plain.
+_20
+     The dignity of empire laid aside,
+  (For love but ill agrees with kingly pride,)
+  The ruler of the skies, the thundering god,
+  Who shakes the world's foundations with a nod,
+  Among a herd of lowing heifers ran,
+  Frisked in a bull, and bellowed o'er the plain.
+  Large rolls of fat about his shoulders clung,
+  And from his neck the double dewlap hung.
+  His skin was whiter than the snow that lies
+  Unsullied by the breath of southern skies;
+_30
+  Small shining horns on his curled forehead stand,
+  As turned and polished by the workman's hand;
+  His eye-balls rolled, not formidably bright,
+  But gazed and languished with a gentle light.
+  His every look was peaceful, and expressed
+  The softness of the lover in the beast.
+     Agenor's royal daughter, as she played
+  Among the fields, the milk-white bull surveyed,
+  And viewed his spotless body with delight,
+  And at a distance kept him in her sight.
+_40
+  At length she plucked the rising flowers, and fed
+  The gentle beast, and fondly stroked his head.
+  He stood well pleased to touch the charming fair,
+  But hardly could confine his pleasure there.
+  And now he wantons o'er the neighbouring strand,
+  Now rolls his body on the yellow sand;
+  And now, perceiving all her fears decayed,
+  Comes tossing forward to the royal maid;
+  Gives her his breast to stroke, and downward turns
+  His grisly brow, and gently stoops his horns.
+_50
+  In flowery wreaths the royal virgin dressed
+  His bending horns, and kindly clapped his breast.
+  Till now grown wanton, and devoid of fear,
+  Not knowing that she pressed the Thunderer,
+  She placed herself upon his back, and rode
+  O'er fields and meadows, seated on the god.
+     He gently marched along, and by degrees
+  Left the dry meadow, and approached the seas;
+  Where now he dips his hoofs and wets his thighs,
+  Now plunges in, and carries off the prize.
+_60
+  The frighted nymph looks backward on the shore,
+  And hears the tumbling billows round her roar;
+  But still she holds him fast: one hand is borne
+  Upon his back, the other grasps a horn:
+  Her train of ruffling garments flies behind,
+  Swells in the air and hovers in the wind.
+     Through storms and tempests he the virgin bore,
+  And lands her safe on the Dictean shore;
+  Where now, in his divinest form arrayed,
+  In his true shape he captivates the maid;
+_70
+  Who gazes on him, and with wondering eyes
+  Beholds the new majestic figure rise,
+  His glowing features, and celestial light,
+  And all the god discovered to her sight.
+
+
+BOOK III.
+
+THE STORY OF CADMUS.
+
+  When now Agenor had his daughter lost,
+  He sent his son to search on every coast;
+  And sternly bid him to his arms restore
+  The darling maid, or see his face no more,
+  But live an exile in a foreign clime:
+  Thus was the father pious to a crime.
+     The restless youth searched all the world around;
+  But how can Jove in his amours be found?
+  When tired at length with unsuccessful toil,
+  To shun his angry sire and native soil,
+_10
+  He goes a suppliant to the Delphic dome;
+  There asks the god what new-appointed home
+  Should end his wanderings and his toils relieve.
+  The Delphic oracles this answer give:
+     'Behold among the fields a lonely cow,
+  Unworn with yokes, unbroken to the plough;
+  Mark well the place where first she lays her down,
+  There measure out thy walls, and build thy town,
+  And from thy guide, Boetia call the land,
+  In which the destined walls and town shall stand.'
+_20
+     No sooner had he left the dark abode,
+  Big with the promise of the Delphic god,
+  When in the fields the fatal cow he viewed,
+  Nor galled with yokes, nor worn with servitude:
+  Her gently at a distance he pursued;
+  And, as he walked aloof, in silence prayed
+  To the great power whose counsels he obeyed.
+  Her way through flowery Panope she took,
+  And now, Cephisus, crossed thy silver brook;
+  When to the heavens her spacious front she raised,
+_30
+  And bellowed thrice, then backward turning, gazed
+  On those behind, till on the destined place
+  She stooped, and couched amid the rising grass.
+     Cadmus salutes the soil, and gladly hails
+  The new-found mountains, and the nameless vales,
+  And thanks the gods, and turns about his eye
+  To see his new dominions round him lie;
+  Then sends his servants to a neighbouring grove
+  For living streams, a sacrifice to Jove.
+  O'er the wide plain there rose a shady wood
+_40
+  Of aged trees; in its dark bosom stood
+  A bushy thicket, pathless and unworn,
+  O'errun with brambles, and perplexed with thorn:
+  Amidst the brake a hollow den was found,
+  With rocks and shelving arches vaulted round.
+     Deep in the dreary den, concealed from day,
+  Sacred to Mars, a mighty dragon lay,
+  Bloated with poison to a monstrous size;
+  Fire broke in flashes when he glanced his eyes;
+  His towering crest was glorious to behold,
+_50
+  His shoulders and his sides were scaled with gold;
+  Three tongues he brandished when he charged his foes;
+  His teeth stood jagy in three dreadful rows.
+  The Tyrians in the den for water sought,
+  And with their urns explored the hollow vault:
+  From side to side their empty urns rebound,
+  And rouse the sleepy serpent with the sound.
+  Straight he bestirs him, and is seen to rise;
+  And now with dreadful hissings fills the skies,
+  And darts his forky tongues, and rolls his glaring eyes.
+_60
+  The Tyrians drop their vessels in their fright,
+  All pale and trembling at the hideous sight
+  Spire above spire upreared in air he stood,
+  And gazing round him, overlooked the wood:
+  Then floating on the ground, in circles rolled;
+  Then leaped upon them in a mighty fold.
+  Of such a bulk, and such a monstrous size,
+  The serpent in the polar circle lies,
+  That stretches over half the northern skies.
+  In vain the Tyrians on their arms rely,
+_70
+  In vain attempt to fight, in vain to fly:
+  All their endeavours and their hopes are vain;
+  Some die entangled in the winding train;
+  Some are devoured; or feel a loathsome death,
+  Swoln up with blasts of pestilential breath.
+     And now the scorching sun was mounted high,
+  In all its lustre, to the noonday sky;
+  When, anxious for his friends, and filled with cares,
+  To search the woods the impatient chief prepares.
+  A lion's hide around his loins he wore,
+_80
+  The well-poised javelin to the field he bore,
+  Inured to blood, the far-destroying dart,
+  And, the best weapon, an undaunted heart.
+     Soon as the youth approached the fatal place,
+  He saw his servants breathless on the grass;
+  The scaly foe amid their corps he viewed,
+  Basking at ease, and feasting in their blood,
+  'Such friends,' he cries, 'deserved a longer date;
+  But Cadmus will revenge, or share their fate.'
+  Then heaved a stone, and rising to the throw
+_90
+  He sent it in a whirlwind at the foe:
+  A tower, assaulted by so rude a stroke,
+  With all its lofty battlements had shook;
+  But nothing here the unwieldy rock avails,
+  Rebounding harmless from the plaited scales,
+  That, firmly joined, preserved him from a wound,
+  With native armour crusted all around.   97
+  The pointed javelin more successful flew,
+  Which at his back the raging warrior threw;
+  Amid the plaited scales it took its course,
+_100
+  And in the spinal marrow spent its force.
+  The monster hissed aloud, and raged in vain,
+  And writhed his body to and fro with pain;
+  And bit the spear, and wrenched the wood away;
+  The point still buried in the marrow lay.
+  And now his rage, increasing with his pain,
+  Reddens his eyes, and beats in every vein;
+  Churned in his teeth the foamy venom rose,
+  Whilst from his mouth a blast of vapours flows,
+  Such as the infernal Stygian waters cast;
+_110
+  The plants around him wither in the blast.
+  Now in a maze of rings he lies enrolled,
+  Now all unravelled, and without a fold;
+  Now, like a torrent, with a mighty force,
+  Bears down the forest in his boisterous course.
+  Cadmus gave back, and on the lion's spoil
+  Sustained the shock, then forced him to recoil;
+  The pointed javelin warded off his rage:
+  Mad with his pains, and furious to engage,
+  The serpent champs the steel, and bites the spear,
+_120
+  Till blood and venom all the point besmear.
+  But still the hurt he yet received was slight;
+  For, whilst the champion with redoubled might
+  Strikes home the javelin, his retiring foe
+  Shrinks from the wound, and disappoints the blow.
+     The dauntless hero still pursues his stroke,
+  And presses forward, till a knotty oak
+  Retards his foe, and stops him in the rear;
+  Full in his throat he plunged the fatal spear,
+  That in the extended neck a passage found,
+_130
+  And pierced the solid timber through the wound.
+  Fixed to the reeling trunk, with many a stroke
+  Of his huge tail, he lashed the sturdy oak;
+  Till spent with toil, and labouring hard for breath,
+  He now lay twisting in the pangs of death.
+     Cadmus beheld him wallow in a flood
+  Of swimming poison, intermixed with blood;
+  When suddenly a speech was heard from high,
+  (The speech was heard, nor was the speaker nigh,)
+  'Why dost thou thus with secret pleasure see,
+_140
+  Insulting man! what thou thyself shalt be?'
+  Astonished at the voice, he stood amazed,
+  And all around with inward horror gazed:
+  When Pallas, swift descending from the skies,
+  Pallas, the guardian of the bold and wise,
+  Bids him plough up the field, and scatter round
+  The dragon's teeth o'er all the furrowed ground;
+  Then tells the youth how to his wondering eyes
+  Embattled armies from the field should rise.
+     He sows the teeth at Pallas's command,
+_150
+  And flings the future people from his hand.
+  The clods grow warm, and crumble where he sows;
+  And now the pointed spears advance in rows;
+  Now nodding plumes appear, and shining crests,
+  Now the broad shoulders and the rising breasts:
+  O'er all the field the breathing harvest swarms,
+  A growing host, a crop of men and arms.
+     So through the parting stage a figure rears
+  Its body up, and limb by limb appears
+  By just degrees; till all the man arise,
+_160
+  And in his full proportion strikes the eyes.
+     Cadmus surprised, and startled at the sight
+  Of his new foes, prepared himself for fight:
+  When one cried out, 'Forbear, fond man, forbear
+  To mingle in a blind, promiscuous war.'
+  This said, he struck his brother to the ground,
+  Himself expiring by another's wound;
+  Nor did the third his conquest long survive,
+  Dying ere scarce he had begun to live.
+     The dire example ran through all the field,
+_170
+  Till heaps of brothers were by brothers killed;
+  The furrows swam in blood: and only five
+  Of all the vast increase were left alive.
+  Echion one, at Pallas's command,
+  Let fall the guiltless weapon from his hand;
+  And with the rest a peaceful treaty makes,
+  Whom Cadmus as his friends and partners takes:
+  So founds a city on the promised earth,
+  And gives his new Boeotian empire birth.
+     Here Cadmus reigned; and now one would have guessed
+_180
+  The royal founder in his exile blessed:
+  Long did he live within his new abodes,
+  Allied by marriage to the deathless gods;
+  And, in a fruitful wife's embraces old,
+  A long increase of children's children told:
+  But no frail man, however great or high,
+  Can be concluded blessed before he die.
+  Actaeon was the first of all his race,
+  Who grieved his grandsire in his borrowed face;
+  Condemned by stern Diana to bemoan
+_190
+  The branching horns, and visage not his own;
+  To shun his once-loved dogs, to bound away,
+  And from their huntsman to become their prey.
+  And yet consider why the change was wrought,
+  You'll find it his misfortune, not his fault;
+  Or if a fault, it was the fault of chance:
+  For how can guilt proceed from ignorance?
+
+
+  THE TRANSFORMATION OF ACTAEON INTO A STAG.
+
+     In a fair chase a shady mountain stood,
+  Well stored with game, and marked with trails of blood.
+  Here did the huntsmen till the heat of day
+  Pursue the stag, and load themselves with prey;
+  When thus Actaeon calling to the rest:
+  'My friends,' says he, 'our sport is at the best.
+  The sun is high advanced, and downward sheds
+  His burning beams directly on our heads;
+  Then by consent abstain from further spoils,
+  Call off the dogs, and gather up the toils;
+_10
+  And ere to-morrow's sun begins his race,
+  Take the cool morning to renew the chase.'
+  They all consent, and in a cheerful train
+  The jolly huntsmen, loaden with the slain,
+  Return in triumph from the sultry plain.
+     Down in a vale with pine and cypress clad,
+  Refreshed with gentle winds, and brown with shade,
+  The chaste Diana's private haunt, there stood
+  Full in the centre of the darksome wood
+  A spacious grotto, all around o'ergrown
+_20
+  With hoary moss, and arched with pumice-stone.
+  From out its rocky clefts the waters flow,
+  And trickling swell into a lake below.
+  Nature had everywhere so played her part,
+  That everywhere she seemed to vie with art.
+  Here the bright goddess, toiled and chafed with heat,
+  Was wont to bathe her in the cool retreat.
+     Here did she now with all her train resort,
+  Panting with heat, and breathless from the sport;
+  Her armour-bearer laid her bow aside,
+_30
+  Some loosed her sandals, some her veil untied;
+  Each busy nymph her proper part undressed;
+  While Crocale, more handy than the rest,
+  Gathered her flowing hair, and in a noose
+  Bound it together, whilst her own hung loose.
+  Five of the more ignoble sort by turns
+  Fetch up the water, and unlade their urns.
+     Now all undressed the shining goddess stood,
+  When young Actaeon, wildered in the wood,
+  To the cool grot by his hard fate betrayed,
+_40
+  The fountains filled with naked nymphs surveyed.
+  The frighted virgins shrieked at the surprise,
+  (The forest echoed with their piercing cries,)
+  Then in a huddle round their goddess pressed:
+  She, proudly eminent above the rest,
+  With blushes glowed; such blushes as adorn
+  The ruddy welkin, or the purple morn;
+  And though the crowding nymphs her body hide,
+  Half backward shrunk, and viewed him from aside.
+  Surprised, at first she would have snatched her bow,
+_50
+  But sees the circling waters round her flow;
+  These in the hollow of her hand she took,
+  And dashed them in his face, while thus she spoke:
+  'Tell if thou canst the wondrous sight disclosed,
+  A goddess naked to thy view exposed.'
+     This said, the man began to disappear
+  By slow degrees, and ended in a deer.
+  A rising horn on either brow he wears,
+  And stretches out his neck, and pricks his ears;
+  Rough is his skin, with sudden hairs o'ergrown,
+_60
+  His bosom pants with fears before unknown.
+  Transformed at length, he flies away in haste,
+  And wonders why he flies away so fast.
+  But as by chance, within a neighbouring brook,
+  He saw his branching horns and altered look,
+  Wretched Actaeon! in a doleful tone
+  He tried to speak, but only gave a groan;
+  And as he wept, within the watery glass
+  He saw the big round drops, with silent pace,
+  Run trickling down a savage hairy face.
+_70
+  What should he do? Or seek his old abodes,
+  Or herd among the deer, and skulk in woods?
+  Here shame dissuades him, there his fear prevails,
+  And each by turns his aching heart assails.
+     As he thus ponders, he behind him spies
+  His opening hounds, and now he hears their cries:
+  A generous pack, or to maintain the chase,
+  Or snuff the vapour from the scented grass.
+     He bounded off with fear, and swiftly ran
+  O'er craggy mountains, and the flowery plain;
+_80
+  Through brakes and thickets forced his way, and flew
+  Through many a ring, where once he did pursue.
+  In vain he oft endeavoured to proclaim
+  His new misfortune, and to tell his name;
+  Nor voice nor words the brutal tongue supplies;
+  From shouting men, and horns, and dogs he flies,
+  Deafened and stunned with their promiscuous cries.
+  When now the fleetest of the pack, that pressed
+  Close at his heels, and sprung before the rest,
+  Had fastened on him, straight another pair
+_90
+  Hung on his wounded haunch, and held him there,
+  Till all the pack came up, and every hound
+  Tore the sad huntsman, grovelling on the ground,
+  Who now appeared but one continued wound.
+  With dropping tears his bitter fate he moans,
+  And fills the mountain with his dying groans.
+  His servants with a piteous look he spies,
+  And turns about his supplicating eyes.
+  His servants, ignorant of what had chanced,
+  With eager haste and joyful shouts advanced,
+_100
+  And called their lord Actaeon to the game:
+  He shook his head in answer to the name;
+  He heard, but wished he had indeed been gone,
+  Or only to have stood a looker-on.
+  But, to his grief, he finds himself too near,
+  And feels his ravenous dogs with fury tear
+  Their wretched master, panting in a deer.
+
+
+THE BIRTH OF BACCHUS.
+
+     Actaeon's sufferings, and Diana's rage,
+  Did all the thoughts of men and gods engage;
+  Some called the evils which Diana wrought,
+  Too great, and disproportioned to the fault:
+  Others, again, esteemed Actaeon's woes
+  Fit for a virgin goddess to impose.
+  The hearers into different parts divide,
+  And reasons are produced on either side.
+     Juno alone, of all that heard the news,
+  Nor would condemn the goddess, nor excuse:
+_10
+  She heeded not the justice of the deed,
+  But joyed to see the race of Cadmus bleed;
+  For still she kept Europa in her mind,
+  And, for her sake, detested all her kind.
+  Besides, to aggravate her hate, she heard
+  How Semele, to Jove's embrace preferred,
+  Was now grown big with an immortal load,
+  And carried in her womb a future god.
+  Thus terribly incensed, the goddess broke
+  To sudden fury, and abruptly spoke.
+_20
+     'Are my reproaches of so small a force?
+  'Tis time I then pursue another course:
+  It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die,
+  If I'm indeed the mistress of the sky;
+  If rightly styled among the powers above
+  The wife and sister of the thundering Jove,
+  (And none can sure a sister's right deny,)
+  It is decreed the guilty wretch shall die.
+  She boasts an honour I can hardly claim;
+  Pregnant, she rises to a mother's name;
+_30
+  While proud and vain she triumphs in her Jove,
+  And shows the glorious tokens of his love:
+  But if I'm still the mistress of the skies,
+  By her own lover the fond beauty dies.'
+  This said, descending in a yellow cloud,
+  Before the gates of Semele she stood.
+     Old Beroe's decrepit shape she wears,
+  Her wrinkled visage, and her hoary hairs;
+  Whilst in her trembling gait she totters on,
+  And learns to tattle in the nurse's tone.
+_40
+  The goddess, thus disguised in age, beguiled
+  With pleasing stories her false foster-child.
+  Much did she talk of love, and when she came
+  To mention to the nymph her lover's name,
+  Fetching a sigh, and holding down her head,
+  ''Tis well,' says she, 'if all be true that's said;
+  But trust me, child, I'm much inclined to fear
+  Some counterfeit in this your Jupiter.
+  Many an honest, well-designing maid,
+  Has been by these pretended gods betrayed.
+_50
+  But if he be indeed the thundering Jove,
+  Bid him, when next he courts the rites of love,
+  Descend, triumphant from the ethereal sky,
+  In all the pomp of his divinity;
+  Encompassed round by those celestial charms,
+  With which he fills the immortal Juno's arms.'
+     The unwary nymph, insnared with what she said,
+  Desired of Jove, when next he sought her bed,
+  To grant a certain gift which she would choose;
+  'Fear not,' replied the god, 'that I'll refuse
+_60
+  Whate'er you ask: may Styx confirm my voice,
+  Choose what you will, and you shall have your choice.'
+  'Then,' says the nymph, 'when next you seek my arms,
+  May you descend in those celestial charms,
+  With which your Juno's bosom you inflame,
+  And fill with transport heaven's immortal dame.'
+  The god surprised, would fain have stopped her voice:
+  But he had swrorn, and she had made her choice.
+     To keep his promise he ascends, and shrouds
+  His awful brow in whirlwinds and in clouds;
+_70
+  Whilst all around, in terrible array,
+  His thunders rattle, and his lightnings play.
+  And yet, the dazzling lustre to abate,
+  He set not out in all his pomp and state,
+  Clad in the mildest lightning of the skies,
+  And armed with thunder of the smallest size:
+  Not those huge bolts, by which the giants slain,
+  Lay overthrown on the Phlegraean plain.
+  Twas of a lesser mould, and lighter weight;
+  They call it thunder of a second-rate.
+_80
+  For the rough Cyclops, who by Jove's command
+  Tempered the bolt, and turned it to his hand,
+  Worked up less flame and fury in its make,
+  And quenched it sooner in the standing lake.
+  Thus dreadfully adorned, with horror bright,
+  The illustrious god, descending from his height,
+  Came rushing on her in a storm of light.
+     The mortal dame, too feeble to engage
+  The lightning's flashes and the thunder's rage,
+  Consumed amidst the glories she desired,
+_90
+  And in the terrible embrace expired.
+     But, to preserve his offspring from the tomb,
+  Jove took him smoking from the blasted womb;
+  And, if on ancient tales we may rely,
+  Enclosed the abortive infant in his thigh.
+  Here, when the babe had all his time fulfilled,
+  Ino first took him for her foster-child;
+  Then the Niseans, in their dark abode,
+  Nursed secretly with milk the thriving god.
+
+
+THE TRANSFORMATION OF TIRESIAS.
+
+     'Twas now, while these transactions passed on earth,
+  And Bacchus thus procured a second birth,
+  When Jove, disposed to lay aside the weight
+  Of public empire and the cares of state,
+  As to his queen in nectar bowls he quaffed,
+  'In troth,' says he, and as he spoke he laughed,
+  'The sense of pleasure in the male is far
+  More dull and dead than what you females share.'
+  Juno the truth of what was said denied;
+  Tiresias therefore must the cause decide;
+_10
+  For he the pleasure of each sex had tried.
+     It happened once, within a shady wood,
+  Two twisted snakes he in conjunction viewed;
+  When with his staff their slimy folds he broke,
+  And lost his manhood at the fatal stroke.
+  But, after seven revolving years, he viewed
+  The self-same serpents in the self-same wood;
+  'And if,' says he, 'such virtue in you lie,
+  That he who dares your slimy folds untie
+  Must change his kind, a second stroke I'll try.'
+_20
+  Again he struck the snakes, and stood again
+  New-sexed, and straight recovered into man.
+  Him therefore both the deities create
+  The sovereign umpire in their grand debate;
+  And he declared for Jove; when Juno, fired
+  More than so trivial an affair required,
+  Deprived him, in her fury, of his sight,
+  And left him groping round in sudden night.
+  But Jove (for so it is in heaven decreed,
+  That no one god repeal another's deed)
+_30
+  Irradiates all his soul with inward light,
+  And with the prophet's art relieves the want of sight.
+
+
+THE TRANSFORMATION OF ECHO.
+
+     Famed far and near for knowing things to come,
+  From him the inquiring nations sought their doom;
+  The fair Liriope his answers tried,
+  And first the unerring prophet justified;
+  This nymph the god Cephisus had abused,
+  With all his winding waters circumfused,
+  And on the Nereid got a lovely boy,
+  Whom the soft maids even then beheld with joy.
+     The tender dame, solicitous to know
+  Whether her child should reach old age or no,
+_10
+  Consults the sage Tiresias, who replies,
+  'If e'er he knows himself, he surely dies.'
+  Long lived the dubious mother in suspense,
+  Till time unriddled all the prophet's sense.
+     Narcissus now his sixteenth year began,
+  Just turned of boy, and on the verge of man;
+  Many a friend the blooming youth caressed,
+  Many a love-sick maid her flame confessed:
+  Such was his pride, in vain the friend caressed,
+  The love-sick maid in vain her flame confessed.
+_20
+     Once, in the woods, as he pursued the chase,
+  The babbling Echo had descried his face;
+  She, who in others' words her silence breaks,
+  Nor speaks herself but when another speaks.
+  Echo was then a maid, of speech bereft,
+  Of wonted speech; for though her voice was left,
+  Juno a curse did on her tongue impose,
+  To sport with every sentence in the close.
+  Full often, when the goddess might have caught
+  Jove and her rivals in the very fault,
+_30
+  This nymph with subtle stories would delay
+  Her coming, till the lovers slipped away.
+  The goddess found out the deceit in time,
+  And then she cried, 'That tongue, for this thy crime,
+  Which could so many subtle tales produce,
+  Shall be hereafter but of little use.'
+  Hence 'tis she prattles in a fainter tone,
+  With mimic sounds, and accents not her own.
+     This love-sick virgin, overjoyed to find
+  The boy alone, still followed him behind;
+_40
+  When, glowing warmly at her near approach,
+  As sulphur blazes at the taper's touch,
+  She longed her hidden passion to reveal,
+  And tell her pains, but had not words to tell:
+  She can't begin, but waits for the rebound,
+  To catch his voice, and to return the sound.
+  The nymph, when nothing could Narcissus move,
+  Still dashed with blushes for her slighted love,
+  Lived in the shady covert of the woods,
+  In solitary caves and dark abodes;
+_50
+  Where pining wandered the rejected fair,
+  Till harassed out, and worn away with care,
+  The sounding skeleton, of blood bereft,
+  Besides her bones and voice had nothing left.
+  Her bones are petrified, her voice is found
+  In vaults, where still it doubles every sound.
+
+
+THE STORY OF NARCISSUS.
+
+     Thus did the nymphs in vain caress the boy,
+  He still was lovely, but he still was coy;
+  When one fair virgin of the slighted train
+  Thus prayed the gods, provoked by his disdain,
+  'Oh, may he love like me, and love like me in vain!'
+  Rhamnusia pitied the neglected fair,
+  And with just vengeance answered to her prayer.
+     There stands a fountain in a darksome wood,
+  Nor stained with falling leaves nor rising mud;
+  Untroubled by the breath of winds it rests,
+_10
+  Unsullied by the touch of men or beasts:
+  High bowers of shady trees above it grow,
+  And rising grass and cheerful greens below.
+  Pleased with the form and coolness of the place,
+  And over-heated by the morning chase,
+  Narcissus on the grassy verdure lies:
+  But whilst within the crystal fount he tries
+  To quench his heat, he feels new heats arise.
+  For as his own bright image he surveyed,
+  He fell in love with the fantastic shade;
+_20
+  And o'er the fair resemblance hung unmoved,
+  Nor knew, fond youth! it was himself he loved.
+  The well-turned neck and shoulders he descries,
+  The spacious forehead, and the sparkling eyes;
+  The hands that Bacchus might not scorn to show,
+  And hair that round Apollo's head might flow,
+  With all the purple youthfulness of face,
+  That gently blushes in the watery glass.
+  By his own flames consumed the lover lies,
+  And gives himself the wound by which he dies.
+_30
+  To the cold water oft he joins his lips,
+  Oft catching at the beauteous shade he dips
+  His arms, as often from himself he slips.
+  Nor knows he who it is his arms pursue
+  With eager clasps, but loves he knows not who.
+  What could, fond youth, this helpless passion move?
+  What kindle in thee this unpitied love?
+  Thy own warm blush within the water glows,
+  With thee the coloured shadow comes and goes,
+  Its empty being on thyself relies;
+_40
+  Step thou aside, and the frail charmer dies.
+     Still o'er the fountain's watery gleam he stood,
+  Mindless of sleep, and negligent of food;
+  Still viewed his face, and languished as he viewed.
+  At length he raised his head, and thus began
+  To vent his griefs, and tell the woods his pain.
+  'You trees,' says he, 'and thou surrounding grove,
+  Who oft have been the kindly scenes of love,
+  Tell me, if e'er within your shades did lie
+  A youth so tortured, so perplexed as I?
+_50
+  I who before me see the charming fair,
+  Whilst there he stands, and yet he stands not there:
+  In such a maze of love my thoughts are lost;
+  And yet no bulwarked town, nor distant coast,
+  Preserves the beauteous youth from being seen,
+  No mountains rise, nor oceans flow between.
+  A shallow water hinders my embrace;
+  And yet the lovely mimic wears a face
+  That kindly smiles, and when I bend to join
+  My lips to his, he fondly bends to mine.
+_60
+  Hear, gentle youth, and pity my complaint,
+  Come from thy well, thou fair inhabitant.
+  My charms an easy conquest have obtained
+  O'er other hearts, by thee alone disdained.
+  But why should I despair? I'm sure he burns
+  With equal flames, and languishes by turns.
+  Whene'er I stoop he offers at a kiss,
+  And when my arms I stretch, he stretches his.
+  His eye with pleasure on my face he keeps,
+  He smiles my smiles, and when I weep he weeps.
+_70
+  Whene'er I speak, his moving lips appear
+  To utter something, which I cannot hear.
+     'Ah wretched me! I now begin too late
+  To find out all the long-perplexed deceit;
+  It is myself I love, myself I see;
+  The gay delusion is a part of me.
+  I kindle up the fires by which I burn,
+  And my own beauties from the well return.
+  Whom should I court? how utter my complaint?
+  Enjoyment but produces my restraint,
+_80
+  And too much plenty makes me die for want.
+  How gladly would I from myself remove!
+  And at a distance set the thing I love.
+  My breast is warmed with such unusual fire,
+  I wish him absent whom I most desire.
+  And now I faint with grief; my fate draws nigh;
+  In all the pride of blooming youth I die.
+  Death will the sorrows of my heart relieve.
+  Oh, might the visionary youth survive,
+  I should with joy my latest breath resign!
+_90
+  But oh! I see his fate involved in mine.'
+     This said, the weeping youth again returned
+  To the clear fountain, where again he burned;
+  His tears defaced the surface of the well
+  With circle after circle, as they fell:
+  And now the lovely face but half appears,
+  O'errun with wrinkles, and deformed with tears.
+  'All whither,' cries Narcissus, 'dost thou fly?
+  Let me still feed the flame by which I die;
+  Let me still see, though I'm no further blessed.'
+_100
+  Then rends his garment off, and beats his breast:
+  His naked bosom reddened with the blow,
+  In such a blush as purple clusters show,
+  Ere yet the sun's autumnal heats refine
+  Their sprightly juice, and mellow it to wine.
+  The glowing beauties of his breast he spies,
+  And with a new redoubled passion dies.
+  As wax dissolves, as ice begins to run,
+  And trickle into drops before the sun;
+  So melts the youth, and languishes away,
+_110
+  His beauty withers, and his limbs decay;
+  And none of those attractive charms remain,
+  To which the slighted Echo sued in vain.
+     She saw him in his present misery,
+  Whom, spite of all her wrongs, she grieved to see.
+  She answered sadly to the lover's moan,
+  Sighed back his sighs, and groaned to every groan:
+  'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' Narcissus cries;
+  'Ah youth! beloved in vain,' the nymph replies.
+  'Farewell,' says he; the parting sound scarce fell
+_120
+  From his faint lips, but she replied, 'Farewell.'
+  Then on the unwholesome earth he gasping lies,
+  Till death shuts up those self-admiring eyes.
+  To the cold shades his flitting ghost retires,
+  And in the Stygian waves itself admires.
+     For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
+  Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn;
+  And now the sister-nymphs prepare his urn:
+  When, looking for his corpse, they only found
+  A rising stalk, with yellow blossoms crowned.
+_130
+
+
+THE STORY OF PENTHEUS.
+
+     This sad event gave blind Tiresias fame,
+  Through Greece established in a prophet's name.
+     The unhallowed Pentheus only durst deride
+  The cheated people, and their eyeless guide,
+  To whom the prophet in his fury said,
+  Shaking the hoary honours of his head;
+  'Twere well, presumptuous man, 'twere well for thee
+  If thou wert eyeless too, and blind, like me:
+  For the time comes, nay, 'tis already here,
+  When the young god's solemnities appear;
+_10
+  Which, if thou dost not with just rites adorn,
+  Thy impious carcase, into pieces torn,
+  Shall strew the woods, and hang on every thorn.
+  Then, then, remember what I now foretell,
+  And own the blind Tiresias saw too well.'
+  Still Pentheus scorns him, and derides his skill,
+  But time did all the promised threats fulfil.
+  For now through prostrate Greece young Bacchus rode,
+  Whilst howling matrons celebrate the god.
+  All ranks and sexes to his orgies ran,
+_20
+  To mingle in the pomps, and fill the train.
+  When Pentheus thus his wicked rage express'd;
+  'What madness, Thebans, has your soul possess'd?
+  Can hollow timbrels, can a drunken shout,
+  And the lewd clamours of a beastly rout,
+  Thus quell your courage? can the weak alarm
+  Of women's yells those stubborn souls disarm,
+  Whom nor the sword nor trumpet e'er could fright,
+  Nor the loud din and horror of a fight?
+  And you, our sires, who left your old abodes,
+_30
+  And fixed in foreign earth your country gods;
+  Will you without a stroke your city yield,
+  And poorly quit an undisputed field?
+  But you, whose youth and vigour should inspire
+  Heroic warmth, and kindle martial fire,
+  Whom burnished arms and crested helmets grace,
+  Not flowery garlands and a painted face;
+  Remember him to whom you stand allied:
+  The serpent for his well of waters died.
+  He fought the strong; do you his courage show,
+_40
+  And gain a conquest o'er a feeble foe.
+  If Thebes must fall, oh might the Fates afford
+  A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword!
+  Then might the Thebans perish with renown:
+  But now a beardless victor sacks the town;
+  Whom nor the prancing steed, nor ponderous shield,
+  Nor the hacked helmet, nor the dusty field,
+  But the soft joys of luxury and ease,
+  The purple vests, and flowery garlands, please.
+  Stand then aside, I'll make the counterfeit
+_50
+  Renounce his godhead, and confess the cheat.
+  Acrisius from the Grecian walls repelled
+  This boasted power; why then should Pentheus yield?
+  Go quickly, drag the audacious boy to me;
+  I'll try the force of his divinity.'
+  Thus did the audacious wretch those rites profane;
+  His friends dissuade the audacious wretch in vain;
+  In vain his grandsire urged him to give o'er
+  His impious threats; the wretch but raves the more.
+     So have I seen a river gently glide,
+_60
+  In a smooth course and inoffensive tide;
+  But if with dams its current we restrain,
+  It bears down all, and foams along the plain.
+     But now his servants came besmeared with blood,
+  Sent by their haughty prince to seize the god;
+  The god they found not in the frantic throng
+  But dragged a zealous votary along.
+
+
+THE MARINERS TRANSFORMED TO DOLPHINS.
+
+     Him Pentheus viewed with fury in his look,
+  And scarce withheld his hands, while thus he spoke:
+  'Vile slave! whom speedy vengeance shall pursue,
+  And terrify thy base, seditious crew:
+  Thy country and thy parentage reveal,
+  And why thou join'st in these mad orgies tell.'
+     The captive views him with undaunted eyes,
+  And, armed with inward innocence, replies.
+     'From high Meonia's rocky shores I came,
+  Of poor descent, Acaetes is my name:
+_10
+  My sire was meanly born; no oxen ploughed
+  His fruitful fields, nor in his pastures lowed.
+  His whole estate within the waters lay;
+  With lines and hooks he caught the finny prey.
+  His art was all his livelihood; which he
+  Thus with his dying lips bequeathed to me:
+  In streams, my boy, and rivers, take thy chance;
+  There swims,' said he, 'thy whole inheritance.
+     'Long did I live on this poor legacy;
+  Till tired with rocks, and my own native sky,
+_20
+  To arts of navigation I inclined,
+  Observed the turns and changes of the wind:
+  Learned the fit havens, and began to note
+  The stormy Hyades, the rainy Goat,
+  The bright Taeygete, and the shining Bears,
+  With all the sailor's catalogue of stars.
+     'Once, as by chance for Delos I designed,
+  My vessel, driven by a strong gust of wind,
+  Moored in a Chian creek; ashore I went,
+  And all the following night in Chios spent.
+_30
+  When morning rose, I sent my mates to bring
+  Supplies of water from a neighbouring spring,
+  Whilst I the motion of the winds explored;
+  Then summoned in my crew, and went aboard.
+  Opheltes heard my summons, and with joy
+  Brought to the shore a soft and lovely boy,
+  With more than female sweetness in his look,
+  Whom straggling in the neighbouring fields he took.
+  With fumes of wine the little captive glows,
+  And nods with sleep, and staggers as he goes.
+_40
+     'I viewed him nicely, and began to trace
+  Each heavenly feature, each immortal grace,
+  And saw divinity in all his face.
+  "I know not who," said I, "this god should be;
+  But that he is a god I plainly see:
+  And thou, whoe'er thou art, excuse the force
+  These men have used; and, oh! befriend our course!"
+  "Pray not for us," the nimble Dictys cried,
+  Dictys, that could the main-top-mast bestride,
+  And down the ropes with active vigour slide.
+_50
+  To the same purpose old Epopeus spoke,
+  Who overlooked the oars, and timed the stroke;
+  The same the pilot, and the same the rest;
+  Such impious avarice their souls possessed.
+  "Nay, heaven forbid that I should bear away
+  Within my vessel so divine a prey,"
+  Said I; and stood to hinder their intent:
+  When Lycabas, a wretch for murder sent
+  From Tuscany, to suffer banishment,
+  With his clenched fist had struck me overboard,
+_60
+  Had not my hands, in falling, grasped a cord.
+     'His base confederates the fact approve;
+  When Bacchus (for 'twas he) began to move,
+  Waked by the noise and clamours which they raised;
+  And shook his drowsy limbs, and round him gazed:
+  "What means this noise?" he cries; "am I betrayed?
+  All! whither, whither must I be conveyed?"
+  "Fear not," said Proreus, "child, but tell us where
+  You wish to land, and trust our friendly care."
+  "To Naxos then direct your course," said he;
+_70
+  "Naxos a hospitable port shall be
+  To each of you, a joyful home to me."
+  By every god that rules the sea or sky,
+  The perjured villains promise to comply,
+  And bid me hasten to unmoor the ship.
+  With eager joy I launch into the deep;
+  And, heedless of the fraud, for Naxos stand:
+  They whisper oft, and beckon with the hand,
+  And give me signs, all anxious for their prey,
+  To tack about, and steer another way.
+_80
+  "Then let some other to my post succeed,"
+  Said I, "I'm guiltless of so foul a deed."
+  "What," says Ethalion, "must the ship's whole crew
+  Follow your humour, and depend on you?"
+  And straight himself he seated at the prore,
+  And tacked about, and sought another shore.
+     'The beauteous youth now found himself betrayed,
+  And from the deck the rising waves surveyed,
+  And seemed to weep, and as he wept he said;
+  "And do you thus my easy faith beguile?
+_90
+  Thus do you bear me to my native isle?
+  Will such a multitude of men employ
+  Their strength against a weak, defenceless boy?"
+     'In vain did I the godlike youth deplore,
+  The more I begged, they thwarted me the more.
+  And now by all the gods in heaven that hear
+  This solemn oath, by Bacchus' self, I swear,
+  The mighty miracle that did ensue,
+  Although it seems beyond belief, is true.
+  The vessel, fixed and rooted in the flood,
+_100
+  Unmoved by all the beating billows stood.
+  In vain the mariners would plough the main
+  With sails unfurled, and strike their oars in vain;
+  Around their oars a twining ivy cleaves,
+  And climbs the mast and hides the cords in leaves:
+  The sails are covered with a cheerful green,
+  And berries in the fruitful canvas seen.
+  Amidst the waves a sudden forest rears
+  Its verdant head, and a new spring appears.
+     'The god we now behold with open eyes;
+_110
+  A herd of spotted panthers round him lies
+  In glaring forms; the grapy clusters spread
+  On his fair brows, and dangle on his head.
+  And whilst he frowns, and brandishes his spear,
+  My mates, surprised with madness or with fear,
+  Leaped overboard; first perjured Madon found
+  Rough scales and fins his stiffening sides surround;
+  "Ah! what," cries one, "has thus transformed thy look?"
+  Straight his own mouth grew wider as he spoke;
+  And now himself he views with like surprise.
+_120
+  Still at his oar the industrious Libys plies;
+  But, as he plies, each busy arm shrinks in,
+  And by degrees is fashioned to a fin.
+  Another, as he catches at a cord,
+  Misses his arms, and, tumbling overboard,
+  With his broad fins and forky tail he laves
+  The rising surge, and flounces in the waves.
+  Thus all my crew transformed around the ship,
+  Or dive below, or on the surface leap,
+  And spout the waves, and wanton in the deep.
+_130
+  Full nineteen sailors did the ship convey,
+  A shoal of nineteen dolphins round her play.
+  I only in my proper shape appear,
+  Speechless with wonder, and half dead with fear,
+  Till Bacchus kindly bid me fear no more.
+  With him I landed on the Chian shore,
+  And him shall ever gratefully adore.'
+     'This forging slave,' says Pentheus, 'would prevail
+  O'er our just fury by a far-fetched tale:
+  Go, let him feel the whips, the swords, the fire,
+_140
+  And in the tortures of the rack expire.'
+  The officious servants hurry him away,
+  And the poor captive in a dungeon lay.
+  But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepared.
+  The gates fly open, of themselves unbarred;
+  At liberty the unfettered captive stands,
+  And flings the loosened shackles from his hands.
+
+
+THE DEATH OF PENTHEUS.
+
+     But Penthcus, grown more furious than before,
+  Resolved to send his messengers no more,
+  But went himself to the distracted throng,
+  Where high Cithaeron echoed with their song.
+  And as the fiery war-horse paws the ground,
+  And snorts and trembles at the trumpet's sound;
+  Transported thus he heard the frantic rout,
+  And raved and maddened at the distant shout.
+     A spacious circuit on the hill there stood,
+  Level and wide, and skirted round with wood;
+_10
+  Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallowed eyes,
+  The howling dames and mystic orgies spies.
+  His mother sternly viewed him where he stood,
+  And kindled into madness as she viewed:
+  Her leafy javelin at her son she cast,
+  And cries, 'The boar that lays our country waste!
+  The boar, my sisters! aim the fatal dart,
+  And strike the brindled monster to the heart.'
+     Pentheus astonished heard the dismal sound,
+  And sees the yelling matrons gathering round:
+_20
+  He sees, and weeps at his approaching fate,
+  And begs for mercy, and repents too late.
+  'Help, help! my aunt Autonoee,' he cried;
+  'Remember how your own Actaeon died.'
+  Deaf to his cries, the frantic matron crops
+  One stretched-out arm, the other Ino lops.
+  In vain does Pentheus to his mother sue,
+  And the raw bleeding stumps presents to view:
+  His mother howled; and heedless of his prayer,
+  Her trembling hand she twisted in his hair,
+_30
+  'And this,' she cried, 'shall be Agave's share,'
+  When from the neck his struggling head she tore,
+  And in her hands the ghastly visage bore,
+  With pleasure all the hideous trunk survey;
+  Then pulled and tore the mangled limbs away,
+  As starting in the pangs of death it lay.
+  Soon as the wood its leafy honours casts,
+  Blown off and scattered by autumnal blasts,
+  With such a sudden death lay Pentheus slain,
+  And in a thousand pieces strowed the plain.
+_40
+     By so distinguishing a judgment awed,
+  The Thebans tremble, and confess the god.
+
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+THE STORY OF SALMACIS AND HERMAPHRODITES.
+
+  How Salmacis, with weak enfeebling streams
+  Softens the body, and unnerves the limbs,
+  And what the secret cause, shall here be shown;
+  The cause is secret, but the effect is known.
+     The Naiads nursed an infant heretofore,
+  That Cytherea once to Hermes bore:
+  From both the illustrious authors of his race
+  The child was named; nor was it hard to trace
+  Both the bright parents through the infant's face.
+  When fifteen years, in Ida's cool retreat,
+_10
+  The boy had told, he left his native seat,
+  And sought fresh fountains in a foreign soil;
+  The pleasure lessened the attending toil.
+  With eager steps the Lycian fields he crossed,
+  And fields that border on the Lycian coast;
+  A river here he viewed so lovely bright,
+  It showed the bottom in a fairer light,
+  Nor kept a sand concealed from human sight.
+  The stream produced nor slimy ooze, nor weeds,
+  Nor miry rushes, nor the spiky reeds;
+_20
+  But dealt enriching moisture all around,
+  The fruitful banks with cheerful verdure crowned,
+  And kept the spring eternal on the ground.
+  A nymph presides, nor practised in the chase,
+  Nor skilful at the bow, nor at the race;
+  Of all the blue-eyed daughters of the main,
+  The only stranger to Diana's train:
+  Her sisters often, as 'tis said, would cry,
+  'Fie, Salmacis, what always idle! fie,
+  Or take thy quiver, or thy arrows seize,
+_30
+  And mix the toils of hunting with thy ease.'
+  Nor quiver she nor arrows e'er would seize,
+  Nor mix the toils of hunting with her ease.
+  But oft would bathe her in the crystal tide,
+  Oft with a comb her dewy locks divide;
+  Now in the limpid streams she viewed her face,
+  And dressed her image in the floating glass:
+  On beds of leaves she now reposed her limbs,
+  Now gathered flowers that grew about her streams:
+  And then by chance was gathering, as she stood
+_40
+  To view the boy, and longed for what she viewed.
+     Fain would she meet the youth with hasty feet,
+  She fain would meet him, but refused to meet
+  Before her looks were set with nicest care,
+  And well deserved to be reputed fair.
+  'Bright youth,' she cries, 'whom all thy features prove
+  A god, and, if a god, the god of love;
+  But if a mortal, bless'd thy nurse's breast,
+  Bless'd are thy parents, and thy sisters bless'd:
+  But, oh! how bless'd! how more than bless'd thy bride,
+_50
+  Allied in bliss, if any yet allied.
+  If so, let mine the stolen enjoyments be;
+  If not, behold a willing bride in me.'
+     The boy knew nought of love, and, touched with shame,
+  He strove, and blushed, but still the blush became:
+  In rising blushes still fresh beauties rose;
+  The sunny side of fruit such blushes shows,
+  And such the moon, when all her silver white
+  Turns in eclipses to a ruddy light.
+  The nymph still begs, if not a nobler bliss,
+_60
+  A cold salute at least, a sister's kiss:
+  And now prepares to take the lovely boy
+  Between her arms. He, innocently coy,
+  Replies, 'Or leave me to myself alone,
+  You rude, uncivil nymph, or I'll begone.'
+  'Fair stranger then,' says she, 'it shall be so;'
+  And, for she feared his threats, she feigned to go;
+  But hid within a covert's neighbouring green,
+  She kept him still in sight, herself unseen.
+  The boy now fancies all the danger o'er,
+_70
+  And innocently sports about the shore,
+  Playful and wanton to the stream he trips,
+  And dips his foot, and shivers as he dips.
+  The coolness pleased him, and with eager haste
+  His airy garments on the banks he cast;
+  His godlike features, and his heavenly hue,
+  And all his beauties were exposed to view.
+  His naked limbs the nymph with rapture spies,
+  While hotter passions in her bosom rise,
+  Flush in her cheeks, and sparkle in her eyes.
+_80
+  She longs, she burns to clasp him in her arms,
+  And looks, and sighs, and kindles at his charms.
+     Now all undressed upon the banks he stood,
+  And clapped his sides and leaped into the flood:
+  His lovely limbs the silver waves divide,
+  His limbs appear more lovely through the tide;
+  As lilies shut within a crystal case,
+  Receive a glossy lustre from the glass.
+  'He's mine, he's all my own,' the Naiad cries,
+  And flings off all, and after him she flies.
+_90
+  And now she fastens on him as he swims,
+  And holds him close, and wraps about his limbs.
+  The more the boy resisted, and was coy,
+  The more she clipped and kissed the struggling boy.
+  So when the wriggling snake is snatched on high
+  In eagle's claws, and hisses in the sky,
+  Around the foe his twirling tail he flings,
+  And twists her legs, and writhes about her wings.
+  The restless boy still obstinately strove
+  To free himself, and still refused her love.
+_100
+  Amidst his limbs she kept her limbs entwined,
+  'And why, coy youth,' she cries, 'why thus unkind!
+  Oh may the gods thus keep us ever joined!
+  Oh may we never, never part again!'
+  So prayed the nymph, nor did she pray in vain:
+  For now she finds him, as his limbs she pressed,
+  Grow nearer still, and nearer to her breast;
+  Till, piercing each the other's flesh, they run
+  Together, and incorporate in one:
+  Last in one face are both their faces joined,
+_110
+  As when the stock and grafted twig combined
+  Shoot up the same, and wear a common rind:
+  Both bodies in a single body mix,
+  A single body with a double sex.
+     The boy, thus lost in woman, now surveyed
+  The river's guilty stream, and thus he prayed:
+  (He prayed, but wondered at his softer tone,
+  Surprised to hear a voice but half his own:)
+  You parent gods, whose heavenly names I bear,
+  Hear your Hermaphrodite, and grant my prayer;
+_120
+  Oh grant, that whomsoe'er these streams contain,
+  If man he entered, he may rise again
+  Supple, unsinewed, and but half a man!
+     The heavenly parents answered, from on high,
+  Their two-shaped son, the double votary;
+  Then gave a secret virtue to the flood,
+  And tinged its source to make his wishes good.
+
+
+
+TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES,[12]
+
+WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO, NOV. 1714.
+
+  The Muse that oft, with sacred raptures fired,
+  Has generous thoughts of liberty inspired,
+  And, boldly rising for Britannia's laws,
+  Engaged great Cato in her country's cause,
+  On you submissive waits, with hopes assured,
+  By whom the mighty blessing stands secured,
+  And all the glories that our age adorn,
+  Are promised to a people yet unborn.
+     No longer shall the widowed land bemoan
+  A broken lineage, and a doubtful throne;
+_10
+  But boast her royal progeny's increase,
+  And count the pledges of her future peace.
+  O, born to strengthen and to grace our isle!
+  While you, fair Princess, in your offspring smile,
+  Supplying charms to the succeeding age,
+  Each heavenly daughter's triumphs we presage;
+  Already see the illustrious youths complain,
+  And pity monarchs doomed to sigh in vain.
+     Thou too, the darling of our fond desires,
+  Whom Albion, opening wide her arms, requires,
+_20
+  With manly valour and attractive air
+  Shalt quell the fierce and captivate the fair.
+  O England's younger hope! in whom conspire
+  The mother's sweetness and the father's fire!
+  For thee perhaps, even now, of kingly race,
+  Some dawning beauty blooms in every grace,
+  Some Carolina, to heaven's dictates true,
+  Who, while the sceptred rivals vainly sue,
+  Thy inborn worth with conscious eyes shall see,
+  And slight the imperial diadem for thee.
+_30
+     Pleased with the prospect of successive reigns,
+  The tuneful tribe no more in daring strains
+  Shall vindicate, with pious fears oppressed,
+  Endangered rights, and liberty distressed:
+  To milder sounds each Muse shall tune the lyre,
+  And gratitude, and faith to kings inspire,
+  And filial love; bid impious discord cease,
+  And soothe the madding factions into peace;
+  Or rise ambitious in more lofty lays,
+  And teach the nation their new monarch's praise,
+_40
+  Describe his awful look and godlike mind,
+  And Caesar's power with Cato's virtue joined.
+     Meanwhile, bright Princess, who, with graceful ease
+  And native majesty, are formed to please,
+  Behold those arts with a propitious eye,
+  That suppliant to their great protectress fly!
+  Then shall they triumph, and the British stage
+  Improve her manners and refine her rage,
+  More noble characters expose to view,
+  And draw her finished heroines from you.
+_50
+     Nor you the kind indulgence will refuse,
+  Skilled in the labours of the deathless Muse:
+  The deathless Muse with undiminished rays
+  Through distant times the lovely dame conveys:
+  To Gloriana[13] Waller's harp was strung;
+  The queen still shines, because the poet sung.
+  Even all those graces, in your frame combined,
+  The common fate of mortal charms may find,
+  (Content our short-lived praises to engage,
+  The joy and wonder of a single age,)
+_60
+  Unless some poet in a lasting song
+  To late posterity their fame prolong,
+  Instruct our sons the radiant form to prize.
+  And see your beauty with their fathers' eyes.
+
+
+
+TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER[14] ON HIS PICTURE OF THE KING.[15]
+
+  Kneller, with silence and surprise
+  We see Britannia's monarch rise,
+  A godlike form, by thee displayed
+  In all the force of light and shade;
+  And, awed by thy delusive hand,
+  As in the presence-chamber stand.
+     The magic of thy art calls forth
+  His secret soul and hidden worth,
+  His probity and mildness shows,
+  His care of friends and scorn of foes:
+_10
+  In every stroke, in every line,
+  Does some exalted virtue shine,
+  And Albion's happiness we trace
+  Through all the features of his face.
+     Oh may I live to hail the day,
+  When the glad nation shall survey
+  Their sovereign, through his wide command,
+  Passing in progress o'er the land!
+  Each heart shall bend, and every voice
+  In loud applauding shouts rejoice,
+_20
+  Whilst all his gracious aspect praise,
+  And crowds grow loyal as they gaze.
+     This image on the medal placed,
+  With its bright round of titles graced,
+  And stamped on British coins, shall live,
+  To richest ores the value give,
+  Or, wrought within the curious mould,
+  Shape and adorn the running gold.
+  To bear this form, the genial sun
+  Has daily, since his course begun,
+_30
+  Rejoiced the metal to refine,
+  And ripened the Peruvian mine.
+     Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,
+  The foremost of thy art, hast vied
+  With nature in a generous strife,
+  And touched the canvas into life.
+  Thy pencil has, by monarchs sought,
+  From reign to reign in ermine wrought,
+  And, in their robes of state arrayed,
+  The kings of half an age displayed.
+_40
+     Here swarthy Charles appears, and there
+  His brother with dejected air:
+  Triumphant Nassau here we find,
+  And with him bright Maria joined;
+  There Anna, great as when she sent
+  Her armies through the continent,
+  Ere yet her hero was disgraced:
+  Oh may famed Brunswick be the last,
+  (Though heaven should with my wish agree,
+  And long preserve thy art in thee,)
+_50
+  The last, the happiest British king,
+  Whom thou shalt paint, or I shall sing!
+     Wise Phidias, thus his skill to prove,
+  Through many a god advanced to Jove,
+  And taught the polished rocks to shine
+  With airs and lineaments divine;
+  Till Greece, amazed, and half afraid,
+  The assembled deities surveyed.
+     Great Pan, who wont to chase the fair,
+  And loved the spreading oak, was there;
+_60
+  Old Saturn too, with up-cast eyes,
+  Beheld his abdicated skies;
+  And mighty Mars, for war renowned,
+  In adamantine armour frowned;
+  By him the childless goddess rose,
+  Minerva, studious to compose
+  Her twisted threads; the web she strung,
+  And o'er a loom of marble hung:
+  Thetis, the troubled ocean's queen.
+  Matched with a mortal, next was seen,
+_70
+  Reclining on a funeral urn,
+  Her short-lived darling son to mourn.
+  The last was he, whose thunder slew
+  The Titan race, a rebel crew,
+  That, from a hundred hills allied
+  In impious leagues, their king defied.
+     This wonder of the sculptor's hand
+  Produced, his art was at a stand:
+  For who would hope new fame to raise,
+  Or risk his well-established praise,
+_80
+  That, his high genius to approve,
+  Had drawn a GEORGE, or carved a Jove!
+
+
+
+THE PLAY-HOUSE.
+
+  Where gentle Thames through stately channels glides,
+  And England's proud metropolis divides;
+  A lofty fabric does the sight invade,
+  And stretches o'er the waves a pompous shade;
+  Whence sudden shouts the neighbourhood surprise,
+  And thundering claps and dreadful hissings rise.
+    Here thrifty R----[16] hires monarchs by the day,
+  And keeps his mercenary kings in pay;
+  With deep-mouth'd actors fills the vacant scenes,
+  And rakes the stews for goddesses and queens:
+_10
+  Here the lewd punk, with crowns and sceptres graced,
+  Teaches her eyes a more majestic cast;
+  And hungry monarchs with a numerous train
+  Of suppliant slaves, like Sancho, starve and reign.
+     But enter in, my Muse; the stage survey,
+  And all its pomp and pageantry display;
+  Trap-doors and pit-falls, form the unfaithful ground,
+  And magic walls encompass it around:
+  On either side maim'd temples fill our eyes,
+  And intermixed with brothel-houses rise;
+_20
+  Disjointed palaces in order stand,
+  And groves obedient to the mover's hand
+  O'ershade the stage, and flourish at command.
+  A stamp makes broken towns and trees entire:
+  So when Amphion struck the vocal lyre,
+  He saw the spacious circuit all around,
+  With crowding woods and rising cities crown'd.
+     But next the tiring-room survey, and see
+  False titles, and promiscuous quality,
+  Confus'dly swarm, from heroes and from queens,
+_30
+  To those that swing in clouds and fill machines.
+  Their various characters they choose with art,
+  The frowning bully fits the tyrant's part:
+  Swoln cheeks and swaggering belly make an host,
+  Pale, meagre looks and hollow voice a ghost;
+  From careful brows and heavy downcast eyes,
+  Dull cits and thick-skull'd aldermen arise:
+  The comic tone, inspir'd by Congreve, draws
+  At every word, loud laughter and applause:
+  The whining dame continues as before,
+_40
+  Her character unchanged, and acts a whore.
+     Above the rest, the prince with haughty stalks
+  Magnificent in purple buskins walks:
+  The royal robes his awful shoulders grace,
+  Profuse of spangles and of copper-lace:
+  Officious rascals to his mighty thigh,
+  Guiltless of blood, the unpointed weapon tie:
+  Then the gay glittering diadem put on,
+  Ponderous with brass, and starr'd with Bristol-stone.
+  His royal consort next consults her glass,
+_50
+  And out of twenty boxes culls a face;
+  The whitening first her ghastly looks besmears,
+  All pale and wan the unfinish'd form appears;
+  Till on her cheeks the blushing purple glows,
+  And a false virgin-modesty bestows.
+  Her ruddy lips the deep vermilion dyes;
+  Length to her brows the pencil's arts supplies,
+  And with black bending arches shades her eyes.
+  Well pleased at length the picture she beholds,
+  And spots it o'er with artificial molds;
+_60
+  Her countenance complete, the beaux she warms
+  With looks not hers: and, spite of nature, charms.
+     Thus artfully their persons they disguise,
+  Till the last flourish bids the curtain rise.
+  The prince then enters on the stage in state;
+  Behind, a guard of candle-snuffers wait:
+  There swoln with empire, terrible and fierce,
+  He shakes the dome, and tears his lungs with verse:
+  His subjects tremble; the submissive pit,
+  Wrapt up in silence and attention, sit;
+_70
+  Till, freed at length, he lays aside the weight
+  Of public business and affairs of state:
+  Forgets his pomp, dead to ambitious fires,
+  And to some peaceful brandy-shop retires;
+  Where in full gills his anxious thoughts he drowns,
+  And quaffs away the care that waits on crowns.
+     The princess next her painted charms displays,
+  Where every look the pencil's art betrays;
+  The callow squire at distance feeds his eyes,
+  And silently for paint and washes dies:
+_80
+  But if the youth behind the scenes retreat,
+  He sees the blended colours melt with heat,
+  And all the trickling beauty run in sweat.
+  The borrow'd visage he admires no more,
+  And nauseates every charm he loved before:
+  So the famed spear, for double force renown'd,
+  Applied the remedy that gave the wound.
+     In tedious lists 'twere endless to engage,
+  And draw at length the rabble of the stage,
+  Where one for twenty years has given alarms,
+_90
+  And call'd contending monarchs to their arms;
+  Another fills a more important post,
+  And rises every other night a ghost;
+  Through the cleft stage his mealy face he rears,
+  Then stalks along, groans thrice, and disappears;
+  Others, with swords and shields, the soldier's pride,
+  More than a thousand times have changed their side,
+  And in a thousand fatal battles died.
+     Thus several persons several parts perform;
+  Soft lovers whine, and blustering heroes storm.
+_100
+  The stern exasperated tyrants rage,
+  Till the kind bowl of poison clears the stage.
+  Then honours vanish, and distinctions cease;
+  Then, with reluctance, haughty queens undress.
+  Heroes no more their fading laurels boast,
+  And mighty kings in private men are lost.
+  He, whom such titles swell'd, such power made proud,
+  To whom whole realms and vanquish'd nations bow'd,
+  Throws off the gaudy plume, the purple train,
+  And in his own vile tatters stinks again.
+_110
+
+
+
+ON THE LADY MANCHESTER.
+
+WRITTEN ON THE TOASTING-GLASSES OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB.
+
+  While haughty Gallia's dames, that spread
+  O'er their pale cheeks an artful red,
+  Beheld this beauteous stranger there,
+  In native charms divinely fair;
+  Confusion in their looks they show'd;
+  And with unborrow'd blushes glow'd.
+
+
+
+AN ODE.
+
+  1
+
+  The spacious firmament on high,
+  With all the blue ethereal sky,
+  And spangled Heavens, a shining frame,
+  Their great Original proclaim.
+  The unwearied Sun from day to day
+  Does his Creator's power display;
+  And publishes, to every land,
+  The work of an almighty hand.
+
+  2
+
+  Soon as the evening shades prevail,
+  The Moon takes up the wondrous tale;
+  And nightly, to the listening Earth,
+  Repeats the story of her birth:
+  Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
+  And all the planets, in their turn,
+  Confirm the tidings as they roll,
+  And spread the truth from pole to pole.
+
+  3
+
+  What though, in solemn silence, all
+  Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
+  What though no real voice, nor sound
+  Amidst their radiant orbs be found:
+  In reason's ear they all rejoice,
+  And utter forth a glorious voice;
+  For ever singing as they shine:
+  'The hand that made us is divine.'
+
+
+
+AN HYMN.
+
+  1
+     When all thy mercies, O my God,
+         My rising soul surveys;
+      Transported with the view, I'm lost
+          In wonder, love, and praise.
+
+  2
+     O how shall words with equal warmth
+         The gratitude declare,
+      That glows within my ravish'd heart!
+         But thou canst read it there.
+
+  3
+      Thy providence my life sustain'd,
+         And all my wants redress'd,
+       When in the silent womb I lay,
+         And hung upon the breast.
+
+  4
+      To all my weak complaints and cries
+          Thy mercy lent an ear,
+      Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt
+          To form themselves in prayer.
+
+  5
+      Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
+          Thy tender care bestow'd,
+      Before my infant heart conceiv'd
+           From whence these comforts flow'd.
+
+  6
+      When in the slippery paths of youth
+          With heedless steps I ran,
+      Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe,
+          And led me up to man.
+
+  7
+      Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,
+           It gently clear'd my way;
+      And through the pleasing snares of vice,
+          More to be fear'd than they.
+
+  8
+      When worn with sickness, oft hast thou
+          With health renew'd my face;
+      And when in sins and sorrows sunk,
+          Reviv'd my soul with grace.
+
+  9
+       Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
+          Has made my cup run o'er,
+       And in a kind and faithful friend
+          Has doubled all my store.
+
+  10
+       Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
+          My daily thanks employ;
+       Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
+          That tastes those gifts with joy.
+
+  11
+       Through every period of my life,
+          Thy goodness I'll pursue;
+       And after death, in distant worlds,
+          The glorious theme renew.[17]
+
+  12
+       When nature fails, and day and night
+           Divide thy works no more,
+       My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
+           Thy mercy shall adore.
+
+  13
+       Through all eternity, to thee
+          A joyful song I'll raise;
+       For, oh! eternity's too short
+          To utter all thy praise.
+
+
+
+AN ODE.
+
+  1
+       How are thy servants blest, O Lord!
+           How sure is their defence!
+       Eternal wisdom is their guide,
+           Their help Omnipotence.
+
+  2
+       In foreign realms, and lands remote,
+            Supported by thy care,
+       Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
+            And breath'd in tainted air.
+
+  3
+       Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,
+            Made every region please;
+       The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd,
+            And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
+
+  4
+       Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
+           How, with affrighted eyes,
+       Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep
+           In all its horrors rise.
+
+  5
+       Confusion dwelt in every face,
+           And fear in every heart;
+       When waves on waves, and gulphs on gulphs,
+           O'ercame the pilot's art.
+
+  6
+       Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord,
+           Thy mercy set me free;
+       Whilst, in the confidence of prayer,
+           My soul took hold on thee.
+
+  7
+       For though in dreadful whirls we hung
+           High on the broken wave,
+       I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
+           Nor impotent to save.
+
+  8
+       The storm was laid, the winds retired,
+          Obedient to thy will;
+       The sea that roar'd at thy command,
+          At thy command was still.
+
+  9
+       In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
+           Thy goodness I'll adore;
+       And praise thee for thy mercies past,
+           And humbly hope for more.
+
+  10
+       My life, if thou preserv'st my life,
+           Thy sacrifice shall be;
+       And death, if death must be my doom,
+           Shall join my soul to thee.
+
+
+
+AN HYMN.
+
+  1
+      When rising from the bed of death,
+          O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
+       I see my Maker face to face;
+          O how shall I appear!
+
+  2
+       If yet, while pardon may be found,
+          And mercy may be sought,
+      My heart with inward horror shrinks,
+          And trembles at the thought:
+
+  3
+      When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
+          In majesty severe,
+      And sit in judgment on my soul;
+         O how shall I appear!
+
+  4
+      But thou hast told the troubled soul,
+         Who does her sins lament,
+      The timely tribute of her tears
+         Shall endless woe prevent.
+
+  5
+      Then see the sorrows of my heart,
+         Ere yet it be too late;
+      And add my Saviour's dying groans,
+         To give those sorrows weight.
+
+  6
+       For never shall my soul despair
+          Her pardon to procure,
+       Who knows thy only Son has died
+          To make that pardon sure.
+
+
+
+PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.
+
+  1
+
+  The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
+  And feed me with a shepherd's care;
+  His presence shall my wants supply,
+  And guard me with a watchful eye:
+  My noon-day walks he shall attend,
+  And all my midnight hours defend.
+
+  2
+
+  When in the sultry glebe I faint,
+  Or on the thirsty mountain pant;
+  To fertile vales and dewy meads
+  My weary wandering steps he leads:
+  Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
+  Amid the verdant landscape flow.
+
+  3
+
+  Though in the paths of death I tread,
+  With gloomy horrors overspread,
+  My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
+  For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
+  Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
+  And guide me through the dreadful shade.
+
+  4
+
+  Though in a bare and rugged way,
+  Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
+  Thy bounty shall my wants beguile:
+  The barren wilderness shall smile,
+  With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
+  And streams shall murmur all around.
+
+
+
+END OF ADDISON'S POEMS.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+[Footnote 2: 'Majesty:' King William.]
+
+[Footnote 3: 'Seneffe:' lost by William to the French in 1674.
+Claverhouse fought with him at this battle.]
+
+[Footnote 4: The four last lines of the second and third stanzas were
+added by Mr Tate.]
+
+[Footnote 5: 'Eridanus:' the Po.]
+
+[Footnote 6: 'Such as of late.' See Macaulay's 'Essay on Addison,' and
+the 'Life' in this volume, for an account of this extraordinary tempest.]
+
+[Footnote 7: 'Tallard,' or Tallart: an eminent French marshal, taken
+prisoner at Blenheim; he remained in England for seven years.]
+
+[Footnote 8: A comedy written by Sir Richard Steel.]
+
+[Footnote 9: A dramatic poem written by the Lord Lansdown.]
+
+[Footnote 10: 'Smith:' Edmund, commonly called 'Rag;' see Johnson's
+'Poets.']
+
+[Footnote 11: 'Lyaeus:' Bacchus.]
+
+[Footnote 12: 'Princess of Wales:' Willielinina Dorothea Carolina of
+Brandenburg-Anspach--afterwards Caroline, Queen of George II.; she
+figures in the 'Heart of Mid-Lothian.']
+
+[Footnote 13: 'Gloriana:' Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I. See our
+edition of Waller.]
+
+[Footnote 14: 'Sir Godfrey Kneller:' born at Lubeck in 1648; became a
+painter of portraits; visited England; was knighted by William III.; died
+in 1723; lies in Westminster Abbey.]
+
+[Footnote 15: This refers to a portrait of George I.]
+
+[Footnote 16: 'R----:' Rich.]
+
+[Footnote 17: Otherwise,
+                    'Thy goodness I'll proclaim;'
+              And,
+                    'Resume the glorious theme.' ]
+
+
+
+
+THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY.
+
+
+
+This ingenious poet and child-like man was born, in 1688, at Barnstable,
+in Devonshire. His family, who were of Norman origin, had long possessed
+the manor of Goldworthy, or Holdworthy, which came into their hands
+through Gilbert Le Gay. He obtained possession of this estate by
+intermarrying with the family of Curtoyse, and gave his name, too, to a
+place called Hampton Gay, in Northamptonshire. The author of the "Fables"
+was brought up at the Free School of Barnstable--Pope says under one
+William Rayner, who had been educated at Westminster School, and who was
+the author of a volume of Latin and English verse, although Dr Johnson
+and others maintain that his master's name was Luck. On leaving school,
+Gay was bound apprentice to a mercer in London--a trade not the most
+propitious to poetry, and which he did not long continue to prosecute. In
+1712, he published his "Rural Sports," and dedicated it to Pope, who was
+then rising toward the ascendant, having just published his brilliant
+tissue of centos, the "Essay on Criticism." Pope was pleased with the
+honour, and ever afterwards took a deep interest in Gay. In the same year
+Gay had been appointed domestic secretary to the Duchess of Monmouth.
+This lady was Anne Scott, the daughter and heiress of the Duke of
+Buccleuch, and widow of the well-known and hapless Duke of Monmouth, who
+had been beheaded in 1685. She plays a prominent part in the "Lay of the
+Last Minstrel," and of her a far greater poet than her secretary thus
+sings:--
+
+  "The Duchess mark'd his weary pace,
+  His timid mien, and reverend face,
+  And bade her page the menials tell
+  That they should tend the old man well:
+
+  For she had known adversity,
+  Though born in such a high degree;
+  In pride of power, in beauty's bloom,
+  Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb."
+
+Dr Johnson says of her, rather sarcastically, that she was "remarkable
+for her inflexible perseverance in her demand to be treated as a
+princess." One biographer of Gay asserts--but on what authority we know
+not--that this secretaryship was rewarded with a handsome salary. With
+her, however, our poet did not long agree. She was scarcely so kind to
+him as to the "Last Minstrel" who sung to her at Newark. By June 8th,
+1714, (see a letter of Arbuthnot's of that date,) she had "turned Gay
+off," having probably been provoked by his indolence of disposition and
+improvidence of conduct.
+
+Ere this, however, he had been admitted to the intimacy of Pope, and was
+hired or flattered by him to engage in the famous "Battle of the Wits,"
+springing from the publication of the "Pastorals" of Ambrose Philips.
+This agreeable but nearly forgotten writer published some pastorals,
+which Steele, with his usual rashness and fatal favouritism, commended in
+the "Guardian" as superior to all productions of the class, (including
+Pope's,) except those of Theocritus, Virgil, and Spenser. Pope retorted
+in a style of inimitable irony, by a letter to the "Guardian," where he
+professedly gives the preference to Philips, but damages his claim by
+producing four specimens of his composition, and contrasting them with
+the better portions of his own. Not contented with this, he prevailed on
+Gay to satirise Philips in the "Shepherd's Week"--a poem which forms the
+_reductio ad absurdum_ of that writer's plan, and exhibits rural life in
+more than the vulgarity and grossness which the author of the "Pastorals"
+had ascribed to it.
+
+Gay shortly after wrote his "Fan," and his "Trivia, or the Art of Walking
+the Streets of London"--the former a mythological fiction, in three
+books, now entirely and deservedly neglected; the second still worthy of
+perusal on account of its fidelity to truth, in its pictures of the dirty
+London of 1713--a fidelity reminding you of Crabbe and of Swift; indeed,
+Gay is said to have been assisted in "Trivia" by the latter, who, we may
+not uncharitably suppose, supplied the filth of allusion and image which
+here and there taints the poem. In 1713, our author brought out on the
+stage a comedy, entitled the "Wife of Bath," which met with no success,
+and which, when reproduced seventeen years later, after the "Beggars'
+Opera" had taken the town by storm, fell as flat as before.
+
+Gay had now fairly found his way into the centre of that brilliant circle
+called the Wits of Queen Anne. That was certainly one of the most varied
+in intellect and attainment which the world has ever seen. Highest far
+among them--we refer to the Tory side--darkled the stern brow of the
+author of "Gulliver's Travels," who had a mind cast by nature in a form
+of naked force, like a gloomy crag without a particle of beauty or
+any vegetation, save what will grow on the most horrid rocks, and the
+condition of whose existence there, seems to be that it deepens
+the desolation--a mind unredeemed by virtue save in the shape of
+remorse--unvisited by weakness, until it came transmuted into the tiger
+of madness--whose very sermons were satires on God and man--whose very
+prayers had a twang of blasphemy--whose loves were more loathsome than
+his hatreds, and yet over whose blasted might and most miserable and
+withered heart men mourn, while they shudder, blend tears with anathemas,
+and agree that the awful mystery of man itself is deepened by its
+relation to the mystery of the wickedness, remorse, and wretchedness
+of Jonathan Swift. Superior to him in outward show and splendour, but
+inferior in real intellect, and, if possible, in moral calibre, shone,
+although with lurid brilliance, the "fell genius" of St John or Henry
+Bolingbroke. In a former paper we said that Edmund Burke reminded us less
+of a man than of a tutelar Angel; and so we can sometimes think of the
+"ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke," with his subtle intellect, his showy,
+sophistical eloquence, his power of intrigue, his consummate falsehood,
+his vice and his infidelity as a "superior fiend"--a kind of human
+Belial--
+
+                   "In act more graceful than humane:
+  A fairer person lost not heaven: he seem'd
+
+  For dignity composed and high exploit;
+  But all was false and hollow, though his tongue
+  Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear
+  The better reason, to perplex and dash
+  Maturest counsels."
+
+These two were the giants of the Tory confederacy of wits. But little
+inferior to them in brilliance, if vastly less in intellectual size, was
+Pope, with his epigrammatic style, his compact sense--like stimulating
+essence contained in small smelling bottles--his pungent personalities,
+his elegant glitter, and his splendid simulation of moral indignation and
+moral purpose. Less known, but more esteemed than any of them where he
+was known, was Dr Arbuthnot--a physician of skill, as some extant medical
+works prove--a man of science, and author of an "Essay on the Usefulness
+of Mathematical Learning"--a scholar, as evinced by his examination of
+Woodward's "Account of the Deluge," his treatise on "Ancient Coins and
+Medals," and that on the "Altercation or Scolding of the Ancients"--a
+wit, whose grave irony, keen perception of the ridiculous, and magical
+power of turning the lead of learning into the most fine gold of humour,
+exhibited in his "Martinus Scriblerus," his "Epitaph on the notorious
+Colonel Chartres," and his "History of John Bull," still extract shouts,
+screams, and tears of mirth from thousands who scarce know the author's
+name--a politician without malice or self-seeking--and, best of all,
+a man without guile, and a Christian without cant. He, although a
+physician, was in effect the chaplain of the corps, and had enough to do
+in keeping them within due bounds; nay, is said on his deathbed to have
+called Pope to him, and given him serious advice in reference to the
+direction of his talents, and the restraint of his muse. Prior, though
+inferior to these, was no common man; and to learning, wit, and
+tale-telling power, added skill and energy in the conduct of public
+affairs. And last, (for Parnell, though beloved by this circle, could
+hardly be said to belong to it,) there was Gay, whom the others agreed
+to love and laugh at, who stood in much the same relation to the wits of
+Anne as Goldsmith did to those of George III., being at once their fool
+and their fondling; who, like Goldsmith, was
+
+  "In wit a man--simplicity a child;"
+
+and who though he could not stab and sneer, and create new worlds more
+laughable than even this, like Swift, nor declaim and sap faith, like
+Bolingbroke, nor rhyme and glitter like Pope, nor discourse on medals and
+write comical "Pilgrims' Progresses" like Arbuthnot, nor pour out floods
+of learning like Prior in "Alma," could do things which they in their
+turn never equalled, (even as in Emerson's poem, "The Mountain and the
+Squirrel," the latter wisely remarks to the former--
+
+  "I cannot carry forests on my back,
+  But neither can you crack a nut,")
+
+could give a fabulous excellence to the construction and management of
+the "Fable;" extract interest from street crossings and scavengers, and
+let fly into the literary atmosphere an immortal Opera, the "Beggars',"
+which, though feathered by the moultings of the very basest night-birds,
+has pursued a career of triumph ever since.
+
+To recur to the life of our poet. Losing his situation under the Duchess
+of Monmouth, he was patronised by the Earls of Oxford and Bolingbroke,
+and through them was appointed secretary to the Earl of Clarendon, who
+was going to Hanover as ambassador to that court. He was at this time so
+poor that, in order to equip himself with necessaries, such as shoes,
+stockings, and linen for the journey, he had to receive an advance of
+L100 from the treasury at Hanover. The Electoral Princess, afterwards
+Queen Caroline--wife of George II.--took some notice of Gay, and asked
+for a volume of his "Poems," when, as Arbuthnot remarks, "like a true
+poet," he was compelled to own that he had no copy in his possession. We
+suspect few poets, whether true or pretended, in our age would in this
+point resemble Gay.
+
+Lord Clarendon's embassy lasted precisely fifteen days--Queen Anne
+having died in the meantime--and the Tory Government being consequently
+dismissed in disgrace. Poor Gay, who had offended the Whigs by dedicating
+his "Shepherd's Week" to Bolingbroke, came home in a worse plight than
+before. He had left England in a state of poverty--he returned to it in a
+state of proscription--although he perhaps felt comforted by an epistle
+of welcome from Pope, which did not, it is likely, affect him as it does
+us with the notion that its tricksy author was laughing in his sleeve.
+
+Arbuthnot, who was a wiser friend, advised Gay to write an "Epistle on
+the Arrival of the Princess of Wales," which he did, and she and her lord
+were so far conciliated as to attend a play he now produced, entitled
+"What d'ye call it?"--a kind of hybrid between a farce and a
+tragedy--which, by the well-managed equivoque of its purpose, hit the
+house between wind and water; and not knowing "what" properly to "call
+it," and whether it should be applauded or damned, they gave the benefit
+of their doubts to the author. To its success, doubtless too, the
+presence and praise of the Prince and the Princess contributed. Gay now
+tried for a while the trade of a courtier--sooth to say, with little
+success. He was for this at once too sanguine and too simple. Pope said,
+with his usual civil sneer, in a letter to Swift, "the Doctor (Arbuthnot)
+goes to cards--Gay to court; the one loses money, the other time."
+It added to his chagrin, that having, in conjunction with Pope and
+Arbuthnot, produced, in 1717, a comedy, entitled "Three Months after
+Marriage," to satirise Dr Woodward, then famous as a fossilist; the
+piece, being personal and indecent, was not only hissed but hooted off
+the stage. The chief offence was taken at the introduction of a mummy and
+a crocodile on the stage. To divert his grief, he, at the suggestion of
+Lord Burlington, who paid his expenses, rambled into Devonshire, went
+next with Pultney to Aix, in France, and when afterwards on a visit to
+Lord Harcourt's seat, witnessed the incident of the two country lovers
+killed by lightning in each other's arms, to which Pope alludes in one of
+his letters, and Goldsmith in his "Vicar of Wakefield."
+
+In 1720 he published his "Poems" by subscription. The general kindness
+felt for Gay, notwithstanding his faults and feebleness, now found a
+vent. The Prince and Princess of Wales not only subscribed, but gave
+him a liberal present, and some of the nobility, who regarded him as an
+agreeable plaything and lapdog of genius, took a number of copies. The
+result was that he gained a thousand pounds. He asked the advice of his
+friends how to dispose of this sum, and, as usual, took his own. Lewis,
+steward to Lord Oxford, advised him to entrust it to the funds, and live
+on the interest; Arbuthnot, to live upon the principal; Pope and Swift,
+to buy an annuity. Gay preferred to sink it in the South-Sea Bubble, then
+in all its glory. At first he imagined himself master of L20,000, and
+when advised to sell out and purchase as much as his wise friend Elijah
+Fenton said would "procure him a clean shirt and a shoulder of mutton
+every day," rejected the counsel, and in fine lost every farthing, and
+nearly lost next, through vexation, either his life or his reason.
+
+Pope, who occasionally laughed at him, was now very kind, and partly
+through his assiduous attention, Gay recovered his health, spirits, and
+the use of his pen. He wrote a tragedy called the "Captives," and was
+invited to read it before the Princess of Wales. The sight of her and
+her assembled ladies frightened him, and in advancing he stumbled over a
+stool and overthrew a heavy japan screen. How he fared afterwards in the
+reading we are not informed; but as we are told that the Princess started
+and her ladies screamed, we fear it had been poorly. On this story
+Hawkesworth has founded an amusing story in the "Adventurer," and it was
+also, we think, in the eye of the author of the humorous tale, entitled
+"The Bashful Man." This unlucky play was afterwards acted seven nights,
+the author's third night being under the special patronage of her Royal
+Highness.
+
+At the request of the same illustrious lady, he, in 1726, undertook to
+write a volume of "Fables" for the young Duke of Cumberland, afterwards
+of Culloden notoriety, and when at last, in 1727, the Prince became
+George II., and the Princess Queen Caroline, Gay's hopes of promotion
+boiled as high as his hopes of gain had during the South-Sea scheme.
+But here, too, he was deceived; and having only received the paltry
+appointment (as he deemed it, though the salary was L200,) of
+gentleman-usher to the Princess Louisa, a girl of two years old, he
+thought himself insulted. He first sent a message to the Queen that he
+was too old for the place,--an excuse which he made for himself, but
+which, being only thirty-nine, he would not have borne any other to make
+for him. He next condescended to court Mrs Howard, the mistress of George
+II., and that "good Howard" commemorated in the "Heart of Mid-Lothian;"
+but this too was in vain, and then he retired from the attempt, growling
+out probably (if we can imagine him in fable, not as Queen Caroline
+called him the "Hare," but a Bear) the words, "Put not your faith in
+princes." He was the more excusable, as, two years before, Sir Robert
+Walpole had, for his surmised Toryism, turned him out of the office of
+"Commissioner of the Lottery," which had brought him in L150 a-year.
+
+But now for once Gay catches Fortune on the wheel. There is a lucky hour
+in almost all lives, provided it be waited for with patience, and with
+prudence improved. Swift had some years before observed to Gay, what an
+odd pretty sort of thing a Newgate pastoral would make. On this hint Gay
+acted, preferring, however, to expand it into a comedy. Hence came the
+"Beggars' Opera," a hit in literature second to none that ever occurred
+in that fluctuating region. It was first performed in 1728, although much
+of it had been written before, and only a few satirical strokes, founded
+on his disappointment at court, attested their recent origin. Swift and
+Pope watched its progress with interest, but without hope. Congreve
+pronounced that it would "either take greatly, or be damned
+confoundedly." Gibber at Drury Lane refused it; it was accepted by his
+rival Rich, and soon the _on dit_ ran that it had made Gay Rich, and Rich
+Gay. On its first night there was a brilliant assemblage. What painter
+shall give their heads and faces on that anxious evening--Swift's
+lowering front--Pope's bright eyes contrasting with the blind orbs
+of Congreve (if _he_ indeed were there)--Addison's quiet, thoughtful
+physiognomy, as of one retired into some "Vision of Mirza"--the Duke of
+Argyle, with his star and stately form and animated countenance--and
+poor Gay himself perhaps, like some other play-wrights in the same
+predicament, perspiring with trepidation, as if again about to recite the
+"Captives!" At first uncertainty prevails among the patron-critics, and
+strange looks are exchanged between Swift and Pope, till, by and by, the
+latter hears Argyle exclaim, "It will do, it must do! I see it in the
+eyes of 'em;" and then the critics breathe freely, and the applauses
+become incontrollable, and the curtain closes at last amidst thunders of
+applause; and Gay goes home triumphant, amidst a circle of friends,
+who do not know whether more to wonder at his success or at their own
+previous apprehensions. For sixty-three nights continuously the piece is
+acted in London; then it spreads through England, Scotland, Wales, and
+Ireland. Ladies sing its favourite songs, or carry them in their fans.
+Miss Fenton, who acted Polly, becomes a universal favourite, nay, a
+_furor_. Her pictures are engraved, her life written, and her sayings
+and jests published, and in fine, the Italian Opera, which the piece was
+intended to ridicule, is extinguished for a season. Notwithstanding this
+unparalleled success of the "Beggars' Opera," Gay gained only L400 by
+it, although by "Polly," the second part, (where Gay transports his
+characters to the colonies,) which the Lord Chamberlain suppressed, on
+account of its supposed immoral tendency, and which the author published
+in self-defence, he cleared nearly L1200.
+
+Altogether now worth above L3000, having been admitted by the Duke of
+Queensberry into his house, who generously undertook the care alike of
+the helpless being's purse and person, and still in the prime of life,
+Gay might have looked forward, humanly speaking, to long years of
+comfort, social happiness, and increased fame. _Dis aliter visum est_. He
+had been delicate for some time, and on the 4th December 1732, at the age
+of 44, and in the course of a three days' attack of inflammation of the
+bowels, this irresolute but amiable and gifted person breathed his last,
+and was buried in Westminster Abbey. The last work he was occupied on was
+a second volume of "Fables," which was published after his death. He had
+become very popular, not merely for his powers, but for his presumed
+political principles, a "little Sacheverel," as Arbuthnot, his faithful
+friend and kind physician, calls him, and yet his modesty and simplicity
+of character remained entire, and he died while planning schemes of
+self-reformation, economy, and steady literary work. It is curious that
+Swift, when the letter arrived with the news of Gay's death, was so
+impressed with a presentiment of some coming evil, that he allowed it to
+lie five days unopened on his table. And when the Duke and Duchess of
+Queensberry erected a monument to his memory, Pope supplied an epitaph,
+familiar to most readers of poetry, and which is creditable to both. Two
+widow sisters survived Gay, amongst whom the profits of a posthumous
+opera, entitled "Achilles," as well as the small fortune which he left,
+were divided.
+
+Gay's works lie in narrow compass, and hardly require minute criticism.
+His "Beggars' Opera" has the charm of daring singularity of plan, of
+great liveliness of song, and has some touches of light hurrying sarcasm,
+worthy of any pen. Burke used to deny its merit, but he was probably
+trying it b too lofty and ideal a standard. Hazlitt, on the other hand,
+has praised it overmuch, and perhaps "monstered" some of its "nothings."
+That it has power is proved by its effects on literature. It did not, we
+believe, create many robbers, but it created a large robber school in
+the drama and the novel; for instance, Schiller's "Robbers," Ainsworth's
+"Rookwood," and "Jack Shepherd," and Bulwer's "Paul Clifford," and
+"Eugene Aram," not to speak of the innumerable French tales and plays of
+a similar kind. The intention of these generally is not, perhaps, after
+all, to make an apology, far less an apotheosis of crime, but to teach us
+how there is a "soul of goodness" in all things. And has not Shakspeare
+long taught and been commended for teaching a similar lesson, although
+we cannot say of Gay and his brethren that they have "bettered the
+instruction?" Of "Trivia," we have spoken incidentally before; of "Rural
+Sports," and the "Shepherd's Week," it is unnecessary to say more than
+that the first is juvenile, and the second odd, graphic, and amusing.
+None of them is equal to the "Fables," and therefore we have decided
+on omitting them from our edition. In the "Fables," Gay is happy in
+proportion to the innocence and simplicity of his nature. He understands
+animals, because he has more than an ordinary share of the animal in
+his own constitution. AEsop, so far as we know, though an astute, was an
+uneducated and simple-minded man. Phaedrus was a myth, and we cannot,
+therefore, adduce him in point. But Fontaine was called the "Fable-tree,"
+and Gay is just the Fable-tree transplanted from France to England. In so
+doing we do not question our poet's originality, but merely indicate
+a certain resemblance in spirit between two originals. An original in
+Fable-writing Gay certainly was. He has copied, neither in story, spirit,
+nor moral, any previous writer. His "Fables" are always graceful in
+literary execution, often interesting in story; their versification is
+ever smooth and flowing; and sometimes, as in the "Court of Death," their
+moral darkens into sublimity. On the whole, these "Fables," along with
+the "Beggars' Opera," and the delectable songs of "'Twas when the Seas
+were Roaring," and "Black-eyed Susan," shall long preserve the memory
+of their author. We have appended these two songs because of their rare
+excellence.
+
+John Gay had his faults as a man and as a poet, and it were easy finding
+fault with him in both capacities. But
+
+  "Poor were the triumph o'er the timid hare;"
+
+and he was, by his own shewing, as well as Queen Caroline's, "the Hare
+with many friends." Let us, instead, drop a "tear over his fate," and pay
+a tribute, short, but sincere, to his true, though limited genius.
+
+
+
+GAY'S FABLES.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+PART I.
+
+
+THE SHEPHERD AND THE PHILOSOPHER.
+
+  Remote from cities lived a swain,
+  Unvexed with all the cares of gain;
+  His head was silvered o'er with age,
+  And long experience made him sage;
+  In summer's heat, and winter's cold,
+  He fed his flock and penned the fold;
+  His hours in cheerful labour flew,
+  Nor envy nor ambition knew:
+  His wisdom and his honest fame
+  Through all the country raised his name.
+_10
+     A deep philosopher (whose rules
+  Of moral life were drawn from schools)
+  The shepherd's homely cottage sought
+  And thus explored his reach of thought:
+     'Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
+  O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
+  Hast thou old Greece and Rome surveyed,
+  And the vast sense of Plato weighed?
+  Hath Socrates thy soul refined,
+  And hast thou fathomed Tully's mind?
+_20
+  Or like the wise Ulysses, thrown
+  By various fates, on realms unknown,
+  Hast thou through many cities strayed,
+  Their customs, laws, and manners weighed?'
+     The shepherd modestly replied,
+  'I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
+  Nor have I roamed in foreign parts
+  To read mankind, their laws and arts;
+  For man is practised in disguise,
+  He cheats the most discerning eyes;
+_30
+  Who by that search shall wiser grow,
+  When we ourselves can never know?
+  The little knowledge I have gained,
+  Was all from simple nature drained;
+  Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
+  Hence grew my settled hate to vice.
+  The daily labours of the bee
+  Awake my soul to industry.
+  Who can observe the careful ant,
+  And not provide for future want?
+_40
+  My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
+  With gratitude inflames my mind.
+  I mark his true, his faithful way,
+  And in my service copy Tray.
+  In constancy and nuptial love,
+  I learn my duty from the dove.
+  The hen, who from the chilly air,
+  With pious wing protects her care;
+  And every fowl that flies at large,
+  Instructs me in a parent's charge.
+_50
+     From nature too I take my rule,
+  To shun contempt and ridicule.
+  I never, with important air,
+  In conversation overbear.
+  Can grave and formal pass for wise,
+  When men the solemn owl despise?
+  My tongue within my lips I rein;
+  For who talks much, must talk in vain.
+  We from the wordy torrent fly:
+  Who listens to the chattering pye?
+_60
+  Nor would I, with felonious flight,
+  By stealth invade my neighbour's right;
+  Rapacious animals we hate:
+  Kites, hawks, and wolves deserve their fate.
+  Do not we just abhorrence find
+  Against the toad and serpent kind?
+  But envy, calumny, and spite,
+  Bear stronger venom in their bite.
+  Thus every object of creation
+  Can furnish hints to contemplation;
+_70
+  And from the most minute and mean,
+  A virtuous mind can morals glean.'
+     'Thy fame is just,' the sage replies;
+  'Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
+  Pride often guides the author's pen,
+  Books as affected are as men:
+  But he who studies nature's laws,
+  From certain truth his maxims draws;
+  And those, without our schools, suffice
+  To make men moral, good, and wise.'
+_80
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+TO HIS HIGHNESS
+
+WILLIAM, DUXE OF CUMBERLAND.[1]
+
+
+FABLE I.
+
+THE LION, THE TIGER, AND THE TRAVELLER.
+
+  Accept, young Prince, the moral lay
+  And in these tales mankind survey;
+  With early virtues plant your breast,
+  The specious arts of vice detest.
+     Princes, like beauties, from their youth
+  Are strangers to the voice of truth;
+  Learn to contemn all praise betimes;
+  For flattery's the nurse of crimes;
+  Friendship by sweet reproof is shown,
+  (A virtue never near a throne);
+_10
+  In courts such freedom must offend,
+  There none presumes to be a friend.
+  To those of your exalted station
+  Each courtier is a dedication.
+  Must I too flatter like the rest,
+  And turn my morals to a jest?
+  The Muse disdains to steal from those
+  Who thrive in courts by fulsome prose.
+     But shall I hide your real praise,
+  Or tell you what a nation says?
+_20
+  They in your infant bosom trace
+  The virtues of your royal race;
+  In the fair dawning of your mind
+  Discern you generous, mild, and kind;
+  They see you grieve to hear distress,
+  And pant already to redress.
+  Go on, the height of good attain,
+  Nor let a nation hope in vain.
+  For hence we justly may presage
+  The virtues of a riper age.
+_30
+  True courage shall your bosom fire,
+  And future actions own you sire.
+  Cowards are cruel, but the brave
+  Love mercy, and delight to save.
+     A tiger roaming for his prey,
+  Sprung on a traveller in the way;
+  The prostrate game a lion spies,
+  And on the greedy tyrant flies;
+  With mingled roar resounds the wood,
+  Their teeth, their claws distil with blood;
+_40
+  Till vanquished by the lion's strength,
+  The spotted foe extends his length.
+  The man besought the shaggy lord,
+  And on his knees for life implored.
+  His life the generous hero gave,
+  Together walking to his cave,
+  The lion thus bespoke his guest:
+     'What hardy beast shall dare contest
+  My matchless strength! you saw the fight,
+  And must attest my power and right.
+_50
+  Forced to forego their native home,
+  My starving slaves at distance roam.
+  Within these woods I reign alone,
+  The boundless forest is my own.
+  Bears, wolves, and all the savage brood,
+  Have dyed the regal den with blood.
+  These carcases on either hand,
+  Those bones that whiten all the land,
+  My former deeds and triumphs tell,
+  Beneath these jaws what numbers fell.'
+_60
+     'True,' says the man, 'the strength I saw
+  Might well the brutal nation awe:
+  But shall a monarch, brave like you,
+  Place glory in so false a view?
+  Robbers invade their neighbours' right,
+  Be loved: let justice bound your might.
+  Mean are ambitious heroes' boasts
+  Of wasted lands and slaughtered hosts.
+  Pirates their power by murders gain,
+  Wise kings by love and mercy reign.
+_70
+  To me your clemency hath shown
+  The virtue worthy of a throne.
+  Heaven gives you power above the rest,
+  Like Heaven to succour the distress'd.'
+     'The case is plain,' the monarch said;
+  'False glory hath my youth misled;
+  For beasts of prey, a servile train,
+  Have been the flatterers of my reign.
+  You reason well: yet tell me, friend,
+  Did ever you in courts attend?
+_80
+  For all my fawning rogues agree,
+  That human heroes rule like me.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE II.
+
+THE SPANIEL AND THE CAMELEON.
+
+  A spaniel, bred with all the care
+  That waits upon a favourite heir,
+  Ne'er felt correction's rigid hand;
+  Indulged to disobey command,
+  In pampered ease his hours were spent;
+  He never knew what learning meant.
+  Such forward airs, so pert, so smart,
+  Were sure to win his lady's heart;
+  Each little mischief gained him praise;
+  How pretty were his fawning ways!
+_10
+     The wind was south, the morning fair,
+  He ventured forth to take the air.
+  He ranges all the meadow round,
+  And rolls upon the softest ground:
+  When near him a cameleon seen,
+  Was scarce distinguished from the green.
+     'Dear emblem of the flattering host,
+  What, live with clowns! a genius lost!
+  To cities and the court repair:
+  A fortune cannot fail thee there:
+_20
+  Preferment shall thy talents crown,
+  Believe me, friend; I know the town.'
+     'Sir,' says the sycophant, 'like you,
+  Of old, politer life I knew:
+  Like you, a courtier born and bred;
+  Kings leaned an ear to what I said.
+  My whisper always met success;
+  The ladies praised me for address,
+  I knew to hit each courtier's passion,
+  And flattered every vice in fashion.
+_30
+  But Jove, who hates the liar's ways,
+  At once cut short my prosperous days;
+  And, sentenced to retain my nature,
+  Transformed me to this crawling creature.
+  Doomed to a life obscure and mean,
+  I wander in the sylvan scene.
+  For Jove the heart alone regards;
+  He punishes what man rewards.
+  How different is thy case and mine!
+  With men at least you sup and dine;
+_40
+  While I, condemned to thinnest fare,
+  Like those I flattered feed on air.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE III.
+
+THE MOTHER, THE NURSE, AND THE FAIRY.
+
+  Give me a son! The blessing sent,
+  Were ever parents more content?
+  How partial are their doting eyes!
+  No child is half so fair and wise.
+     Waked to the morning's pleasing care,
+  The mother rose, and sought her heir.
+  She saw the nurse, like one possess'd,
+  With wringing hands, and sobbing breast.
+     'Sure some disaster hath befell:
+  Speak, nurse; I hope the boy is well.'
+_10
+     'Dear madam, think not me to blame;
+  Invisible the fairy came:
+  Your precious babe is hence conveyed,
+  And in the place a changeling laid.
+  Where are the father's mouth and nose,
+  The mother's eyes, as black as sloes?
+  See here a shocking awkward creature,
+  That speaks a fool in every feature.'
+     'The woman's blind,' the mother cries;
+  'I see wit sparkle in his eyes.'
+_20
+     'Lord! madam, what a squinting leer;
+  No doubt the fairy hath been here.'
+     Just as she spoke, a pigmy sprite
+  Pops through the key-hole, swift as light;
+  Perched on the cradle's top he stands,
+  And thus her folly reprimands:
+     'Whence sprung the vain conceited lie,
+  That we the world with fools supply?
+  What! give our sprightly race away,
+  For the dull helpless sons of clay!
+_30
+  Besides, by partial fondness shown,
+  Like you we doat upon our own.
+  Where yet was ever found a mother,
+  Who'd give her booby for another?
+  And should we change for human breed,
+  Well might we pass for fools indeed.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE IV.
+
+THE EAGLE, AND THE ASSEMBLY OF ANIMALS.
+
+  As Jupiter's all-seeing eye
+  Surveyed the worlds beneath the sky,
+  From this small speck of earth were sent,
+  Murmurs and sounds of discontent;
+  For every thing alive complained,
+  That he the hardest life sustained.
+  Jove calls his eagle. At the word
+  Before him stands the royal bird.
+  The bird, obedient, from heaven's height,
+  Downward directs his rapid flight;
+_10
+  Then cited every living thing,
+  To hear the mandates of his king.
+     'Ungrateful creatures, whence arise
+  These murmurs which offend the skies?
+  Why this disorder? say the cause:
+  For just are Jove's eternal laws.
+  Let each his discontent reveal;
+  To yon sour dog, I first appeal.'
+     'Hard is my lot,' the hound replies,
+  'On what fleet nerves the greyhound flies,
+_20
+  While I, with weary step and slow,
+  O'er plains and vales, and mountains go.
+  The morning sees my chase begun,
+  Nor ends it till the setting sun.'
+     'When,' says the greyhound, 'I pursue,
+  My game is lost, or caught in view;
+  Beyond my sight the prey's secure:
+  The hound is slow, but always sure.
+  And had I his sagacious scent,
+  Jove ne'er had heard my discontent.'
+_30
+     The lion craved the fox's art;
+  The fox, the lion's force and heart:
+  The cock implored the pigeon's flight,
+  Whose wings were rapid, strong, and light:
+  The pigeon strength of wing despised,
+  And the cock's matchless valour prized:
+  The fishes wished to graze the plain;
+  The beasts to skim beneath the main.
+  Thus, envious of another's state,
+  Each blamed the partial hand of Fate.
+_40
+     The bird of heaven then cried aloud,
+  'Jove bids disperse the murmuring crowd;
+  The god rejects your idle prayers.
+  Would ye, rebellious mutineers,
+  Entirely change your name and nature,
+  And be the very envied creature?
+  What, silent all, and none consent!
+  Be happy then, and learn content:
+  Nor imitate the restless mind,
+  And proud ambition, of mankind.'
+_50
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE V.
+
+THE WILD BOAR AND THE RAM.
+
+  Against an elm a sheep was tied,
+  The butcher's knife in blood was dyed:
+  The patient flock in silent fright,
+  From far beheld the horrid sight.
+  A savage boar, who near them stood,
+  Thus mocked to scorn the fleecy brood.
+     'All cowards should be served like you.
+  See, see, your murderer is in view:
+  With purple hands and reeking knife,
+  He strips the skin yet warm with life;
+_10
+  Your quartered sires, your bleeding dams,
+  The dying bleat of harmless lambs,
+  Call for revenge. O stupid race!
+  The heart that wants revenge is base.'
+     'I grant.' an ancient ram replies,
+  'We bear no terror in our eyes;
+  Yet think us not of soul so tame,
+  Which no repeated wrongs inflame;
+  Insensible of every ill,
+  Because we want thy tusks to kill.
+_20
+  Know, those who violence pursue,
+  Give to themselves the vengeance due;
+  For in these massacres we find
+  The two chief plagues that waste mankind:
+  Our skin supplies the wrangling bar,
+  It wakes their slumbering sons to war;
+  And well revenge may rest contented,
+  Since drums and parchment were invented.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE VI.
+
+THE MISER AND PLUTUS.
+
+  The wind was high, the window shakes,
+  With sudden start the miser wakes;
+  Along the silent room he stalks;
+  Looks back, and trembles as he walks!
+  Each lock and every bolt he tries,
+  In every creek and corner prys,
+  Then opes the chest with treasure stored,
+  And stands in rapture o'er his hoard;
+  But, now with sudden qualms possess'd,
+  He wrings his hands, he beats his breast.
+_10
+  By conscience stung, he wildly stares;
+  And thus his guilty soul declares:
+     'Had the deep earth her stores confined,
+  This heart had known sweet peace of mind.
+  But virtue's sold. Good gods, what price
+  Can recompense the pangs of vice!
+  O bane of good! seducing cheat!
+  Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
+  Gold banished honour from the mind,
+  And only left the name behind;
+_20
+  Gold sowed the world with every ill;
+  Gold taught the murderer's sword to kill:
+  'Twas gold instructed coward hearts,
+  In treachery's more pernicious arts.
+  Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
+  Virtue resides on earth no more!'
+  He spoke, and sighed. In angry mood,
+  Plutus, his god, before him stood.
+  The miser, trembling, locked his chest;
+  The vision frowned, and thus address'd:
+_30
+     'Whence is this vile ungrateful rant?
+  Each sordid rascal's daily cant.
+  Did I, base wretch, corrupt mankind?
+  The fault's in thy rapacious mind.
+  Because my blessings are abused,
+  Must I be censured, cursed, accused?
+  Even virtue's self by knaves is made
+  A cloak to carry on the trade;
+  And power (when lodged in their possession)
+  Grows tyranny, and rank oppression.
+_40
+  Thus, when the villain crams his chest,
+  Gold is the canker of the breast;
+  'Tis avarice, insolence, and pride,
+  And every shocking vice beside.
+  But when to virtuous hands 'tis given,
+  It blesses, like the dews of heaven:
+  Like Heaven, it hears the orphan's cries,
+  And wipes the tears from widows' eyes;
+  Their crimes on gold shall misers lay,
+  Who pawned their sordid souls for pay?
+_50
+  Let bravoes then (when blood is spilt)
+  Upbraid the passive sword with guilt.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE VII.
+
+THE LION, THE FOX, AND THE GEESE.
+
+  A lion, tired with state affairs,
+  Quite sick of pomp, and worn with cares,
+  Resolved (remote from noise and strife)
+  In peace to pass his latter life.
+     It was proclaimed; the day was set;
+  Behold the general council met,
+  The fox was viceroy named. The crowd
+  To the new regent humbly bowed.
+  Wolves, bears, and mighty tigers bend,
+  And strive who most shall condescend.
+_10
+  He straight assumes a solemn grace,
+  Collects his wisdom in his face.
+  The crowd admire his wit, his sense:
+  Each word hath weight and consequence.
+  The flatterer all his art displays:
+  He who hath power, is sure of praise.
+  A fox stept forth before the rest,
+  And thus the servile throng address'd.
+     'How vast his talents, born to rule,
+  And trained in virtue's honest school:
+_20
+  What clemency his temper sways!
+  How uncorrupt are all his ways!
+  Beneath his conduct and command,
+  Rapine shall cease to waste the land.
+  His brain hath stratagem and art;
+  Prudence and mercy rule his heart;
+  What blessings must attend the nation
+  Under this good administration!'
+     He said. A goose who distant stood,
+  Harangued apart the cackling brood:
+_30
+     'W'hene'er I hear a knave commend,
+  He bids me shun his worthy friend.
+  What praise! what mighty commendation!
+  But 'twas a fox who spoke the oration.
+  Foxes this government may prize,
+  As gentle, plentiful, and wise;
+  If they enjoy the sweets, 'tis plain
+  We geese must feel a tyrant reign.
+  What havoc now shall thin our race,
+  When every petty clerk in place,
+_40
+  To prove his taste and seem polite,
+  Will feed on geese both noon and night!'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE VIII.
+
+THE LADY AND THE WASP.
+
+  What whispers must the beauty bear!
+  What hourly nonsense haunts her ear!
+  Where'er her eyes dispense their charms,
+  Impertinence around her swarms.
+  Did not the tender nonsense strike,
+  Contempt and scorn might soon dislike.
+  Forbidding airs might thin the place,
+  The slightest flap a fly can chase.
+  But who can drive the numerous breed?
+  Chase one, another will succeed.
+_10
+  Who knows a fool, must know his brother;
+  One fop will recommend another:
+  And with this plague she's rightly curs'd,
+  Because she listened to the first.
+     As Doris, at her toilet's duty,
+  Sat meditating on her beauty,
+  She now was pensive, now was gay,
+  And lolled the sultry hours away.
+  As thus in indolence she lies,
+  A giddy wasp around her flies.
+_20
+  He now advances, now retires,
+  Now to her neck and cheek aspires.
+  Her fan in vain defends her charms;
+  Swift he returns, again alarms;
+  For by repulse he bolder grew,
+  Perched on her lip, and sipp'd the dew.
+     She frowns, she frets. 'Good God!' she cries,
+  'Protect me from these teasing flies!
+  Of all the plagues that heaven hath sent,
+  A wasp is most impertinent.'
+_30
+     The hovering insect thus complained:
+  'Am I then slighted, scorned, disdained?
+  Can such offence your anger wake?
+  'Twas beauty caused the bold mistake.
+  Those cherry lips that breathe perfume,
+  That cheek so ripe with youthful bloom,
+  Made me with strong desire pursue
+  The fairest peach that ever grew.'
+     'Strike him not, Jenny,' Doris cries,
+  'Nor murder wasps like vulgar flies:
+_40
+  For though he's free (to do him right)
+  The creature's civil and polite.'
+  In ecstacies away he posts;
+  Where'er he came, the favour boasts;
+  Brags how her sweetest tea he sips,
+  And shows the sugar on his lips.
+     The hint alarmed the forward crew;
+  Sure of success, away they flew.
+  They share the dainties of the day,
+  Round her with airy music play;
+_50
+  And now they flutter, now they rest,
+  Now soar again, and skim her breast.
+  Nor were they banished, till she found
+  That wasps have stings, and felt the wound.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE IX.
+
+THE BULL AND THE MASTIFF.
+
+  Seek you to train your fav'rite boy?
+  Each caution, every care employ:
+  And ere you venture to confide,
+  Let his preceptor's heart be tried:
+  Weigh well his manners, life, and scope;
+  On these depends thy future hope.
+     As on a time, in peaceful reign,
+  A bull enjoyed the flowery plain,
+  A mastiff passed; inflamed with ire,
+  His eye-balls shot indignant fire;
+_10
+  He foamed, he raged with thirst of blood
+     Spurning the ground the monarch stood,
+  And roared aloud, 'Suspend the fight;
+  In a whole skin go sleep to-night:
+  Or tell me, ere the battle rage,
+  What wrongs provoke thee to engage?
+  Is it ambition fires thy breast,
+  Or avarice that ne'er can rest?
+  From these alone unjustly springs
+  The world-destroying wrath of kings.'
+_20
+     The surly mastiff thus returns:
+  'Within my bosom glory burns.
+  Like heroes of eternal name,
+  Whom poets sing, I fight for fame.
+  The butcher's spirit-stirring mind
+  To daily war my youth inclined;
+  He trained me to heroic deed;
+  Taught me to conquer, or to bleed.'
+     'Cursed dog,' the bull replied, 'no more
+  I wonder at thy thirst of gore;
+_30
+  For thou, beneath a butcher trained,
+  Whose hands with cruelty are stained;
+  His daily murders in thy view,
+  Must, like thy tutor, blood pursue.
+  Take then thy fate.' With goring wound,
+  At once he lifts him from the ground;
+  Aloft the sprawling hero flies,
+  Mangled he falls, he howls, and dies.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE X.
+
+THE ELEPHANT AND THE BOOKSELLER.
+
+  The man who, with undaunted toils,
+  Sails unknown seas to unknown soils,
+  With various wonders feasts his sight:
+  What stranger wonders does he write!
+  We read, and in description view
+  Creatures which Adam never knew:
+  For, when we risk no contradiction,
+  It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.
+  Those things that startle me or you,
+  I grant are strange; yet may be true.
+_10
+  Who doubts that elephants are found
+  For science and for sense renowned?
+  Borri records their strength of parts,
+  Extent of thought, and skill in arts;
+  How they perform the law's decrees,
+  And save the state the hangman's fees;
+  And how by travel understand
+  The language of another land.
+  Let those, who question this report,
+  To Pliny's ancient page resort;
+_20
+  How learn'd was that sagacious breed!
+  Who now (like them) the Greek can read!
+     As one of these, in days of yore,
+  Rummaged a shop of learning o'er;
+  Not, like our modern dealers, minding
+  Only the margin's breadth and binding;
+  A book his curious eye detains,
+  Where, with exactest care and pains,
+  Were every beast and bird portrayed,
+  That e'er the search of man surveyed,
+_30
+  Their natures and their powers were writ,
+  With all the pride of human wit.
+  The page he with attention spread,
+  And thus remarked on what he read:
+     'Man with strong reason is endowed;
+  A beast scarce instinct is allowed.
+  But let this author's worth be tried,
+  'Tis plain that neither was his guide.
+  Can he discern the different natures,
+  And weigh the power of other creatures
+_40
+  Who by the partial work hath shown
+  He knows so little of his own?
+  How falsely is the spaniel drawn!
+  Did man from him first learn to fawn?
+  A dog proficient in the trade!
+  He the chief flatterer nature made!
+  Go, man, the ways of courts discern,
+  You'll find a spaniel still might learn.
+  How can the fox's theft and plunder
+  Provoke his censure or his wonder;
+_50
+  From courtiers' tricks, and lawyers' arts,
+  The fox might well improve his parts.
+  The lion, wolf, and tiger's brood,
+  He curses, for their thirst of blood:
+  But is not man to man a prey?
+  Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.'
+     The bookseller, who heard him speak,
+  And saw him turn a page of Greek,
+  Thought, what a genius have I found!
+  Then thus addressed with bow profound:
+_60
+  'Learn'd sir, if you'd employ your pen
+  Against the senseless sons of men,
+  Or write the history of Siam, [2]
+  No man is better pay than I am;
+  Or, since you're learn'd in Greek, let's see
+  Something against the Trinity.'
+     When wrinkling with a sneer his trunk,
+  'Friend,' quoth the elephant, 'you're drunk;
+  E'en keep your money and be wise:
+  Leave man on man to criticise;
+_70
+  For that you ne'er can want a pen
+  Among the senseless sons of men.
+  They unprovoked will court the fray:
+  Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
+  No author ever spared a brother;
+  Wits are game-cocks to one another.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XI.
+
+THE PEACOCK, THE TURKEY, AND THE GOOSE.
+
+  In beauty faults conspicuous grow;
+  The smallest speck is seen on snow.
+     As near a barn, by hunger led,
+  A peacock with the poultry fed;
+  All viewed him with an envious eye,
+  And mocked his gaudy pageantry.
+  He, conscious of superior merit,
+  Contemns their base reviling spirit;
+  His state and dignity assumes,
+  And to the sun displays his plumes;
+_10
+  Which, like the heaven's o'er-arching skies,
+  Are spangled with a thousand eyes.
+  The circling rays, and varied light,
+  At once confound their dazzled sight:
+  On every tongue detraction burns,
+  And malice prompts their spleen by turns.
+     'Mark, with what insolence and pride
+  The creature takes his haughty stride!'
+  The turkey cries. 'Can spleen contain?
+  Sure never bird was half so vain!
+_20
+  But were intrinsic merit seen,
+  We turkeys have the whiter skin.'
+     From tongue to tongue they caught abuse;
+  And next was heard the hissing goose:
+  'What hideous legs! what filthy claws!
+  I scorn to censure little flaws!
+  Then what a horrid squalling throat!
+  Even owls are frighted at the note.'
+     'True; those are faults,' the peacock cries;
+  'My scream, my shanks you may despise:
+_30
+  But such blind critics rail in vain:
+  What, overlook my radiant train!
+  Know, did my legs (your scorn and sport)
+  The turkey or the goose support,
+  And did ye scream with harsher sound,
+  Those faults in you had ne'er been found!
+  To all apparent beauties blind,
+  Each blemish strikes an envious mind.'
+     Thus in assemblies have I seen
+  A nymph of brightest charms and mien,
+_40
+  Wake envy in each ugly face;
+  And buzzing scandal fills the place.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XII.
+
+CUPID, HYMEN, AND PLUTUS.
+
+  As Cupid in Cythera's grove
+  Employed the lesser powers of love;
+  Some shape the bow, or fit the string;
+  Some give the taper shaft its wing,
+  Or turn the polished quiver's mould,
+  Or head the dart with tempered gold.
+     Amidst their toil and various care,
+  Thus Hymen, with assuming air,
+  Addressed the god: 'Thou purblind chit,
+  Of awkward and ill-judging wit,
+_10
+  If matches are not better made,
+  At once I must forswear my trade.
+  You send me such ill-coupled folks,
+  That 'tis a shame to sell them yokes.
+  They squabble for a pin, a feather,
+  And wonder how they came together.
+  The husband's sullen, dogged, shy;
+  The wife grows flippant in reply:
+  He loves command and due restriction,
+  And she as well likes contradiction:
+_20
+  She never slavishly submits;
+  She'll have her will, or have her fits.
+  He this way tugs, she t'other draws:
+  The man grows jealous, and with cause.
+  Nothing can save him but divorce;
+  And here the wife complies of course.'
+     'When,' says the boy, 'had I to do
+  With either your affairs or you?
+  I never idly spent my darts;
+  You trade in mercenary hearts.
+_30
+  For settlements the lawyer's fee'd;
+  Is my hand witness to the deed?
+  If they like cat and dog agree,
+  Go, rail at Plutus, not at me.'
+     Plutus appeared, and said, ''Tis true,
+  In marriage gold is all their view:
+  They seek not beauty, wit, or sense;
+  And love is seldom the pretence.
+  All offer incense at my shrine,
+  And I alone the bargain sign.
+_40
+  How can Belinda blame her fate?
+  She only asked a great estate.
+  Doris was rich enough, 'tis true;
+  Her lord must give her title too:
+  And every man, or rich or poor,
+  A fortune asks, and asks no more.'
+     Av'rice, whatever shape it bears,
+  Must still be coupled with its cares.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XIII.
+
+THE TAME STAG.
+
+  As a young stag the thicket pass'd,
+  The branches held his antlers fast;
+  A clown, who saw the captive hung,
+  Across the horns his halter flung.
+     Now safely hampered in the cord,
+  He bore the present to his lord.
+  His lord was pleased; as was the clown,
+  When he was tipp'd with half-a-crown.
+  The stag was brought before his wife;
+  The tender lady begged his life.
+_10
+  'How sleek's the skin! how speck'd like ermine!
+  Sure never creature was so charming!'
+     At first within the yard confined,
+  He flies and hides from all mankind;
+  Now bolder grown, with fixed amaze,
+  And distant awe, presumes to gaze;
+  Munches the linen on the lines,
+  And on a hood or apron dines:
+  He steals my little master's bread,
+  Follows the servants to be fed:
+_20
+  Nearer and nearer now he stands,
+  To feel the praise of patting hands;
+  Examines every fist for meat,
+  And though repulsed, disdains retreat:
+  Attacks again with levelled horns;
+  And man, that was his terror, scorns.
+     Such is the country maiden's fright,
+  When first a red-coat is in sight;
+  Behind the door she hides her face;
+  Next time at distance eyes the lace;
+_30
+  She now can all his terrors stand,
+  Nor from his squeeze withdraws her hand.
+  She plays familiar in his arms,
+  And every soldier hath his charms.
+  From tent to tent she spreads her flame;
+  For custom conquers fear and shame.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XIV.
+
+THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN THE WORLD.
+
+  A Monkey, to reform the times,
+  Resolved to visit foreign climes:
+  For men in distant regions roam
+  To bring politer manners home,
+  So forth he fares, all toil defies:
+  Misfortune serves to make us wise.
+     At length the treach'rous snare was laid;
+  Poor Pug was caught, to town conveyed,
+  There sold. How envied was his doom,
+  Made captive in a lady's room!
+_10
+  Proud as a lover of his chains,
+  He day by day her favour gains.
+  Whene'er the duty of the day
+  The toilet calls; with mimic play
+  He twirls her knot, he cracks her fan,
+  Like any other gentleman.
+  In visits too his parts and wit,
+  When jests grew dull, were sure to hit.
+  Proud with applause, he thought his mind
+  In every courtly art refined;
+_20
+  Like Orpheus burnt with public zeal,
+  To civilise the monkey weal:
+  So watched occasion, broke his chain,
+  And sought his native woods again.
+     The hairy sylvans round him press,
+  Astonished at his strut and dress.
+  Some praise his sleeve; and others gloat
+  Upon his rich embroidered coat;
+  His dapper periwig commending,
+  With the black tail behind depending;
+_30
+  His powdered back, above, below,
+  Like hoary frost, or fleecy snow;
+  But all with envy and desire,
+  His fluttering shoulder-knot admire.
+     'Hear and improve,' he pertly cries;
+  'I come to make a nation wise.
+  Weigh your own words; support your place,
+  The next in rank to human race.
+  In cities long I passed my days,
+  Conversed with men, and learnt their ways.
+_40
+  Their dress, their courtly manners see;
+  Reform your state and copy me.
+  Seek ye to thrive? in flattery deal;
+  Your scorn, your hate, with that conceal.
+  Seem only to regard your friends,
+  But use them for your private ends.
+  Stint not to truth the flow of wit;
+  Be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit.
+  Bend all your force to spatter merit;
+  Scandal is conversation's spirit.
+_50
+  Boldly to everything attend,
+  And men your talents shall commend.
+  I knew the great. Observe me right;
+  So shall you grow like man polite.'
+     He spoke and bowed. With muttering jaws
+  The wondering circle grinned applause.
+  Now, warm with malice, envy, spite,
+  Their most obliging friends they bite;
+  And fond to copy human ways,
+  Practise new mischiefs all their days.
+_60
+     Thus the dull lad, too tall for school,
+  With travel finishes the fool;
+  Studious of every coxcomb's airs,
+  He drinks, games, dresses, whores, and swears;
+  O'erlooks with scorn all virtuous arts,
+  For vice is fitted to his parts.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XV.
+
+THE PHILOSOPHER AND THE PHEASANTS.
+
+  The sage, awaked at early day,
+  Through the deep forest took his way;
+  Drawn by the music of the groves,
+  Along the winding gloom he roves:
+  From tree to tree, the warbling throats
+  Prolong the sweet alternate notes.
+  But where he pass'd, he terror threw,
+  The song broke short, the warblers flew;
+  The thrushes chattered with affright,
+  And nightingales abhorred his sight;
+_10
+  All animals before him ran,
+  To shun the hateful sight of man.
+     'Whence is this dread of every creature?
+  Fly they our figure or our nature?'
+     As thus he walked in musing thought,
+  His ear imperfect accents caught;
+  With cautious step he nearer drew,
+  By the thick shade concealed from view.
+  High on the branch a pheasant stood,
+  Around her all her listening brood;
+_20
+  Proud of the blessings of her nest,
+  She thus a mother's care expressed:
+  'No dangers here shall circumvent,
+  Within the woods enjoy content.
+  Sooner the hawk or vulture trust,
+  Than man; of animals the worst:
+  In him ingratitude you find,
+  A vice peculiar to the kind.
+  The sheep whose annual fleece is dyed,
+  To guard his health, and serve his pride,
+_30
+  Forced from his fold and native plain,
+  Is in the cruel shambles slain.
+  The swarms, who, with industrious skill,
+  His hives with wax and honey fill,
+  In vain whole summer days employed,
+  Their stores are sold, their race destroyed.
+  What tribute from the goose is paid!
+  Does not her wing all science aid!
+  Does it not lovers' hearts explain,
+  And drudge to raise the merchant's gain?
+_40
+  What now rewards this general use?
+  He takes the quills, and eats the goose.
+  Man then avoid, detest his ways;
+  So safety shall prolong your days.
+  When services are thus acquitted,
+  Be sure we pheasants must be spitted.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XVI.
+
+THE PIN AND THE NEEDLE.
+
+  A pin, who long had served a beauty,
+  Proficient in the toilet's duty,
+  Had formed her sleeve, confined her hair,
+  Or given her knot a smarter air,
+  Now nearest to her heart was placed,
+  Now in her mantua's tail disgraced:
+  But could she partial fortune blame,
+  Who saw her lovers served the same?
+     At length from all her honours cast;
+  Through various turns of life she pass'd;
+_10
+  Now glittered on a tailor's arm;
+  Now kept a beggar's infant warm;
+  Now, ranged within a miser's coat,
+  Contributes to his yearly groat;
+  Now, raised again from low approach,
+  She visits in the doctor's coach;
+  Here, there, by various fortune toss'd,
+  At last in Gresham Hall[3] was lost.
+  Charmed with the wonders of the show,
+  On every side, above, below,
+_20
+  She now of this or that enquires,
+  What least was understood admires.
+  'Tis plain, each thing so struck her mind.
+  Her head's of virtuoso kind.
+     'And pray what's this, and this, dear sir?'
+  'A needle,' says the interpreter.
+  She knew the name. And thus the fool
+  Addressed her as a tailor's tool:
+     'A needle with that filthy stone,
+  Quite idle, all with rust o'ergrown!
+_30
+  You better might employ your parts,
+  And aid the sempstress in her arts.
+  But tell me how the friendship grew
+  Between that paltry flint and you?'
+     'Friend,' says the needle, 'cease to blame;
+  I follow real worth and fame.
+  Know'st thou the loadstone's power and art,
+  That virtue virtues can impart?
+  Of all his talents I partake,
+  Who then can such a friend forsake?
+_40
+  'Tis I directs the pilot's hand
+  To shun the rocks and treacherous sand:
+  By me the distant world is known,
+  And either India is our own.
+  Had I with milliners been bred,
+  What had I been? the guide of thread,
+  And drudged as vulgar needles do,
+  Of no more consequence than you.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XVII.
+
+THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.
+
+  A wolf, with hunger fierce and bold,
+  Ravaged the plains, and thinned the fold:
+  Deep in the wood secure he lay,
+  The thefts of night regaled the day.
+  In vain the shepherd's wakeful care
+  Had spread the toils, and watched the snare:
+  In vain the dog pursued his pace,
+  The fleeter robber mocked the chase.
+     As Lightfoot ranged the forest round,
+  By chance his foe's retreat he found.
+_10
+     'Let us awhile the war suspend,
+  And reason as from friend to friend.'
+     'A truce?' replies the wolf. 'Tis done.
+  The dog the parley thus begun:
+     'How can that strong intrepid mind
+  Attack a weak defenceless kind?
+  Those jaws should prey on nobler food,
+  And drink the boar's and lion's blood;
+  Great souls with generous pity melt,
+  Which coward tyrants never felt.
+_20
+  How harmless is our fleecy care!
+  Be brave, and let thy mercy spare.'
+     'Friend,' says the wolf, 'the matter weigh;
+  Nature designed us beasts of prey;
+  As such when hunger finds a treat,
+  'Tis necessary wolves should eat.
+  If mindful of the bleating weal,
+  Thy bosom burn with real zeal;
+  Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech;
+  To him repeat the moving speech;
+_30
+  A wolf eats sheep but now and then,
+  Ten thousands are devoured by men.
+  An open foe may prove a curse,
+  But a pretended friend is worse.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XVIII.
+
+THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY.
+
+  Lest men suspect your tale untrue,
+  Keep probability in view.
+  The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
+  The credit of his book confounds.
+  Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
+  Makes even his real courage doubted:
+  But flattery never seems absurd;
+  The flattered always take your word:
+  Impossibilities seem just;
+  They take the strongest praise on trust.
+_10
+  Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
+  Will still come short of self-conceit.
+     So very like a painter drew,
+  That every eye the picture knew;
+  He hit complexion, feature, air,
+  So just, the life itself was there.
+  No flattery with his colours laid,
+  To bloom restored the faded maid;
+  He gave each muscle all its strength,
+  The mouth, the chin, the nose's length.
+_20
+  His honest pencil touched with truth,
+  And marked the date of age and youth.
+  He lost his friends, his practice failed;
+  Truth should not always be revealed;
+  In dusty piles his pictures lay,
+  For no one sent the second pay.
+  Two busts, fraught with every grace
+  A Venus' and Apollo's face,
+  He placed in view; resolved to please,
+  Whoever sat, he drew from these,
+_30
+  From these corrected every feature,
+  And spirited each awkward creature.
+     All things were set; the hour was come,
+  His pallet ready o'er his thumb,
+  My lord appeared; and seated right
+  In proper attitude and light,
+  The painter looked, he sketched the piece,
+  Then dipp'd his pencil, talked of Greece,
+  Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;
+  'Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there
+_40
+  Might well a Raphael's hand require,
+  To give them all the native fire;
+  The features fraught with sense and wit,
+  You'll grant are very hard to hit;
+  But yet with patience you shall view
+  As much as paint and art can do.
+  Observe the work.' My lord replied:
+  'Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
+  Besides, my mouth is somewhat long;
+  Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young.'
+_50
+     'Oh! pardon me,' the artist cried,
+  'In this, the painters must decide.
+  The piece even common eyes must strike,
+  I warrant it extremely like.'
+     My lord examined it anew;
+  No looking-glass seemed half so true.
+     A lady came, with borrowed grace
+  He from his Venus formed her face.
+  Her lover praised the painter's art;
+  So like the picture in his heart!
+_60
+  To every age some charm he lent;
+  Even beauties were almost content.
+  Through all the town his art they praised;
+  His custom grew, his price was raised.
+  Had he the real likeness shown,
+  Would any man the picture own?
+  But when thus happily he wrought,
+  Each found the likeness in his thought.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XIX.
+
+THE LION AND THE CUB.
+
+  How fond are men of rule and place,
+  Who court it from the mean and base!
+  These cannot bear an equal nigh,
+  But from superior merit fly.
+  They love the cellar's vulgar joke,
+  And lose their hours in ale and smoke.
+  There o'er some petty club preside;
+  So poor, so paltry is their pride!
+  Nay, even with fools whole nights will sit,
+  In hopes to be supreme in wit.
+_10
+  If these can read, to these I write,
+  To set their worth in truest light.
+     A lion-cub, of sordid mind,
+  Avoided all the lion kind;
+  Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
+  Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;
+  With asses all his time he spent,
+  Their club's perpetual president.
+  He caught their manners, looks, and airs;
+  An ass in every thing, but ears!
+_20
+  If e'er his highness meant a joke,
+  They grinned applause before he spoke;
+  But at each word what shouts of praise!
+  Good gods! how natural he brays!
+     Elate with flattery and conceit,
+  He seeks his royal sire's retreat;
+  Forward, and fond to show his parts,
+  His highness brays; the lion starts.
+     'Puppy, that cursed vociferation
+  Betrays thy life and conversation:
+_30
+
+  Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,
+  Are trumpets of their own disgrace.'
+     'Why so severe?' the cub replies;
+  'Our senate always held me wise.'
+     'How weak is pride!' returns the sire;
+  'All fools are vain, when fools admire!
+  But know what stupid asses prize,
+  Lions and noble beasts despise.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XX.
+
+THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK.
+
+  Restrain your child; you'll soon believe
+  The text which says, we sprung from Eve.
+     As an old hen led forth her train,
+  And seemed to peck to shew the grain;
+  She raked the chaff, she scratched the ground,
+  And gleaned the spacious yard around.
+  A giddy chick, to try her wings,
+  On the well's narrow margin springs,
+  And prone she drops. The mother's breast
+  All day with sorrow was possess'd.
+_10
+     A cock she met; her son she knew;
+  And in her heart affection grew.
+     'My son,' says she, 'I grant your years
+  Have reached beyond a mother's cares;
+  I see you vig'rous, strong, and bold;
+  I hear with joy your triumphs told.
+  Tis not from cocks thy fate I dread;
+  But let thy ever-wary tread
+  Avoid yon well; that fatal place
+  Is sure perdition to our race.
+_20
+  Print this my counsel on thy breast;
+  To the just gods I leave the rest.'
+     He thanked her care; yet day by day
+  His bosom burned to disobey;
+  And every time the well he saw,
+  Scorned in his heart the foolish law:
+  Near and more near each day he drew,
+  And longed to try the dangerous view.
+     'Why was this idle charge?' he cries;
+  'Let courage female fears despise.
+_30
+  Or did she doubt my heart was brave,
+  And therefore this injunction gave?
+  Or does her harvest store the place,
+  A treasure for her younger race?
+  And would she thus my search prevent?
+  I stand resolved, and dare the event.'
+     Thus said. He mounts the margin's round,
+  And pries into the depth profound.
+  He stretched his neck; and from below
+  With stretching neck advanced a foe:
+_40
+  With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears,
+  The foe with ruffled plumes appears:
+  Threat answered threat, his fury grew,
+  Headlong to meet the war he flew,
+  But when the watery death he found,
+  He thus lamented as he drowned:
+     'I ne'er had been in this condition,
+  But for my mother's prohibition.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXI.
+
+THE RAT-CATCHER AND CATS.
+
+  The rats by night such mischief did,
+  Betty was every morning chid.
+  They undermined whole sides of bacon,
+  Her cheese was sapped, her tarts were taken.
+  Her pasties, fenced with thickest paste,
+  Were all demolished, and laid waste.
+  She cursed the cat for want of duty,
+  Who left her foes a constant booty.
+  An engineer, of noted skill,
+  Engaged to stop the growing ill.
+_10
+     From room to room he now surveys
+  Their haunts, their works, their secret ways;
+  Finds where they 'scape an ambuscade,
+  And whence the nightly sally's made.
+     An envious cat from place to place,
+  Unseen, attends his silent pace.
+  She saw, that if his trade went on,
+  The purring race must be undone;
+  So, secretly removes his baits,
+  And every stratagem defeats.
+_20
+     Again he sets the poisoned toils,
+  And puss again the labour foils.
+     'What foe (to frustrate my designs)
+  My schemes thus nightly countermines?'
+  Incensed, he cries: 'this very hour
+  This wretch shall bleed beneath my power.'
+     So said. A pond'rous trap he brought,
+  And in the fact poor puss was caught.
+     'Smuggler,' says he, 'thou shalt be made
+  A victim to our loss of trade.'
+_30
+     The captive cat, with piteous mews,
+  For pardon, life, and freedom sues:
+  'A sister of the science spare;
+  One interest is our common care.'
+     'What insolence!' the man replied;
+  'Shall cats with us the game divide?
+  Were all your interloping band
+  Extinguished, of expelled the land,
+  We rat-catchers might raise our fees,
+  Sole guardians of a nation's cheese!'
+_40
+     A cat, who saw the lifted knife,
+  Thus spoke, and saved her sister's life:
+    'In every age and clime we see,
+  Two of a trade can ne'er agree.
+  Each hates his neighbour for encroaching;
+  Squire stigmatises squire for poaching;
+  Beauties with beauties are in arms,
+  And scandal pelts each other's charms;
+  Kings too their neighbour kings dethrone,
+  In hope to make the world their own.
+_50
+  But let us limit our desires;
+  Nor war like beauties, kings, and squires!
+  For though we both one prey pursue,
+  There's game enough for us and you.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXII.
+
+THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEARD.
+
+  'Tis certain, that the modish passions
+  Descend among the crowd, like fashions.
+  Excuse me then, if pride, conceit,
+  (The manners of the fair and great)
+  I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,
+  Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs.
+  I say that these are proud. What then?
+  I never said they equal men.
+     A goat (as vain as goat can be)
+  Affected singularity.
+_10
+  Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
+  He rolled upon the fragrant ground;
+  And then with fond attention stood,
+  Fixed o'er his image in the flood.
+     'I hate my frowsy beard,' he cries;
+  'My youth is lost in this disguise.
+  Did not the females know my vigour,
+  Well might they loathe this reverend figure.'
+     Resolved to smoothe his shaggy face,
+  He sought the barber of the place.
+_20
+  A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
+  Hard by, professed the dapper art;
+  His pole with pewter basins hung,
+  Black rotten teeth in order strung,
+  Ranged cups that in the window stood,
+  Lined with red rags, to look like blood,
+  Did well his threefold trade explain,
+  Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.
+     The goat he welcomes with an air,
+  And seats him in his wooden chair:
+_30
+  Mouth, nose, and cheek the lather hides:
+  Light, smooth, and swift the razor glides.
+     'I hope your custom, sir,' says pug.
+  'Sure never face was half so smug.'
+     The goat, impatient for applause,
+  Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws:
+  The shaggy people grinned and stared.
+     'Heyday! what's here? without a beard!
+  Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace?
+  What envious hand hath robbed your face?'
+_40
+     When thus the fop with smiles of scorn:
+  'Are beards by civil nations worn?
+  Even Muscovites have mowed their chins.
+  Shall we, like formal Capuchins,
+  Stubborn in pride, retain the mode,
+  And bear about the hairy load?
+  Whene'er we through the village stray,
+  Are we not mocked along the way;
+  Insulted with loud shouts of scorn,
+  By boys our beards disgraced and torn?'
+_50
+     'Were you no more with goats to dwell,
+  Brother, I grant you reason well,'
+  Replies a bearded chief. 'Beside,
+  If boys can mortify thy pride,
+  How wilt thou stand the ridicule
+  Of our whole flock? Affected fool!
+  Coxcombs, distinguished from the rest,
+  To all but coxcombs are a jest.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXIII.
+
+THE OLD WOMAN AND HER CATS.
+
+  Who friendship with a knave hath made,
+  Is judged a partner in the trade.
+  The matron who conducts abroad
+  A willing nymph, is thought a bawd;
+  And if a modest girl is seen
+  With one who cures a lover's spleen,
+  We guess her not extremely nice,
+  And only wish to know her price.
+  'Tis thus that on the choice of friends
+  Our good or evil name depends.
+_10
+     A wrinkled hag, of wicked fame,
+  Beside a little smoky flame
+  Sate hovering, pinched with age and frost;
+  Her shrivelled hands, with veins embossed,
+  Upon her knees her weight sustains,
+  While palsy shook her crazy brains:
+  She mumbles forth her backward prayers,
+  An untamed scold of fourscore years.
+  About her swarmed a numerous brood
+  Of cats, who, lank with hunger, mewed.
+_20
+     Teased with their cries, her choler grew,
+  And thus she sputtered: 'Hence, ye crew.
+  Fool that I was, to entertain
+  Such imps, such fiends, a hellish train!
+  Had ye been never housed and nursed,
+  I, for a witch had ne'er been cursed.
+  To you I owe, that crowds of boys
+  Worry me with eternal noise;
+  Straws laid across, my pace retard,
+  The horse-shoe's nailed (each threshold's guard),
+_30
+  The stunted broom the wenches hide,
+  For fear that I should up and ride;
+  They stick with pins my bleeding seat,
+  And bid me show my secret teat.'
+     'To hear you prate would vex a saint;
+  Who hath most reason of complaint?'
+  Replies a cat. 'Let's come to proof.
+  Had we ne'er starved beneath your roof,
+  We had, like others of our race,
+  In credit lived as beasts of chase.
+_40
+  'Tis infamy to serve a hag;
+  Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;
+  And boys against our lives combine,
+  Because, 'tis said, you cats have nine.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXIV.
+
+THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL.
+
+  All upstarts insolent in place,
+  Remind us of their vulgar race.
+  As, in the sunshine of the morn,
+  A butterfly (but newly born)
+  Sat proudly perking on a rose;
+  With pert conceit his bosom glows;
+  His wings (all-glorious to behold)
+  Bedropp'd with azure, jet, and gold,
+  Wide he displays; the spangled dew
+  Reflects his eyes, and various hue.
+_10
+     His now-forgotten friend, a snail,
+  Beneath his house, with slimy trail
+  Crawls o'er the grass; whom when he spies,
+  In wrath he to the gard'ner cries:
+     'What means yon peasant's daily toil,
+  From choking weeds to rid the soil?
+  Why wake you to the morning's care,
+  Why with new arts correct the year,
+  Why glows the peach with crimson hue,
+  And why the plum's inviting blue;
+_20
+  Were they to feast his taste design'd,
+  That vermin of voracious kind?
+  Crush then the slow, the pilfering race;
+  So purge thy garden from disgrace.'
+     'What arrogance!' the snail replied;
+  'How insolent is upstart pride!
+  Hadst thou not thus with insult vain,
+  Provoked my patience to complain,
+  I had concealed thy meaner birth,
+  Nor traced thee to the scum of earth.
+_30
+  For scarce nine suns have waked the hours,
+  To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
+  Since I thy humbler life surveyed,
+  In base, in sordid guise arrayed;
+  A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
+  You dragged a slow and noisome train;
+  And from your spider-bowels drew
+  Foul film, and spun the dirty clew.
+  I own my humble life, good friend;
+  Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
+_40
+  And what's a butterfly? At best,
+  He's but a caterpillar, dress'd;
+  And all thy race (a numerous seed)
+  Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXV.
+
+THE SCOLD AND THE PARROT.
+
+  The husband thus reproved his wife:
+  'Who deals in slander, lives in strife.
+  Art thou the herald of disgrace,
+  Denouncing war to all thy race?
+  Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
+  Which spares no friend, nor sex, nor age?
+  That vixen tongue of yours, my dear,
+  Alarms our neighbours far and near.
+  Good gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
+  That murmuring flows, and flows for ever!
+_10
+  Ne'er tired, perpetual discord sowing!
+  Like fame, it gathers strength by going.'
+     'Heyday!' the flippant tongue replies,
+  How solemn is the fool, how wise!
+  Is nature's choicest gift debarred?
+  Nay, frown not; for I will be heard.
+  Women of late are finely ridden,
+  A parrot's privilege forbidden!
+  You praise his talk, his squalling song;
+  But wives are always in the wrong.'
+_20
+     Now reputations flew in pieces,
+  Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces.
+  She ran the parrot's language o'er,
+  Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slattern, whore;
+  On all the sex she vents her fury,
+  Tries and condemns without a jury.
+     At once the torrent of her words
+  Alarmed cat, monkey, dogs, and birds:
+  All join their forces to confound her;
+  Puss spits, the monkey chatters round her;
+_30
+  The yelping cur her heels assaults;
+  The magpie blabs out all her faults;
+  Poll, in the uproar, from his cage,
+  With this rebuke out-screamed her rage:
+     'A parrot is for talking prized,
+  But prattling women are despised.
+  She who attacks another's honour,
+  Draws every living thing upon her.
+  Think, madam, when you stretch your lungs,
+  That all your neighbours too have tongues.
+_40
+  One slander must ten thousand get,
+  The world with interest pays the debt.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXVI.
+
+THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF.
+
+  A sneaking cur, the master's spy,
+  Rewarded for his daily lie,
+  With secret jealousies and fears
+  Set all together by the ears.
+  Poor puss to-day was in disgrace,
+  Another cat supplied her place;
+  The hound was beat, the mastiff chid,
+  The monkey was the room forbid;
+  Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
+  And none could tell the reason why.
+_10
+     A plan to rob the house was laid,
+  The thief with love seduced the maid;
+  Cajoled the cur, and stroked his head,
+  And bought his secrecy with bread.
+  He next the mastiff's honour tried,
+  Whose honest jaws the bribe defied.
+  He stretched his hand to proffer more;
+  The surly dog his fingers tore.
+     Swift ran the cur; with indignation
+  The master took his information.
+_20
+  'Hang him, the villain's cursed,' he cries;
+  And round his neck the halter ties.
+     The dog his humble suit preferred,
+  And begged in justice to be heard.
+  The master sat. On either hand
+  The cited dogs confronting stand;
+  The cur the bloody tale relates,
+  And, like a lawyer, aggravates.
+     'Judge not unheard,' the mastiff cried,
+  'But weigh the cause on either side.
+_30
+  Think not that treachery can be just,
+  Take not informers' words on trust.
+  They ope their hand to every pay,
+  And you and me by turns betray.'
+     He spoke. And all the truth appeared,
+  The cur was hanged, the mastiff cleared.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXVII.
+
+THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.
+
+  'Is there no hope?' the sick man said.
+  The silent doctor shook his head,
+  And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
+  Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
+     When thus the man with gasping breath;
+  'I feel the chilling wound of death:
+  Since I must bid the world adieu,
+  Let me my former life review.
+  I grant, my bargains well were made,
+  But all men over-reach in trade;
+_10
+
+  'Tis self-defence in each profession,
+  Sure self-defence is no transgression.
+  The little portion in my hands,
+  By good security on lands,
+  Is well increased. If unawares,
+  My justice to myself and heirs,
+  Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
+  For want of good sufficient bail;
+  If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
+  Reduced a family to need,
+_20
+  My will hath made the world amends;
+  My hope on charity depends.
+  When I am numbered with the dead,
+  And all my pious gifts are read,
+  By heaven and earth 'twill then be known
+  My charities were amply shown'
+     An angel came. 'Ah, friend!' he cried,
+  'No more in flattering hope confide.
+  Can thy good deeds in former times
+  Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
+_30
+  What widow or what orphan prays
+  To crown thy life with length of days?
+  A pious action's in thy power,
+  Embrace with joy the happy hour.
+  Now, while you draw the vital air,
+  Prove your intention is sincere.
+  This instant give a hundred pound;
+  Your neighbours want, and you abound.'
+    'But why such haste?' the sick man whines;
+  'Who knows as yet what Heaven designs?
+_40
+  Perhaps I may recover still;
+  That sum and more are in my will?
+     'Fool,' says the vision, 'now 'tis plain,
+  Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain,
+  From every side, with all your might,
+  You scraped, and scraped beyond your right;
+  And after death would fain atone,
+  By giving what is not your own.'
+     'While there is life, there's hope,' he cried;
+  'Then why such haste?' so groaned and died.
+_50
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXVIII.
+
+THE PERSIAN, THE SUN, AND THE CLOUD.
+
+  Is there a bard whom genius fires,
+  Whose every thought the god inspires?
+  When Envy reads the nervous lines,
+  She frets, she rails, she raves, she pines;
+  Her hissing snakes with venom swell;
+  She calls her venal train from hell:
+  The servile fiends her nod obey,
+  And all Curl's[4] authors are in pay,
+  Fame calls up calumny and spite.
+  Thus shadow owes its birth to light.
+_10
+     As prostrate to the god of day,
+  With heart devout, a Persian lay,
+  His invocation thus begun:
+     'Parent of light, all-seeing Sun,
+  Prolific beam, whose rays dispense
+  The various gifts of providence,
+  Accept our praise, our daily prayer,
+  Smile on our fields, and bless the year.'
+     A cloud, who mocked his grateful tongue,
+  The day with sudden darkness hung;
+_20
+  With pride and envy swelled, aloud
+  A voice thus thundered from the cloud:
+     'Weak is this gaudy god of thine,
+  Whom I at will forbid to shine.
+  Shall I nor vows, nor incense know?
+  Where praise is due, the praise bestow.'
+     With fervent zeal the Persian moved,
+  Thus the proud calumny reproved:
+     'It was that god, who claims my prayer,
+  Who gave thee birth, and raised thee there;
+_30
+  When o'er his beams the veil is thrown,
+  Thy substance is but plainer shown.
+  A passing gale, a puff of wind
+  Dispels thy thickest troops combined.'
+     The gale arose; the vapour toss'd
+  (The sport of winds) in air was lost;
+  The glorious orb the day refines.
+  Thus envy breaks, thus merit shines.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXIX.
+
+THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
+
+  A fox, in life's extreme decay,
+  Weak, sick, and faint, expiring lay;
+  All appetite had left his maw,
+  And age disarmed his mumbling jaw.
+  His numerous race around him stand
+  To learn their dying sire's command:
+  He raised his head with whining moan,
+  And thus was heard the feeble tone:
+     'Ah, sons! from evil ways depart:
+  My crimes lie heavy on my heart.
+_10
+     See, see, the murdered geese appear!
+  Why are those bleeding turkeys here?
+  Why all around this cackling train,
+  Who haunt my ears for chicken slain?
+     The hungry foxes round them stared,
+  And for the promised feast prepared.
+     'Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer?
+  Nor turkey, goose, nor hen is here.
+  These are the phantoms of your brain,
+  And your sons lick their lips in vain.'
+_20
+     'O gluttons!' says the drooping sire,
+  'Restrain inordinate desire.
+  Your liqu'rish taste you shall deplore,
+  When peace of conscience is no more.
+  Does not the hound betray our pace,
+  And gins and guns destroy our race?
+  Thieves dread the searching eye of power,
+  And never feel the quiet hour.
+  Old age (which few of us shall know)
+  Now puts a period to my woe.
+_30
+  Would you true happiness attain,
+  Let honesty your passions rein;
+  So live in credit and esteem,
+  And the good name you lost, redeem.'
+     'The counsel's good,' a fox replies,
+  'Could we perform what you advise.
+  Think what our ancestors have done;
+  A line of thieves from son to son:
+  To us descends the long disgrace,
+  And infamy hath marked our race.
+_40
+  Though we, like harmless sheep, should feed,
+  Honest in thought, in word, and deed;
+  Whatever henroost is decreased,
+  We shall be thought to share the feast.
+  The change shall never be believed,
+  A lost good name is ne'er retrieved.'
+     'Nay, then,' replies the feeble fox,
+  '(But hark! I hear a hen that clocks)
+  Go, but be moderate in your food;
+  A chicken too might do me good.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXX.
+
+  THE SETTING-DOG AND THE PARTRIDGE.
+
+  The ranging dog the stubble tries,
+  And searches every breeze that flies;
+  The scent grows warm; with cautious fear
+  He creeps, and points the covey near;
+  The men, in silence, far behind,
+  Conscious of game, the net unbind.
+     A partridge, with experience wise,
+  The fraudful preparation spies:
+  She mocks their toils, alarms her brood;
+  The covey springs, and seeks the wood;
+_10
+  But ere her certain wing she tries,
+  Thus to the creeping spaniel cries:
+     'Thou fawning slave to man's deceit,
+  Thou pimp of luxury, sneaking cheat,
+  Of thy whole species thou disgrace,
+  Dogs shall disown thee of their race!
+  For if I judge their native parts,
+  They're born with open, honest hearts;
+  And, ere they serve man's wicked ends,
+  Were generous foes, or real friends.'
+_20
+     When thus the dog, with scornful smile:
+  'Secure of wing, thou dar'st revile.
+  Clowns are to polished manners blind,
+  How ignorant is the rustic mind!
+  My worth, sagacious courtiers see,
+  And to preferment rise, like me.
+  The thriving pimp, who beauty sets,
+  Hath oft enhanced a nation's debts:
+  Friend sets his friend, without regard;
+  And ministers his skill reward:
+_30
+  Thus trained by man, I learnt his ways,
+  And growing favour feasts my days.'
+    'I might have guessed,' the partridge said,
+  'The place where you were trained and fed;
+  Servants are apt, and in a trice
+  Ape to a hair their master's vice.
+  You came from court, you say. Adieu,'
+  She said, and to the covey flew.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXXI.
+
+  THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION.
+
+  A rake, by every passion ruled,
+  With every vice his youth had cooled;
+  Disease his tainted blood assails;
+  His spirits droop, his vigour fails;
+  With secret ills at home he pines,
+  And, like infirm old age, declines.
+     As, twinged with pain, he pensive sits,
+  And raves, and prays, and swears by fits,
+  A ghastly phantom, lean and wan,
+  Before him rose, and thus began:
+_10
+    'My name, perhaps, hath reached your ear;
+  Attend, and be advised by Care.
+  Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power,
+  Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
+  When health is lost. Be timely wise:
+  With health all taste of pleasure flies.'
+     Thus said, the phantom disappears.
+  The wary counsel waked his fears:
+  He now from all excess abstains,
+  With physic purifies his veins;
+_20
+  And, to procure a sober life,
+  Resolves to venture on a wife.
+     But now again the sprite ascends,
+  Where'er he walks his ear attends;
+  Insinuates that beauty's frail,
+  That perseverance must prevail;
+  With jealousies his brain inflames,
+  And whispers all her lovers' names.
+  In other hours she represents
+  His household charge, his annual rents,
+_30
+  Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
+  And nothing for his younger sons.
+     Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
+  And with the thirst of lucre burns.
+  But when possessed of fortune's store,
+  The spectre haunts him more and more;
+  Sets want and misery in view,
+  Bold thieves, and all the murd'ring crew,
+  Alarms him with eternal frights,
+  Infests his dream, or wakes his nights.
+_40
+  How shall he chase this hideous guest?
+  Power may perhaps protect his rest.
+  To power he rose. Again the sprite
+  Besets him, morning, noon, and night!
+  Talks of ambition's tottering seat,
+  How envy persecutes the great,
+  Of rival hate, of treacherous friends,
+  And what disgrace his fall attends.
+     The Court he quits to fly from Care,
+  And seeks the peace of rural air:
+_50
+  His groves, his fields, amused his hours;
+  He pruned his trees, he raised his flowers.
+  But Care again his steps pursues;
+  Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
+  Of plund'ring insects, snails, and rains,
+  And droughts that starved the laboured plains.
+  Abroad, at home, the spectre's there:
+  In vain we seek to fly from Care.
+  At length he thus the ghost address'd:
+  'Since thou must be my constant guest,
+_60
+  Be kind, and follow me no more;
+  For Care by right should go before.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXII.
+
+THE TWO OWLS AND THE SPARROW.
+
+  Two formal owls together sat,
+  Conferring thus in solemn chat:
+  'How is the modern taste decayed!
+  Where's the respect to wisdom paid?
+  Our worth the Grecian sages knew;
+  They gave our sires the honour due;
+  They weighed the dignity of fowls,
+  And pried into the depth of owls.
+  Athens, the seat of learned fame,
+  With general voice revered our name;
+_10
+  On merit, title was conferred,
+  And all adored the Athenian bird.'
+    'Brother, you reason well,' replies
+  The solemn mate, with half-shut eyes;
+  'Right. Athens was the seat of learning,
+  And truly wisdom is discerning.
+  Besides, on Pallas' helm we sit,
+  The type and ornament of wit:
+  But now, alas! we're quite neglected,
+  And a pert sparrow's more respected.'
+_20
+     A sparrow, who was lodged beside,
+  O'erhears them soothe each other's pride,
+  And thus he nimbly vents his heat:
+     'Who meets a fool must find conceit.
+  I grant, you were at Athens graced,
+  And on Minerva's helm were placed;
+  But every bird that wings the sky,
+  Except an owl, can tell you why.
+  From hence they taught their schools to know
+  How false we judge by outward show;
+_30
+  That we should never looks esteem,
+  Since fools as wise as you might seem.
+  Would ye contempt and scorn avoid,
+  Let your vain-glory be destroyed:
+  Humble your arrogance of thought,
+  Pursue the ways by Nature taught;
+  So shall you find delicious fare,
+  And grateful farmers praise your care:
+  So shall sleek mice your chase reward,
+  And no keen cat find more regard.'
+_40
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXIII.
+
+THE COURTIER AND PROTEUS.
+
+  Whene'er a courtier's out of place
+  The country shelters his disgrace;
+     Where, doomed to exercise and health,
+  His house and gardens own his wealth,
+  He builds new schemes in hopes to gain
+  The plunder of another reign;
+  Like Philip's son, would fain be doing,
+  And sighs for other realms to ruin.
+     As one of these (without his wand)
+  Pensive, along the winding strand
+_10
+  Employed the solitary hour,
+  In projects to regain his power;
+  The waves in spreading circles ran,
+  Proteus arose, and thus began:
+     'Came you from Court? For in your mien
+  A self-important air is seen.
+     He frankly owned his friends had tricked him
+  And how he fell his party's victim.
+     'Know,' says the god, 'by matchless skill
+  I change to every shape at will;
+_20
+  But yet I'm told, at Court you see
+  Those who presume to rival me.'
+     Thus said. A snake with hideous trail,
+  Proteus extends his scaly mail.
+     'Know,' says the man, 'though proud in place,
+  All courtiers are of reptile race.
+  Like you, they take that dreadful form,
+  Bask in the sun, and fly the storm;
+  With malice hiss, with envy gloat,
+  And for convenience change their coat;
+_30
+  With new-got lustre rear their head,
+  Though on a dunghill born and bred.'
+     Sudden the god a lion stands;
+  He shakes his mane, he spurns the sands;
+  Now a fierce lynx, with fiery glare,
+  A wolf, an ass, a fox, a bear.
+     'Had I ne'er lived at Court,' he cries,
+  'Such transformation might surprise;
+  But there, in quest of daily game,
+  Each able courtier acts the same.
+_40
+  Wolves, lions, lynxes, while in place,
+  Their friends and fellows are their chase.
+  They play the bear's and fox's part;
+  Now rob by force, now steal with art.
+  They sometimes in the senate bray;
+  Or, changed again to beasts of prey,
+  Down from the lion to the ape,
+  Practise the frauds of every shape.'
+     So said, upon the god he flies,
+  In cords the struggling captive ties.
+_50
+     'Now, Proteus, now, (to truth compelled)
+  Speak, and confess thy art excelled.
+  Use strength, surprise, or what you will,
+  The courtier finds evasions still:
+  Not to be bound by any ties,
+  And never forced to leave his lies.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXIV.
+
+THE MASTIFFS.
+
+  Those who in quarrels interpose,
+  Must often wipe a bloody nose.
+     A mastiff, of true English blood,
+  Loved fighting better than his food.
+  When dogs were snarling for a bone,
+  He longed to make the war his own,
+  And often found (when two contend)
+  To interpose obtained his end;
+  He gloried in his limping pace;
+  The scars of honour seamed his face;
+_10
+  In every limb a gash appears,
+  And frequent fights retrenched his ears.
+     As, on a time, he heard from far
+  Two dogs engaged in noisy war,
+  Away he scours and lays about him,
+  Resolved no fray should be without him.
+     Forth from his yard a tanner flies,
+  And to the bold intruder cries:
+     'A cudgel shall correct your manners,
+  Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners?
+_20
+  While on my dog you vent your spite,
+  Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite.'
+  To see the battle thus perplexed,
+  With equal rage a butcher vexed,
+  Hoarse-screaming from the circled crowd,
+  To the cursed mastiff cries aloud:
+     'Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone
+  The combats of my dog have known.
+  He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted,
+  Attacks in public, to be parted.
+_30
+  Think not, rash fool, to share his fame:
+  Be his the honour, or the shame.'
+     Thus said, they swore, and raved like thunder;
+  Then dragged their fastened dogs asunder;
+  While clubs and kicks from every side
+  Rebounded from the mastiff's hide.
+     All reeking now with sweat and blood,
+  Awhile the parted warriors stood,
+  Then poured upon the meddling foe;
+  Who, worried, howled and sprawled below.
+_40
+  He rose; and limping from the fray,
+  By both sides mangled, sneaked away.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XXXV.
+
+THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.
+
+  How many saucy airs we meet
+  From Temple Bar to Aldgate Street!
+  Proud rogues, who shared the South-Sea prey,
+  And sprung like mushrooms in a day!
+  They think it mean, to condescend
+  To know a brother or a friend;
+  They blush to hear their mother's name,
+  And by their pride expose their shame.
+     As cross his yard, at early day,
+  A careful farmer took his way,
+_10
+  He stopped, and leaning on his fork,
+  Observed the flail's incessant work.
+  In thought he measured all his store,
+  His geese, his hogs, he numbered o'er;
+  In fancy weighed the fleeces shorn,
+  And multiplied the next year's corn.
+     A Barley-mow, which stood beside,
+  Thus to its musing master cried:
+     'Say, good sir, is it fit or right
+  To treat me with neglect and slight?
+_20
+  Me, who contribute to your cheer,
+  And raise your mirth with ale and beer?
+  Why thus insulted, thus disgraced,
+  And that vile dunghill near me placed?
+  Are those poor sweepings of a groom,
+  That filthy sight, that nauseous fume,
+  Meet objects here? Command it hence:
+  A thing so mean must give offence'
+     The humble dunghill thus replied:
+  'Thy master hears, and mocks thy pride:
+_30
+  Insult not thus the meek and low;
+  In me thy benefactor know;
+  My warm assistance gave thee birth,
+  Or thou hadst perished low in earth;
+  But upstarts, to support their station,
+  Cancel at once all obligation.'
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXXVI.
+
+  PYTHAGORAS AND THE COUNTRYMAN.
+
+  Pythag'ras rose at early dawn,
+  By soaring meditation drawn,
+  To breathe the fragrance of the day,
+  Through flowery fields he took his way.
+  In musing contemplation warm,
+  His steps misled him to a farm,
+  Where, on the ladder's topmost round,
+  A peasant stood; the hammer's sound
+  Shook the weak barn. 'Say, friend, what care
+  Calls for thy honest labour there?'
+_10
+     The clown, with surly voice replies,
+  'Vengeance aloud for justice cries.
+  This kite, by daily rapine fed,
+  My hens' annoy, my turkeys' dread,
+  At length his forfeit life has paid;
+  See on the wall his wings displayed,
+  Here nailed, a terror to his kind,
+  My fowls shall future safety find;
+  My yard the thriving poultry feed,
+  And my barn's refuse fat the breed.'
+_20
+     'Friend,' says the sage, 'the doom is wise;
+  For public good the murderer dies.
+  But if these tyrants of the air
+  Demand a sentence so severe,
+  Think how the glutton man devours;
+  What bloody feasts regale his hours!
+  O impudence of power and might,
+  Thus to condemn a hawk or kite,
+  When thou, perhaps, carniv'rous sinner,
+  Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!'
+_30
+     'Hold,' cried the clown, with passion heated,
+  'Shall kites and men alike be treated?
+  When Heaven the world with creatures stored,
+  Man was ordained their sovereign lord.'
+     'Thus tyrants boast,' the sage replied,
+  'Whose murders spring from power and pride.
+  Own then this man-like kite is slain
+  Thy greater luxury to sustain;
+  For "Petty rogues submit to fate,
+  That great ones may enjoy their state."'[5]
+_40
+
+
+
+
+FABLE XXXVII.
+
+THE FARMER'S WIFE AND THE RAVEN.
+
+  'Why are those tears? why droops your head?
+  Is then your other husband dead?
+  Or does a worse disgrace betide?
+  Hath no one since his death applied?'
+     'Alas! you know the cause too well:
+  The salt is spilt, to me it fell.
+  Then, to contribute to my loss,
+  My knife and fork were laid across;
+  On Friday too! the day I dread!
+  Would I were safe at home in bed!
+_10
+  Last night (I vow to heaven 'tis true)
+  Bounce from the fire a coffin flew.
+  Next post some fatal news shall tell,
+  God send my Cornish friends be well!'
+     'Unhappy widow, cease thy tears,
+  Nor feel affliction in thy fears,
+  Let not thy stomach be suspended;
+  Eat now, and weep when dinner's ended;
+  And when the butler clears the table,
+  For thy desert, I'll read my fable.'
+_20
+     Betwixt her swagging panniers' load
+  A farmer's wife to market rode,
+  And, jogging on, with thoughtful care
+  Summed up the profits of her ware;
+  When, starting from her silver dream,
+  Thus far and wide was heard her scream:
+     'That raven on yon left-hand oak
+  (Curse on his ill-betiding croak)
+  Bodes me no good.' No more she said,
+  When poor blind Ball, with stumbling tread,
+_30
+  Fell prone; o'erturned the pannier lay,
+  And her mashed eggs bestrewed the way.
+     She, sprawling in the yellow road,
+  Railed, swore and cursed: 'Thou croaking toad,
+  A murrain take thy whoreson throat!
+  I knew misfortune in the note.'
+     'Dame,' quoth the raven, 'spare your oaths,
+  Unclench your fist, and wipe your clothes.
+  But why on me those curses thrown?
+  Goody, the fault was all your own;
+_40
+  For had you laid this brittle ware,
+  On Dun, the old sure-footed mare,
+  Though all the ravens of the hundred,
+  With croaking had your tongue out-thundered,
+  Sure-footed Dun had kept his legs,
+  And you, good woman, saved your eggs.'
+
+
+
+  FABLE XXXVIII.
+
+  THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.
+
+  In other men we faults can spy,
+  And blame the mote that dims their eye,
+  Each little speck and blemish find,
+  To our own stronger errors blind.
+     A turkey, tired of common food,
+  Forsook the barn, and sought the wood;
+  Behind her ran her infant train,
+  Collecting here and there a grain.
+     'Draw near, my birds,' the mother cries,
+  'This hill delicious fare supplies;
+_10
+  Behold, the busy negro race,
+  See, millions blacken all the place!
+  Fear not. Like me with freedom eat;
+  An ant is most delightful meat.
+  How bless'd, how envied were our life,
+  Could we but 'scape the poulterer's knife!
+  But man, cursed man, on turkeys preys,
+  And Christmas shortens all our days:
+  Sometimes with oysters we combine,
+  Sometimes assist the savoury chine.
+_20
+  From the low peasant to the lord,
+  The turkey smokes on every board.
+  Sure men for gluttony are cursed,
+  Of the seven deadly sins the worst.'
+     An ant, who climbed beyond his reach,
+  Thus answered from the neighbouring beech:
+     'Ere you remark another's sin,       27
+  Bid thy own conscience look within;
+  Control thy more voracious bill,
+  Nor for a breakfast nations kill.'
+_30
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XXXIX.
+
+  THE FATHER AND JUPITER.
+
+
+  The man to Jove his suit preferred;
+  He begged a wife. His prayer was heard,
+  Jove wondered at his bold addressing:
+  For how precarious is the blessing!
+  A wife he takes. And now for heirs
+  Again he worries heaven with prayers.
+  Jove nods assent. Two hopeful boys
+  And a fine girl reward his joys.
+  Now, more solicitous he grew,
+  And set their future lives in view;
+_10
+  He saw that all respect and duty
+  Were paid to wealth, to power, and beauty.
+  'Once more,' he cries, 'accept my prayer;
+  Make my loved progeny thy care.
+  Let my first hope, my favourite boy,
+  All fortune's richest gifts enjoy.
+  My next with strong ambition fire:
+  May favour teach him to aspire;
+  Till he the step of power ascend,
+  And courtiers to their idol bend.
+_20
+  With every grace, with every charm,
+  My daughter's perfect features arm.
+  If heaven approve, a father's bless'd.'
+  Jove smiles, and grants his full request.
+     The first, a miser at the heart,
+  Studious of every griping art,
+  Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain;
+  And all his life devotes to gain.
+  He feels no joy, his cares increase,
+  He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace;
+_30
+  In fancied want (a wretch complete)
+  He starves, and yet he dares not eat.
+     The next to sudden honours grew:
+  The thriving art of Courts he knew:
+  He reached the height of power and place;
+  Then fell, the victim of disgrace.
+     Beauty with early bloom supplies
+  His daughter's cheek, and points her eyes.
+  The vain coquette each suit disdains,
+  And glories in her lover's pains.
+_40
+  With age she fades, each lover flies;
+  Contemned, forlorn, she pines and dies.
+     When Jove the father's grief surveyed,
+  And heard him Heaven and Fate upbraid,
+  Thus spoke the god: 'By outward show,
+  Men judge of happiness and woe:
+  Shall ignorance of good and ill
+  Dare to direct the eternal will?
+  Seek virtue; and, of that possess'd,
+  To Providence resign the rest'
+_50
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XL.
+
+  THE TWO MONKEYS.
+
+  The learned, full of inward pride,
+  The Fops of outward show deride:
+  The Fop, with learning at defiance,
+  Scoffs at the pedant, and the science:
+  The Don, a formal, solemn strutter,
+  Despises Monsieur's airs and flutter;
+  While Monsieur mocks the formal fool,
+  Who looks, and speaks, and walks by rule.
+  Britain, a medley of the twain,
+  As pert as France, as grave as Spain;
+_10
+  In fancy wiser than the rest,
+  Laughs at them both, of both the jest.
+  Is not the poet's chiming close
+  Censured by all the sons of prose?
+  While bards of quick imagination
+  Despise the sleepy prose narration.
+  Men laugh at apes, they men contemn;
+  For what are we, but apes to them?
+     Two monkeys went to Southwark fair,
+  No critics had a sourer air:
+_20
+  They forced their way through draggled folks,
+  Who gaped to catch jack-pudding's jokes;
+  Then took their tickets for the show,
+  And got by chance the foremost row.
+  To see their grave, observing face,
+  Provoked a laugh throughout the place.
+     'Brother,' says Pug, and turned his head,
+  'The rabble's monstrously ill bred.'
+     Now through the booth loud hisses ran;
+  Nor ended till the show began.
+_30
+  The tumbler whirls the flap-flap round,
+  With somersets he shakes the ground;
+  The cord beneath the dancer springs;
+  Aloft in air the vaulter swings;
+  Distorted now, now prone depends,
+  Now through his twisted arms ascends:
+  The crowd, in wonder and delight,
+  With clapping hands applaud the sight.
+     With smiles, quoth Pug, 'If pranks like these
+  The giant apes of reason please,
+_40
+  How would they wonder at our arts!
+  They must adore us for our parts.
+  High on the twig I've seen you cling;
+  Play, twist and turn in airy ring:
+  How can those clumsy things, like me,
+  Fly with a bound from tree to tree?
+  But yet, by this applause, we find
+  These emulators of our kind
+  Discern our worth, our parts regard,
+  Who our mean mimics thus reward.'
+_50
+     'Brother,' the grinning mate replies,
+  'In this I grant that man is wise.
+  While good example they pursue,
+  We must allow some praise is due;
+  But when they strain beyond their guide,
+  I laugh to scorn the mimic pride,
+  For how fantastic is the sight,
+  To meet men always bolt upright,
+  Because we sometimes walk on two!
+  I hate the imitating crew.'
+_60
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XLI.
+
+  THE OWL AND THE FARMER.
+
+  An owl of grave deport and mien,
+  Who (like the Turk) was seldom seen,
+  Within a barn had chose his station,
+  As fit for prey and contemplation.
+  Upon a beam aloft he sits,
+  And nods, and seems to think by fits.
+  So have I seen a man of news,
+  Or _Post-boy_, or _Gazette_ peruse;
+  Smoke, nod, and talk with voice profound,
+  And fix the fate of Europe round.
+_10
+  Sheaves piled on sheaves, hid all the floor;
+  At dawn of morn, to view his store
+  The farmer came. The hooting guest
+  His self-importance thus express'd:
+     'Reason in man is mere pretence:
+  How weak, how shallow is his sense!
+  To treat with scorn the bird of night,
+  Declares his folly, or his spite.
+  Then too, how partial is his praise!
+  The lark's, the linnet's chirping lays
+_20
+  To his ill-judging ears are fine;
+  And nightingales are all divine.
+  But the more knowing feathered race
+  See wisdom stamped upon my face.
+  Whene'er to visit light I deign,
+  What flocks of fowl compose my train!
+  Like slaves they crowd my flight behind,
+  And own me of superior kind.'
+     The farmer laughed, and thus replied:
+  'Thou dull important lump of pride,
+_30
+  Dar'st thou with that harsh grating tongue,
+  Depreciate birds of warbling song?
+  Indulge thy spleen. Know, men and fowl
+  Regard thee, as thou art an owl.
+  Besides, proud blockhead, be not vain,
+  Of what thou call'st thy slaves and train.
+  Few follow wisdom or her rules;
+  Fools in derision follow fools.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE XLII.
+
+THE JUGGLERS.
+
+  A juggler long through all the town
+  Had raised his fortune and renown;
+  You'd think (so far his art transcends)
+  The devil at his fingers' ends.
+     Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
+  Convinced of his inferior skill,
+  She sought his booth, and from the crowd
+  Defied the man of art aloud:
+     'Is this, then, he so famed for sleight?
+  Can this slow bungler cheat your sight!
+_10
+  Dares he with me dispute the prize?
+  I leave it to impartial eyes.'
+     Provoked, the juggler cried, ''tis done.
+  In science I submit to none.'
+     Thus said, the cups and balls he played;
+  By turns, this here, that there, conveyed.
+  The cards, obedient to his words,
+  Are by a fillip turned to birds.
+  His little boxes change the grain:
+  Trick after trick deludes the train.
+_20
+  He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
+  His fingers spreads, and nothing there;
+  Then bids it rain with showers of gold,
+  And now his ivory eggs are told.
+  But when from thence the hen he draws,
+  Amazed spectators hum applause.
+     Vice now stept forth, and took the place
+  With all the forms of his grimace.
+     'This magic looking-glass,' she cries,
+  (There, hand it round) 'will charm your eyes.'
+_30
+  Each eager eye the sight desired,
+  And every man himself admired.
+     Next to a senator addressing:
+  'See this bank-note; observe the blessing,
+  Breathe on the bill.' Heigh, pass! 'Tis gone.
+  Upon his lips a padlock shone.
+  A second puff the magic broke,
+  The padlock vanished, and he spoke.
+     Twelve bottles ranged upon the board,
+  All full, with heady liquor stored,
+_40
+  By clean conveyance disappear,
+  And now two bloody swords are there.
+     A purse she to a thief exposed,
+  At once his ready fingers closed;
+  He opes his fist, the treasure's fled;
+  He sees a halter in its stead.
+     She bids ambition hold a wand;
+  He grasps a hatchet in his hand.
+     A box of charity she shows,
+  'Blow here;' and a churchwarden blows,
+_50
+  'Tis vanished with conveyance neat,
+  And on the table smokes a treat.
+     She shakes the dice, the boards she knocks,
+  And from all pockets fills her box.
+     She next a meagre rake address'd:
+  'This picture see; her shape, her breast!
+  What youth, and what inviting eyes!
+  Hold her, and have her.' With surprise,
+  His hand exposed a box of pills,
+  And a loud laugh proclaimed his ills.
+_60
+     A counter, in a miser's hand,
+  Grew twenty guineas at command.
+  She bids his heir the sum retain,
+  And 'tis a counter now again.
+  A guinea with her touch you see
+  Take every shape, but charity;
+  And not one thing you saw, or drew,
+  But changed from what was first in view.
+     The juggler now in grief of heart,
+  With this submission owned her art:
+_70
+  'Can I such matchless sleight withstand?
+  How practice hath improved your hand!
+  But now and then I cheat the throng;
+  You every day, and all day long.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XLIII.
+
+  THE COUNCIL OF HORSES.
+
+  Upon a time a neighing steed,
+  Who grazed among a numerous breed,
+  With mutiny had fired the train,
+  And spread dissension through the plain.
+  On matters that concerned the state
+  The council met in grand debate.
+  A colt, whose eye-balls flamed with ire,
+  Elate with strength and youthful fire,
+  In haste stept forth before the rest,
+  And thus the listening throng addressed:
+_10
+     'Good gods! how abject is our race,
+  Condemned to slavery and disgrace!
+  Shall we our servitude retain,
+  Because our sires have borne the chain?
+  Consider, friends, your strength and might;
+  'Tis conquest to assert your right.
+  How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
+  The pride of man is our reproach.
+  Were we designed for daily toil,
+  To drag the ploughshare through, the soil,
+_20
+  To sweat in harness through the road,
+  To groan beneath the carrier's load?
+  How feeble are the two-legged kind!
+  What force is in our nerves combined!
+  Shall then our nobler jaws submit
+  To foam and champ the galling bit?
+  Shall haughty man my back bestride?
+  Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
+  Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein;
+  Your shame, your infamy disdain.
+_30
+  Let him the lion first control,
+  And still the tiger's famished growl.
+  Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
+  And make him tremble at our name.'
+     A general nod approved the cause,
+  And all the circle neighed applause.
+     When, lo! with grave and solemn pace,
+  A steed advanced before the race,
+  With age and long experience wise;
+  Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
+_40
+  And, to the murmurs of the train,
+  Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain:
+     'When I had health and strength, like you,
+  The toils of servitude I knew;
+  Now grateful man rewards my pains,
+  And gives me all these wide domains.
+  At will I crop the year's increase
+  My latter life is rest and peace.
+  I grant, to man we lend our pains,
+  And aid him to correct the plains.
+_50
+  But doth not he divide the care,
+  Through all the labours of the year?
+  How many thousand structures rise,
+  To fence us from inclement skies!
+  For us he bears the sultry day,
+  And stores up all our winter's hay.
+  He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain;
+  We share the toil, and share the grain.
+  Since every creature was decreed
+  To aid each other's mutual need,
+_60
+  Appease your discontented mind,
+  And act the part by heaven assigned.'
+     The tumult ceased. The colt submitted,
+  And, like his ancestors, was bitted.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  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 prone,
+  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 passed along,
+  But had a sample of his song.
+_20
+     Soon as the trotting steed he hears,
+  He starts, he cocks his dapper ears;
+  Away he scours, assaults 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 passing 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 coxcombs 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 asserts 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.
+     The hog with stutt'ring speech returns:
+  'Explain, sir, why your anger burns.
+_40
+  See there, untouched, your tulips strown,
+  For I devoured the roots alone.'
+     At this the gard'ner's passion grows;
+  From oaths and threats he fell to blows.
+  The stubborn brute the blow sustains;
+  Assaults his leg, and tears the veins.
+     Ah! foolish swain, too late you find
+  That sties were for such friends designed!
+     Homeward he limps with painful pace,
+  Reflecting thus on past disgrace:
+_50
+  Who cherishes a brutal mate
+  Shall mourn the folly soon or late.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XLIX.
+
+  THE MAN AND THE FLEA.
+
+
+  Whether on earth, in air, or main,
+  Sure everything alive is vain!
+  Does not the hawk all fowls survey,
+  As destined only for his prey?
+  And do not tyrants, prouder things,
+  Think men were born for slaves to kings?
+     When the crab views the pearly strands,
+  Or Tagus, bright with golden sands;
+  Or crawls beside the coral grove,
+  And hears the ocean roll above;
+_10
+  'Nature is too profuse,' says he,
+  'Who gave all these to pleasure me!'
+  When bordering pinks and roses bloom,
+  And every garden breathes perfume;
+  When peaches glow with sunny dyes,
+  Like Laura's cheek, when blushes rise;
+  When with huge figs the branches bend,
+  When clusters from the vine depend;
+  The snail looks round on flower and tree,
+  And cries, 'All these were made for me!'
+_20
+     'What dignity's in human nature!'
+  Says man, the most conceited creature,
+  As from a cliff he cast his eye,
+  And viewed the sea and arched sky;
+  The sun was sunk beneath the main,
+  The moon and all the starry train
+  Hung the vast vault of heaven. The man
+  His contemplation thus began:
+     'When I behold this glorious show,
+  And the wide watery world below,
+_30
+  The scaly people of the main,
+  The beasts that range the wood or plain,
+  The winged inhabitants of air,
+  The day, the night, the various year,
+  And know all these by heaven design'd
+  As gifts to pleasure human kind;
+  I cannot raise my worth too high;
+  Of what vast consequence am I!'
+     'Not of the importance you suppose,'
+  Replies a flea upon his nose.
+_40
+  'Be humble, learn thyself to scan;
+  Know, pride was never made for man.
+  'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.
+  What, heaven and earth for thee designed!
+  For thee, made only for our need,
+  That more important fleas might feed.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE L.
+
+  THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS.
+
+  Friendship, like love, is but a name,
+  Unless to one you stint the flame.
+  The child, whom many fathers share,
+  Hath seldom known a father's care.
+  Tis thus in friendships; who depend
+  On many, rarely find a friend.
+     A hare, who in a civil way,
+  Complied with everything, like Gay,
+  Was known by all the bestial train
+  Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.
+_10
+  Her care was never to offend,
+  And every creature was her friend.
+     As forth she went at early dawn,
+  To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
+  Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
+  And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.
+  She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
+  She hears the near advance of death;
+  She doubles to mislead the hound,
+  And measures back her mazy round;
+_20
+  Till fainting in the public way,
+  Half-dead with fear, she gasping lay.
+  What transport in her bosom grew,
+  When first the horse appeared in view!
+     'Let me,' says she, 'your back ascend,
+  And owe my safety to a friend.
+  You know my feet betray my flight;
+  To friendship every burden's light.'
+     The horse replied--'Poor honest puss,
+  It grieves my heart to see thee thus;
+_30
+  Be comforted, relief is near;
+  For all your friends are in the rear.'
+     She next the stately bull implored;
+  And thus replied the mighty lord--
+  'Since every beast alive can tell
+  That I sincerely wish you well,
+  I may, without offence, pretend
+  To take the freedom of a friend.
+  Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
+  Expects me near yon barley mow:
+_40
+  And when a lady's in the case,
+  You know all other things give place.
+  To leave you thus might seem unkind;
+  But see, the goat is just behind.'
+     The goat remarked her pulse was high,
+  Her languid head, her heavy eye;
+  'My back,' says she, 'may do you harm;
+  The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm.'
+     The sheep was feeble, and complained
+  His sides a load of wool sustained:
+_50
+  Said he was slow, confessed his fears;
+  For hounds cat sheep, as well as hares.
+     She now the trotting calf addressed,
+  To save from death a friend distressed.
+     'Shall I,' says he, 'of tender age,
+  In this important care engage?
+  Older and abler passed you by;
+  How strong are those! how weak am I!
+  Should I presume to bear you hence,
+  Those friends of mine may take offence.
+_60
+  Excuse me then. You know my heart,
+  But dearest friends, alas! must part.
+  How shall we all lament! Adieu!
+  For see the hounds are just in view.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+PART II.
+
+PUBLISHED AFTER GAY'S DEATH, BY THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY.
+
+
+FABLE I.
+
+THE DOG AND THE FOX.
+
+TO A LAWYER.
+
+  I know you lawyers can with ease
+  Twist words and meanings as you please;
+  That language, by your skill made pliant,
+  Will bend to favour every client;
+  That 'tis the fee directs the sense,
+  To make out either side's pretence.
+  When you peruse the clearest case,
+  You see it with a double face:
+  For scepticism's your profession;
+  You hold there's doubt in all expression.
+_10
+     Hence is the bar with fees supplied,
+  Hence eloquence takes either side.
+  Your hand would have but paltry gleaning
+  Could every man express his meaning.
+  Who dares presume to pen a deed.
+  Unless you previously are fee'd?
+  'Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost,
+  In dull prolixity engrossed.
+  And now we're well secured by law,
+  Till the next brother find a flaw.
+_20
+  Read o'er a will. Was't ever known,
+  But you could make the will your own;
+  For when you read,'tis with intent
+  To find out meanings never meant.
+  Since things are thus, _se defendendo_,
+  I bar fallacious innuendo.
+     Sagacious Porta's[6] skill could trace
+  Some beast or bird in every face.
+  The head, the eye, the nose's shape,
+  Proved this an owl, and that an ape.
+_30
+  When, in the sketches thus designed,
+  Resemblance brings some friend to mind,
+  You show the piece, and give the hint,
+  And find each feature in the print:
+  So monstrous like the portrait's found,
+  All know it, and the laugh goes round.
+  Like him I draw from general nature;
+  Is't I or you then fix the satire?
+     So, sir, I beg you spare your pains
+  In making comments on my strains.
+_40
+  All private slander I detest,
+  I judge not of my neighbour's breast:
+  Party and prejudice I hate,
+  And write no libels on the state.
+     Shall not my fable censure vice,
+  Because a knave is over-nice?
+  And, lest the guilty hear and dread,
+  Shall not the decalogue be read?
+  If I lash vice in general fiction,
+  Is't I apply, or self-conviction?
+_50
+  Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame,
+  If men in morals are the same?
+  I no man call an ape or ass:
+  Tis his own conscience holds the glass;
+  Thus void of all offence I write;
+  Who claims the fable, knows his right.
+     A shepherd's dog unskilled in sports,
+  Picked up acquaintance of all sorts:
+  Among the rest, a fox he knew;
+  By frequent chat their friendship grew.
+_60
+     Says Reynard--' 'Tis a cruel case,
+  That man should stigmatise our race,
+  No doubt, among us rogues you find,
+  As among dogs, and human kind;
+  And yet (unknown to me and you)
+  There may be honest men and true.
+  Thus slander tries, whate'er it can,
+  To put us on the foot with man,
+  Let my own actions recommend;
+  No prejudice can blind a friend:
+_70
+  You know me free from all disguise;
+  My honour as my life I prize.'
+     By talk like this, from all mistrust
+  The dog was cured, and thought him just.
+     As on a time the fox held forth
+  On conscience, honesty, and worth,
+  Sudden he stopp'd; he cocked his ear;
+  And dropp'd his brushy tail with fear.
+     'Bless us! the hunters are abroad--
+  What's all that clatter on the road?'
+_80
+     'Hold,' says the dog, 'we're safe from harm;
+  'Twas nothing but a false alarm.
+  At yonder town, 'tis market day;
+  Some farmer's wife is on the way;
+  'Tis so, (I know her pyebald mare)
+  Dame Dobbins, with her poultry ware.'
+     Reynard grew huff. Says he, 'This sneer
+  From you I little thought to hear.
+  Your meaning in your looks I see;
+  Pray, what's Dame Dobbins, friend, to me?
+_90
+  Did I e'er make her poultry thinner?
+  Prove that I owe the Dame a dinner.'
+  'Friend,' quoth the cur, 'I meant no harm;
+  Then, why so captious? why so warm?
+  My words in common acceptation,
+  Could never give this provocation.
+  No lamb (for ought I ever knew)
+  May be more innocent than you.'
+     At this, galled Reynard winced and swore
+  Such language ne'er was given before:
+_100
+     'What's lamb to me? the saucy hint--
+  Show me, base knave, which way you squint,
+  If t'other night your master lost
+  Three lambs, am I to pay the cost?
+  Your vile reflections would imply
+  That I'm the thief. You dog, you lie.'
+     'Thou knave, thou fool,' the dog replied,
+  'The name is just, take either side;
+  Thy guilt these applications speak;
+  Sirrah,'tis conscience makes you squeak.'
+_110
+     So saying, on the fox he flies,
+  The self-convicted felon dies.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FABLE II.
+
+THE VULTURE, THE SPARROW, AND OTHER BIRDS.
+
+  TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY.
+
+  Ere I begin, I must premise
+  Our ministers are good and wise;
+  So, though malicious tongues apply,
+  Pray what care they, or what care I?
+     If I am free with courts; be't known,
+  I ne'er presume to mean our own.
+  If general morals seem to joke
+  On ministers, and such like folk,
+  A captious fool may take offence;
+  What then? he knows his own pretence.
+_10
+  I meddle with no state affairs,
+  But spare my jest to save my ears.
+  Our present schemes are too profound,
+  For Machiavel himself to sound:
+  To censure them I've no pretension;
+  I own they're past my comprehension.
+     You say your brother wants a place,
+  ('Tis many a younger brother's case,)
+  And that he very soon intends
+  To ply the Court, and tease his friends.
+_20
+  If there his merits chance to find
+  A patriot of an open mind,
+  Whose constant actions prove him just
+  To both a king's and people's trust;
+  May he with gratitude attend,
+  And owe his rise to such a friend.
+     You praise his parts, for business fit,
+  His learning, probity, and wit;
+  But those alone will never do,
+  Unless his patron have them too.
+_30
+  I've heard of times (pray God defend us,
+  We're not so good but He can mend us)
+  When wicked ministers have trod
+  On kings and people, law and God;
+  With arrogance they girt the throne,
+  And knew no interest but their own.
+  Then virtue, from preferment barr'd,
+  Gets nothing but its own reward.
+  A gang of petty knaves attend 'em,
+  With proper parts to recommend 'em.
+_40
+  Then if their patron burn with lust,
+  The first in favour's pimp the first.
+  His doors are never closed to spies,
+  Who cheer his heart with double lies;
+  They flatter him, his foes defame,
+  So lull the pangs of guilt and shame.
+  If schemes of lucre haunt his brain,
+  Projectors swell his greedy train;
+  Vile brokers ply his private ear
+  With jobs of plunder for the year;
+_50
+  All consciences must bend and ply;
+  You must vote on, and not know why:
+  Through thick and thin you must go on;
+  One scruple, and your place is gone.
+  Since plagues like these have cursed a land,
+  And favourites cannot always stand;
+  Good courtiers should for change be ready,
+  And not have principles too steady:
+  For should a knave engross the power,
+  (God shield the realm, from that sad hour,)
+_60
+  He must have rogues, or slavish fools:
+  For what's a knave without his tools?
+     Wherever those a people drain,
+  And strut with infamy and gain,
+  I envy not their guilt and state,
+  And scorn to share the public hate.
+  Let their own servile creatures rise
+  By screening fraud, and venting lies;
+  Give me, kind heaven, a private station,[7]
+  A mind serene for contemplation:
+_70
+  Title and profit I resign;
+  The post of honour shall be mine.
+  My fable read, their merits view,
+  Then herd who will with such a crew.
+     In days of yore (my cautious rhymes
+  Always except the present times)
+  A greedy vulture skilled in game,
+  Inured to guilt, unawed by shame,
+  Approached the throne in evil hour,
+  And step by step intrudes to power;
+_80
+  When at the royal eagle's ear,
+  He longs to ease the monarch's care.
+  The monarch grants. With pride elate,
+  Behold him minister of state!
+  Around him throng the feathered rout;
+  Friends must be served, and some must out,
+  Each thinks his own the best pretension;
+  This asks a place, and that a pension.
+     The nightingale was set aside,
+  A forward daw his room supplied.
+_90
+     'This bird,' says he, 'for business fit,
+  Hath both sagacity and wit.
+  With all his turns, and shifts, and tricks,
+  He's docile, and at nothing sticks.
+  Then, with his neighbours one so free,
+  At all times will connive at me.'
+  The hawk had due distinction shown,
+  For parts and talents like his own.
+     Thousands of hireling cocks attends him,
+  As blustering bullies, to defend him.
+_100
+     At once the ravens were discarded,
+  And magpies with their posts rewarded.
+     'Those fowls of omen I detest,
+  That pry into another's nest,
+  State-lies must lose all good intent;
+  For they foresee and croak the event.
+  My friends ne'er think, but talk by rote,
+  Speak what they're taught, and so to vote.'
+     'When rogues like these,' a sparrow cries,
+  'To honours and employments rise,
+_110
+  I court no favour, ask no place;
+  For such preferment is disgrace.
+  Within my thatched retreat I find
+  (What these ne'er feel) true peace of mind.'
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE III.
+
+  THE BABOON AND THE POULTRY.
+
+  TO A LEVEE-HUNTER.
+
+  We frequently misplace esteem,
+  By judging men by what they seem,
+  To birth, wealth, power, we should allow
+  Precedence, and our lowest bow.
+  In that is due distinction shown,
+  Esteem is virtue's right alone.
+     With partial eye we're apt to see
+  The man of noble pedigree.
+  We're prepossess'd my lord inherits
+  In some degree his grandsire's merits;
+_10
+  For those we find upon record:
+  But find him nothing but my lord.
+     When we with superficial view,
+  Gaze on the rich, we're dazzled too.
+  We know that wealth well understood,
+  Hath frequent power of doing good:
+  Then fancy that the thing is done,
+  As if the power and will were one.
+  Thus oft the cheated crowd adore
+  The thriving knaves that keep them poor.
+_20
+     The cringing train of power survey:
+  What creatures are so low as they!
+  With what obsequiousness they bend!
+  To what vile actions condescend!
+  Their rise is on their meanness built,
+  And flattery is their smallest guilt.
+  What homage, rev'rence, adoration,
+  In every age, in every nation,
+  Have sycophants to power addressed!
+  No matter who the power possessed.
+_30
+  Let ministers be what they will,
+  You find their levees always fill.
+  Even those who have perplexed a state,
+  Whose actions claim contempt and hate,
+  Had wretches to applaud their schemes,
+  Though more absurd than madmen's dreams.
+  When barbarous Moloch was invoked,
+  The blood of infants only smoked!
+  But here (unless all history lies)
+  Whole realms have been a sacrifice.
+_40
+  Look through all Courts--'Tis power we find,
+  The general idol of mankind,
+  There worshipped under every shape;
+  Alike the lion, fox, and ape
+  Are followed by time-serving slaves,
+  Rich prostitutes, and needy knaves.
+     Who, then, shall glory in his post?
+  How frail his pride, how vain his boast!
+  The followers of his prosperous hour
+  Are as unstable as his power.
+_50
+  Power by the breath of flattery nursed,
+  The more it swells, is nearer burst.
+  The bubble breaks, the gewgaw ends,
+  And in a dirty tear descends.
+     Once on a time, an ancient maid,
+  By wishes and by time decayed,
+  To cure the pangs of restless thought,
+  In birds and beasts amusement sought:
+  Dogs, parrots, apes, her hours employed;
+  With these alone she talked and toyed.
+_60
+     A huge baboon her fancy took,
+  (Almost a man in size and look,)
+  He fingered everything he found,
+  And mimicked all the servants round.
+  Then, too, his parts and ready wit
+  Showed him for every business fit.
+  With all these talents, 'twas but just
+  That pug should hold a place of trust:
+  So to her fav'rite was assigned
+  The charge of all her feathered kind.
+_70
+  'Twas his to tend 'em eve and morn,
+  And portion out their daily corn.
+     Behold him now with haughty stride,
+  Assume a ministerial pride.
+  The morning rose. In hope of picking,
+  Swans, turkeys, peacocks, ducks and chicken,
+  Fowls of all ranks surround his hut,
+  To worship his important strut.
+  The minister appears. The crowd
+  Now here, now there, obsequious bowed.
+_80
+  This praised his parts, and that his face,
+  T'other his dignity in place.
+  From bill to bill the flattery ran:
+  He hears and bears it like a man:
+  For, when we flatter self-conceit,
+  We but his sentiments repeat.
+     If we're too scrupulously just,
+  What profit's in a place of trust?
+  The common practice of the great,
+  Is to secure a snug retreat.
+_90
+  So pug began to turn his brain
+  (Like other folks in place) on gain.
+     An apple-woman's stall was near,
+  Well stocked with fruits through all the year;
+  Here every day he crammed his guts,
+  Hence were his hoards of pears and nuts;
+  For 'twas agreed (in way of trade)
+  His payments should in corn be made.
+     The stock of grain was quickly spent,
+  And no account which way it went.
+_100
+  Then, too, the poultry's starved condition
+  Caused speculations of suspicion.
+  The facts were proved beyond dispute;
+  Pug must refund his hoards of fruit:
+  And, though then minister in chief,
+  Was branded as a public thief.
+  Disgraced, despised, confined to chains,
+  He nothing but his pride retains.
+     A goose passed by; he knew the face,
+  Seen every levee while in place.
+_110
+     'What, no respect! no reverence shown?
+  How saucy are these creatures grown!
+  Not two days since,' says he, 'you bowed
+  The lowest of my fawning crowd.'
+     'Proud fool,' replies the goose,''tis true,
+  Thy corn a fluttering levee drew!
+  For that I joined the hungry train,
+  And sold thee flattery for thy grain.
+  But then, as now, conceited ape,
+  We saw thee in thy proper shape.'
+_120
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE IV.
+
+  THE ANT IN OFFICE.
+
+  TO A FRIEND.
+
+  You tell me, that you apprehend
+  My verse may touchy folks offend.
+  In prudence too you think my rhymes
+  Should never squint at courtiers' crimes:
+  For though nor this, nor that is meant,
+  Can we another's thoughts prevent?
+     You ask me if I ever knew
+  Court chaplains thus the lawn pursue.
+  I meddle not with gown or lawn;
+  Poets, I grant, to rise must fawn.
+_10
+  They know great ears are over-nice,
+  And never shock their patron's vice.
+  But I this hackney path despise;
+  'Tis my ambition not to rise.
+  If I must prostitute the Muse,
+  The base conditions I refuse.
+     I neither flatter nor defame,
+  Yet own I would bring guilt to shame.
+  If I corruption's hand expose,
+  I make corrupted men my foes.
+_20
+  What then? I hate the paltry tribe;
+  Be virtue mine; be theirs the bribe.
+  I no man's property invade;
+  Corruption's yet no lawful trade.
+  Nor would it mighty ills produce,
+  Could I shame bribery out of use,
+  I know 'twould cramp most politicians,
+  Were they tied down to these conditions.
+  'Twould stint their power, their riches bound,
+  And make their parts seem less profound.
+_30
+  Were they denied their proper tools,
+  How could they lead their knaves and fools?
+  Were this the case, let's take a view,
+  What dreadful mischiefs would ensue;
+  Though it might aggrandise the state,
+  Could private luxury dine on plate?
+  Kings might indeed their friends reward,
+  But ministers find less regard.
+  Informers, sycophants, and spies,
+  Would not augment the year's supplies.
+_40
+  Perhaps, too, take away this prop,
+  An annual job or two might drop.
+  Besides, if pensions were denied,
+  Could avarice support its pride?
+  It might even ministers confound,
+  And yet the state be safe and sound.
+     I care not though 'tis understood
+  I only mean my country's good:
+  And (let who will my freedom blame)
+  I wish all courtiers did the same.
+_50
+  Nay, though some folks the less might get,
+  I wish the nation out of debt.
+  I put no private man's ambition
+  With public good in competition:
+  Rather than have our law defaced,
+  I'd vote a minister disgraced.
+     I strike at vice, be't where it will;
+  And what if great folks take it ill?
+  I hope corruption, bribery, pension,
+  One may with detestation mention:
+_60
+  Think you the law (let who will take it)
+  Can _scandalum magnatum_ make it?
+  I vent no slander, owe no grudge,
+  Nor of another's conscience judge:
+  At him, or him, I take no aim,
+  Yet dare against all vice declaim.
+  Shall I not censure breach of trust,
+  Because knaves know themselves unjust?
+  That steward, whose account is clear,
+  Demands his honour may appear:
+_70
+  His actions never shun the light,
+  He is, and would be proved upright.
+     But then you think my fable bears
+  Allusion, too, to state affairs.
+     I grant it does: and who's so great,
+  That has the privilege to cheat?
+  If, then, in any future reign
+  (For ministers may thirst for gain;)
+  Corrupted hands defraud the nation,
+  I bar no reader's application.
+_80
+     An ant there was, whose forward prate
+  Controlled all matters in debate;
+  Whether he knew the thing or no,
+  His tongue eternally would go.
+  For he had impudence at will,
+  And boasted universal skill.
+  Ambition was his point in view;
+  Thus, by degrees, to power he grew.
+  Behold him now his drift attain:
+  He's made chief treasurer of the grain.
+_90
+     But as their ancient laws are just,
+  And punish breach of public trust,
+  'Tis ordered (lest wrong application
+  Should starve that wise industrious nation)
+  That all accounts be stated clear,
+  Their stock, and what defrayed the year:
+  That auditors should these inspect,     97
+  And public rapine thus be checked.
+  For this the solemn day was set,
+  The auditors in council met.
+_100
+  The granary-keeper must explain,
+  And balance his account of grain.
+  He brought (since he could not refuse 'em)
+  Some scraps of paper to amuse 'em.
+     An honest pismire, warm with zeal,
+  In justice to the public weal,
+  Thus spoke: 'The nation's hoard is low,
+  From whence doth this profusion flow?
+  I know our annual funds' amount.
+  Why such expense, and where's the account?'
+_110
+     With wonted arrogance and pride,
+  The ant in office thus replied:
+  'Consider, sirs, were secrets told,
+  How could the best-schemed projects hold?
+  Should we state-mysteries disclose,
+  'Twould lay us open to our foes.
+  My duty and my well-known zeal
+  Bid me our present schemes conceal.
+  But on my honour, all the expense
+  (Though vast) was for the swarm's defence.
+_120
+     They passed the account as fair and just,
+  And voted him implicit trust.
+     Next year again the granary drained,
+  He thus his innocence maintained:
+     'Think how our present matters stand,
+  What dangers threat from every hand;
+  What hosts of turkeys stroll for food,
+  No farmer's wife but hath her brood.
+  Consider, when invasion's near,
+  Intelligence must cost us dear;
+_130
+  And, in this ticklish situation,
+  A secret told betrays the nation.
+  But, on my honour, all the expense
+  (Though vast) was for the swarm's defence.'
+     Again, without examination,
+  They thanked his sage administration.
+     The year revolves. The treasure spent,
+  Again in secret service went.
+  His honour too again was pledged,
+  To satisfy the charge alleged.
+_140
+     When thus, with panic shame possessed,
+  An auditor his friends addressed:
+     'What are we? Ministerial tools.
+  We little knaves are greater fools.
+  At last this secret is explored;
+  'Tis our corruption thins the hoard.
+  For every grain we touched, at least
+  A thousand his own heaps increased.
+  Then for his kin, and favourite spies,
+  A hundred hardly could suffice.
+_150
+  Thus, for a paltry sneaking bribe,
+  We cheat ourselves, and all the tribe;
+  For all the magazine contains,
+  Grows from our annual toil and pains.'
+     They vote the account shall be inspected;
+  The cunning plunderer is detected;
+  The fraud is sentenced; and his hoard,
+  As due, to public use restored.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE V.
+
+  THE BEAR IN A BOAT.
+
+  TO A COXCOMB.
+
+  That man must daily wiser grow,
+  Whose search is bent himself to know;
+  Impartially he weighs his scope,
+  And on firm reason founds his hope;
+  He tries his strength before the race,
+  And never seeks his own disgrace;
+  He knows the compass, sail, and oar,
+  Or never launches from the shore;
+  Before he builds, computes the cost;
+  And in no proud pursuit is lost:
+_10
+  He learns the bounds of human sense,
+  And safely walks within the fence.
+  Thus, conscious of his own defect,
+  Are pride and self-importance check'd.
+     If then, self-knowledge to pursue,
+  Direct our life in every view,
+  Of all the fools that pride can boast,
+  A coxcomb claims distinction most.
+     Coxcombs are of all ranks and kind:
+  They're not to sex or age confined,
+_20
+  Or rich, or poor, or great, or small;
+  And vanity besets them all.
+  By ignorance is pride increased:
+  Those most assume who know the least;
+  Their own false balance gives them weight,
+  But every other finds them light.
+     Not that all coxcombs' follies strike,
+  And draw our ridicule alike;
+  To different merits each pretends.
+  This in love-vanity transcends;
+_30
+  That smitten with his face and shape,
+  By dress distinguishes the ape;
+  T'other with learning crams his shelf,
+  Knows books, and all things but himself.
+     All these are fools of low condition,
+  Compared with coxcombs of ambition.
+  For those, puffed up with flattery, dare
+  Assume a nation's various care.
+  They ne'er the grossest praise mistrust,
+  Their sycophants seem hardly just;
+_40
+  For these, in part alone, attest
+  The flattery their own thoughts suggest.
+  In this wide sphere a coxcomb's shown
+  In other realms beside his own:
+  The self-deemed Machiavel at large
+  By turns controls in every charge.
+  Does commerce suffer in her rights?
+  'Tis he directs the naval flights.
+  What sailor dares dispute his skill?
+  He'll be an admiral when he will.
+_50
+     Now meddling in the soldier's trade,
+  Troops must be hired, and levies made.
+  He gives ambassadors their cue,
+  His cobbled treaties to renew;
+  And annual taxes must suffice
+  The current blunders to disguise
+  When his crude schemes in air are lost,
+  And millions scarce defray the cost,
+  His arrogance (nought undismayed)
+  Trusting in self-sufficient aid,
+_60
+  On other rocks misguides the realm,
+  And thinks a pilot at the helm.
+  He ne'er suspects his want of skill,
+  But blunders on from ill to ill;
+  And, when he fails of all intent,
+  Blames only unforeseen event.
+  Lest you mistake the application,
+  The fable calls me to relation.
+     A bear of shag and manners rough,
+  At climbing trees expert enough;
+_70
+  For dextrously, and safe from harm,
+  Year after year he robbed the swarm.
+  Thus thriving on industrious toil,
+  He gloried in his pilfered spoil.
+     This trick so swelled him with conceit,
+  He thought no enterprise too great.
+  Alike in sciences and arts,
+  He boasted universal parts;
+  Pragmatic, busy, bustling, bold,
+  His arrogance was uncontrolled:
+_80
+  And thus he made his party good,
+  And grew dictator of the wood.
+     The beasts with admiration stare,
+  And think him a prodigious bear.
+  Were any common booty got,
+  'Twas his each portion to allot:
+  For why, he found there might be picking,
+  Even in the carving of a chicken.
+  Intruding thus, he by degrees
+  Claimed too the butcher's larger fees.
+_90
+  And now his over-weening pride
+  In every province will preside.
+  No talk too difficult was found:
+  His blundering nose misleads the hound.
+  In stratagem and subtle arts,
+  He overrules the fox's parts.
+     It chanced, as, on a certain day,
+  Along the bank he took his way,
+  A boat, with rudder, sail, and oar,
+  At anchor floated near the shore.
+_100
+  He stopp'd, and turning to his train,
+  Thus pertly vents his vaunting strain:
+     'What blundering puppies are mankind,
+  In every science always blind!
+  I mock the pedantry of schools.
+  What are their compasses and rules?
+  From me that helm shall conduct learn.
+  And man his ignorance discern.'
+     So saying, with audacious pride,
+  He gains the boat, and climbs the side.
+_110
+  The beasts astonished, lined the strand,
+  The anchor's weighed, he drives from land:
+  The slack sail shifts from side to side;
+  The boat untrimmed admits the tide,
+  Borne down, adrift, at random toss'd,
+  His oar breaks short, the rudder's lost.
+  The bear, presuming in his skill,
+  Is here and there officious still;
+  Till striking on the dangerous sands,
+  Aground the shattered vessel stands.
+_120
+     To see the bungler thus distress'd,
+  The very fishes sneer and jest.
+  Even gudgeons join in ridicule,
+  To mortify the meddling fool.
+  The clamorous watermen appear;
+  Threats, curses, oaths, insult his ear:
+  Seized, thrashed, and chained, he's dragged to land;
+  Derision shouts along the strand.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE VI.
+
+  THE SQUIRE AND HIS CUR.
+
+  TO A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.
+
+  The man of pure and simple heart
+  Through life disdains a double part.
+  He never needs the screen of lies
+  His inward bosom to disguise.
+  In vain malicious tongues assail;
+  Let envy snarl, let slander rail,
+  From virtue's shield (secure from wound)
+  Their blunted, venomed shafts rebound.
+  So shines his light before mankind,
+  His actions prove his honest mind.
+_10
+  If in his country's cause he rise,
+  Debating senates to advise,
+  Unbribed, unawed, he dares impart
+  The honest dictates of his heart.
+  No ministerial frown he fears,
+  But in his virtue perseveres.
+     But would you play the politician,
+  Whose heart's averse to intuition,
+  Your lips at all times, nay, your reason
+  Must be controlled by place and season.
+_20
+  What statesman could his power support
+  Were lying tongues forbid the court?
+  Did princely ears to truth attend,
+  What minister could gain his end?
+  How could he raise his tools to place,
+  And how his honest foes disgrace?
+     That politician tops his part,
+  Who readily can lie with art:
+  The man's proficient in his trade;
+  His power is strong, his fortune's made.
+_30
+  By that the interest of the throne
+  Is made subservient to his own:
+  By that have kings of old, deluded,
+  All their own friends for his excluded.
+  By that, his selfish schemes pursuing,
+  He thrives upon the public ruin.
+     Antiochus,[8] with hardy pace,
+  Provoked the dangers of the chase;
+  And, lost from all his menial train,
+  Traversed the wood and pathless plain.
+_40
+  A cottage lodged the royal guest!
+  The Parthian clown brought forth his best.
+  The king, unknown, his feast enjoyed,
+  And various chat the hours employed.
+  From wine what sudden friendship springs!
+  Frankly they talked of courts and kings.
+     'We country-folks,' the clown replies,
+  'Could ope our gracious monarch's eyes.
+  The king, (as all our neighbours say,)
+  Might he (God bless him) have his way,
+_50
+  Is sound at heart, and means our good,
+  And he would do it, if he could.
+  If truth in courts were not forbid,
+  Nor kings nor subjects would be rid.
+  Were he in power, we need not doubt him:
+  But that transferred to those about him,
+  On them he throws the regal cares:
+  And what mind they? Their own affairs.
+  If such rapacious hands he trust,
+  The best of men may seem unjust.
+_60
+  From kings to cobblers 'tis the same:
+  Bad servants wound their master's fame.
+  In this our neighbours all agree:
+  Would the king knew as much as we.'
+  Here he stopp'd short. Repose they sought,
+  The peasant slept, the monarch thought.
+     The courtiers learned, at early dawn,
+  Where their lost sovereign was withdrawn.
+  The guards' approach our host alarms,
+  With gaudy coats the cottage swarms.
+_70
+  The crown and purple robes they bring,
+  And prostrate fall before the king.
+  The clown was called, the royal guest
+  By due reward his thanks express'd.
+  The king then, turning to the crowd,
+  Who fawningly before him bow'd,
+  Thus spoke: 'Since, bent on private gain,
+  Your counsels first misled my reign,
+  Taught and informed by you alone,
+  No truth the royal ear hath known,
+_80
+  Till here conversing. Hence, ye crew,
+  For now I know myself and you.'
+     Whene'er the royal ear's engross'd,
+  State-lies but little genius cost.
+  The favourite then securely robs,
+  And gleans a nation by his jobs.
+  Franker and bolder grown in ill,
+  He daily poisons dares instil;
+  And, as his present views suggest,
+  Inflames or soothes the royal breast.
+_90
+  Thus wicked ministers oppress,
+  When oft the monarch means redress.
+     Would kings their private subjects hear,
+  A minister must talk with fear.
+  If honesty opposed his views,
+  He dared not innocence excuse.
+  'Twould keep him in such narrow bound,
+  He could not right and wrong confound.
+  Happy were kings, could they disclose
+  Their real friends and real foes!
+_100
+  Were both themselves and subjects known,
+  A monarch's will might be his own.
+  Had he the use of ears and eyes,
+  Knaves would no more be counted wise.
+  But then a minister might lose
+  (Hard case!) his own ambitious views.
+  When such as these have vexed a state,
+  Pursued by universal hate,
+  Their false support at once hath failed,
+  And persevering truth prevailed.
+_110
+  Exposed their train of fraud is seen;
+  Truth will at last remove the screen.
+     A country squire, by whim directed,
+  The true stanch dogs of chase neglected.
+  Beneath his board no hound was fed,
+  His hand ne'er stroked the spaniel's head.
+  A snappish cur, alone caress'd,
+  By lies had banished all the rest.
+  Yap had his ear; and defamation
+  Gave him full scope of conversation.
+_120
+  His sycophants must be preferr'd,
+  Room must be made for all his herd:
+  Wherefore, to bring his schemes about,
+  Old faithful servants all must out.
+     The cur on every creature flew,
+  (As other great men's puppies do,)
+  Unless due court to him were shown,
+  And both their face and business known,
+  No honest tongue an audience found:
+  He worried all the tenants round;
+_130
+  For why, he lived in constant fear,
+  Lest truth, by chance, should interfere.
+  If any stranger dare intrude,
+  The noisy cur his heels pursued.
+  Now fierce with rage, now struck with dread,
+  At once he snarled, bit, and fled.
+  Aloof he bays, with bristling hair,
+  And thus in secret growls his fear:
+  'Who knows but truth, in this disguise,
+  May frustrate my best-guarded lies?
+_140
+  Should she (thus masked) admittance find,
+  That very hour my ruin's signed.'
+     Now, in his howl's continued sound,
+  Their words were lost, their voice was drown'd.
+  Ever in awe of honest tongues,
+  Thus every day he strained his lungs.
+     It happened, in ill-omened hour,
+  That Yap, unmindful of his power,
+  Forsook his post, to love inclined;
+  A favourite bitch was in the wind.
+_150
+  By her seduced, in amorous play,
+  They frisked the joyous hours away.
+  Thus, by untimely love pursuing,
+  Like Antony, he sought his ruin.
+     For now the squire, unvexed with noise,
+  An honest neighbour's chat enjoys.
+  'Be free,' says he, 'your mind impart;
+  I love a friendly open heart.
+  Methinks my tenants shun my gate;
+  Why such a stranger grown of late?
+_160
+  Pray tell me what offence they find:
+  'Tis plain they're not so well inclined.'
+     'Turn off your cur,' the farmer cries,
+  'Who feeds your ear with daily lies.
+  His snarling insolence offends;     165
+  'Tis he that keeps you from your friends.
+  Were but that saucy puppy check'd,
+  You'd find again the same respect.
+  Hear only him, he'll swear it too,
+  That all our hatred is to you.
+_170
+  But learn from us your true estate;
+  'Tis that cursed cur alone we hate.'
+     The squire heard truth. Now Yap rushed in;
+  The wide hall echoes with his din:
+  Yet truth prevailed; and with disgrace,
+  The dog was cudgelled out of place.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE VII.
+
+  THE COUNTRYMAN AND JUPITER.
+
+  TO MYSELF.
+
+  Have you a friend (look round and spy)
+  So fond, so prepossessed as I?
+  Your faults, so obvious to mankind,
+  My partial eyes could never find.
+  When by the breath of fortune blown,
+  Your airy castles were o'erthrown;
+  Have I been over-prone to blame,
+  Or mortified your hours with shame?
+  Was I e'er known to damp your spirit,
+  Or twit you with the want of merit?
+_10
+     'Tis not so strange, that Fortune's frown
+  Still perseveres to keep you down.
+  Look round, and see what others do.
+  Would you be rich and honest too?
+  Have you (like those she raised to place)
+  Been opportunely mean and base?
+  Have you (as times required) resigned
+  Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind?
+  If these are scruples, give her o'er;
+  Write, practise morals, and be poor.
+_20
+     The gifts of fortune truly rate;
+  Then tell me what would mend your state.
+  If happiness on wealth were built,
+  Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt;
+  As grows the miser's hoarded store,
+  His fears, his wants, increase the more.
+     Think, Gay, (what ne'er may be the case,)
+  Should fortune take you into grace,
+  Would that your happiness augment?
+  What can she give beyond content?
+_30
+     Suppose yourself a wealthy heir,
+  With a vast annual income clear!
+  In all the affluence you possess,
+  You might not feel one care the less.
+  Might you not then (like others) find
+  With change of fortune, change of mind?
+  Perhaps, profuse beyond all rule,
+  You might start out a glaring fool;
+  Your luxury might break all bounds;
+  Plate, table, horses, stewards, hounds,
+_40
+  Might swell your debts: then, lust of play
+  No regal income can defray.
+  Sunk is all credit, writs assail,
+  And doom your future life to jail.
+     Or were you dignified with power,
+  Would that avert one pensive hour?
+  You might give avarice its swing,
+  Defraud a nation, blind a king:
+  Then, from the hirelings in your cause,
+  Though daily fed with false applause,
+_50
+  Could it a real joy impart?
+  Great guilt knew never joy at heart.
+     Is happiness your point in view?
+  (I mean the intrinsic and the true)
+  She nor in camps or courts resides,
+  Nor in the humble cottage hides;
+  Yet found alike in every sphere;
+  Who finds content, will find her there.
+     O'erspent with toil, beneath the shade,
+  A peasant rested on his spade.
+_60
+     'Good gods!' he cries, ''tis hard to bear
+  This load of life from year to year.
+  Soon as the morning streaks the skies,
+  Industrious labour bids me rise;
+  With sweat I earn my homely fare,
+  And every day renews my care.'
+     Jove heard the discontented strain,
+  And thus rebuked the murmuring swain:
+     'Speak out your wants then, honest friend:
+  Unjust complaints the gods offend.
+_70
+  If you repine at partial fate,
+  Instruct me what could mend your state.
+  Mankind in every station see.
+  What wish you? Tell me what you'd be.'
+  So said, upborne upon a cloud,
+  The clown surveyed the anxious crowd.
+     'Yon face of care,' says Jove, 'behold,
+  His bulky bags are filled with gold.
+  See with what joy he counts it o'er!
+  That sum to-day hath swelled his store.'
+_80
+  'Were I that man,' the peasant cried,
+  'What blessing could I ask beside?'
+     'Hold,' says the god; 'first learn to know
+  True happiness from outward show.
+  This optic glass of intuition----
+  Here, take it, view his true condition.'
+     He looked, and saw the miser's breast,
+  A troubled ocean, ne'er at rest;
+  Want ever stares him in the face,
+  And fear anticipates disgrace:
+_90
+  With conscious guilt he saw him start;
+  Extortion gnaws his throbbing heart;
+  And never, or in thought or dream,
+  His breast admits one happy gleam.
+     'May Jove,' he cries, 'reject my prayer,
+  And guard my life from guilt and care.
+  My soul abhors that wretch's fate.
+  O keep me in my humble state!
+  But see, amidst a gaudy crowd,
+  Yon minister, so gay and proud,
+_100
+  On him what happiness attends,
+  Who thus rewards his grateful friends!'
+     'First take the glass,' the god replies:
+  'Man views the world with partial eyes.'
+     'Good gods!' exclaims the startled wight,
+  'Defend me from this hideous sight!
+  Corruption, with corrosive smart,
+  Lies cankering on his guilty heart:
+  I see him, with polluted hand,
+  Spread the contagion o'er the land,
+_110
+  Now avarice with insatiate jaws,
+  Now rapine with her harpy claws
+  His bosom tears. His conscious breast
+  Groans, with a load of crimes oppress'd.
+  See him, mad and drunk with power,
+  Stand tottering on ambition's tower.
+  Sometimes, in speeches vain and proud,
+  His boasts insult the nether crowd;
+  Now, seized with giddiness and fear,
+  He trembles lest his fall is near.
+_120
+     'Was ever wretch like this?' he cries;
+  'Such misery in such disguise!
+  The change, O Jove, I disavow;
+  Still be my lot the spade and plough.'
+  He next, confirmed by speculation,
+  Rejects the lawyer's occupation;
+  For he the statesman seemed in part,
+  And bore similitude of heart.
+  Nor did the soldier's trade inflame
+  His hopes with thirst of spoil and fame,
+_130
+  The miseries of war he mourned;
+  Whole nations into deserts turned.
+     By these have laws and rights been braved;
+  By these were free-born men enslaved:
+  When battles and invasion cease,
+  Why swarm they in a land of peace?
+  'Such change,' says he, 'may I decline;
+  The scythe and civil arms be mine!'
+  Thus, weighing life in each condition,
+  The clown withdrew his rash petition.
+_140
+     When thus the god: 'How mortals err!
+  If you true happiness prefer,
+  'Tis to no rank of life confined,
+  But dwells in every honest mind.
+  Be justice then your sole pursuit:
+  Plant virtue, and content's the fruit.'
+     So Jove, to gratify the clown,
+  Where first he found him set him down.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE VIII.
+
+  THE MAN, THE CAT, THE DOG, AND THE FLY.
+
+  TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY.
+
+  Hail, happy land, whose fertile grounds
+  The liquid fence of Neptune bounds;
+  By bounteous Nature set apart,
+  The seat of industry and art!
+  O Britain! chosen port of trade,
+  May luxury ne'er thy sons invade;
+  May never minister (intent
+  His private treasures to augment)
+  Corrupt thy state. If jealous foes
+  Thy rights of commerce dare oppose,
+_10
+  Shall not thy fleets their rapine awe?
+  Who is't prescribes the ocean law?
+     Whenever neighbouring states contend,
+  'Tis thine to be the general friend.
+  What is't, who rules in other lands?
+  On trade alone thy glory stands.
+  That benefit is unconfined,
+  Diffusing good among mankind:
+  That first gave lustre to thy reigns,
+  And scattered plenty o'er thy plains:
+_20
+  'Tis that alone thy wealth supplies,
+  And draws all Europe's envious eyes.
+  Be commerce then thy sole design;
+  Keep that, and all the world is thine.
+     When naval traffic ploughs the main,
+  Who shares not in the merchant's gain?
+  'Tis that supports the regal state,
+  And makes the farmer's heart elate:
+  The numerous flocks, that clothe the land,
+  Can scarce supply the loom's demand;
+_30
+  Prolific culture glads the fields,
+  And the bare heath a harvest yields.
+     Nature expects mankind should share
+  The duties of the public care.
+  Who's born for sloth?[9] To some we find
+  The ploughshare's annual toil assign'd.
+  Some at the sounding anvil glow;
+  Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw;
+  Some, studious of the wind and tide,
+  From pole to pole our commerce guide:
+_40
+  Some (taught by industry) impart
+  With hands and feet the works of art;
+  While some, of genius more refined,
+  With head and tongue assist mankind:
+  Each, aiming at one common end,
+  Proves to the whole a needful friend.
+  Thus, born each other's useful aid,
+  By turns are obligations paid.
+     The monarch, when his table's spread,
+  Is to the clown obliged for bread;
+_50
+  And when in all his glory dress'd,
+  Owes to the loom his royal vest.
+  Do not the mason's toil and care
+  Protect him from the inclement air?
+  Does not the cutler's art supply
+  The ornament that guards his thigh?
+  All these, in duty to the throne,
+  Their common obligations own.
+  'Tis he (his own and people's cause)
+  Protects their properties and laws.
+_60
+  Thus they their honest toil employ,
+  And with content their fruits enjoy.
+  In every rank, or great or small,
+  'Tis industry supports us all.
+     The animals by want oppressed,
+  To man their services addressed;
+  While each pursued their selfish good,
+  They hungered for precarious food.
+  Their hours with anxious cares were vex'd;
+  One day they fed, and starved the next.
+_70
+  They saw that plenty, sure and rife,
+  Was found alone in social life;
+  That mutual industry professed,
+  The various wants of man redressed.
+     The cat, half-famished, lean and weak,
+  Demands the privilege to speak.
+     'Well, puss,' says man, 'and what can you
+  To benefit the public do?'
+     The cat replies: 'These teeth, these claws,
+  With vigilance shall serve the cause.
+_80
+  The mouse destroyed by my pursuit,
+  No longer shall your feasts pollute;
+  Nor rats, from nightly ambuscade,
+  With wasteful teeth your stores invade.'
+     'I grant,' says man, 'to general use
+  Your parts and talents may conduce;
+  For rats and mice purloin our grain,
+  And threshers whirl the flail in vain:
+  Thus shall the cat, a foe to spoil,
+  Protect the farmer's honest toil,'
+_90
+  Then, turning to the dog, he cried,
+  'Well, sir; be next your merits tried.'
+     'Sir,' says the dog, 'by self-applause
+  We seem to own a friendless cause.
+  Ask those who know me, if distrust
+  E'er found me treacherous or unjust?
+  Did I e'er faith or friendship break?
+  Ask all those creatures; let them speak.
+  My vigilance and trusty zeal
+  Perhaps might serve the public weal.
+_100
+  Might not your flocks in safety feed,
+  Were I to guard the fleecy breed?
+  Did I the nightly watches keep,
+  Could thieves invade you while you sleep?'
+     The man replies: ''Tis just and right;
+  Rewards such service should requite.
+  So rare, in property, we find
+  Trust uncorrupt among mankind,
+  That, taken, in a public view,
+  The first distinction is your due.
+_110
+  Such merits all reward transcend:
+  Be then my comrade and my friend.'
+     Addressing now the fly: 'From you
+  What public service can accrue?'
+  'From me!' the flutt'ring insect said;
+  'I thought you knew me better bred.
+  Sir, I'm a gentleman. Is't fit
+  That I to industry submit?
+  Let mean mechanics, to be fed
+  By business earn ignoble bread.
+_120
+  Lost in excess of daily joys,
+  No thought, no care my life annoys,
+  At noon (the lady's matin hour)
+  I sip the tea's delicious flower.
+  On cakes luxuriously I dine,
+  And drink the fragrance of the vine.
+  Studious of elegance and ease,
+  Myself alone I seek to please.'
+  The man his pert conceit derides,
+  And thus the useless coxcomb chides:
+_130
+     'Hence, from that peach, that downy seat,
+  No idle fool deserves to eat.
+  Could you have sapped the blushing rind,
+  And on that pulp ambrosial dined,
+  Had not some hand with skill and toil,
+  To raise the tree, prepared the soil?
+  Consider, sot, what would ensue,
+  Were all such worthless things as you.
+  You'd soon be forced (by hunger stung)
+  To make your dirty meals on dung;
+_140
+  On which such despicable need,
+  Unpitied, is reduced to feed;
+  Besides, vain selfish insect, learn
+  (If you can right and wrong discern)
+  That he who, with industrious zeal,
+  Contributes to the public weal,
+  By adding to the common good,
+  His own hath rightly understood.'
+     So saying, with a sudden blow,
+  He laid the noxious vagrant low.
+_150
+  Crushed in his luxury and pride,
+  The spunger on the public died.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE IX.
+
+  THE JACKALL, LEOPARD, AND OTHER BEASTS
+
+  TO A MODERN POLITICIAN.
+
+  I grant corruption sways mankind;
+  That interest too perverts the mind;
+  That bribes have blinded common sense,
+  Foiled reason, truth, and eloquence:
+  I grant you too, our present crimes
+  Can equal those of former times.
+  Against plain facts shall I engage,
+  To vindicate our righteous age?
+  I know, that in a modern fist,
+  Bribes in full energy subsist.
+_10
+  Since then these arguments prevail,
+  And itching palms are still so frail,
+  Hence politicians, you suggest,
+  Should drive the nail that goes the best;
+  That it shows parts and penetration,
+  To ply men with the right temptation.
+     To this I humbly must dissent;
+  Premising no reflection's meant.
+     Does justice or the client's sense
+  Teach lawyers either side's defence?
+_20
+  The fee gives eloquence its spirit;
+  That only is the client's merit.
+     Does art, wit, wisdom, or address,
+  Obtain the prostitute's caress?
+  The guinea (as in other trades)
+  From every hand alike persuades.
+  Man, Scripture says, is prone to evil,
+  But does that vindicate the devil?
+  Besides, the more mankind are prone,
+  The less the devil's parts are shown.
+_30
+  Corruption's not of modern date;
+  It hath been tried in every state.
+  Great knaves of old their power have fenced,
+  By places, pensions, bribes, dispensed;
+  By these they gloried in success,
+  And impudently dared oppress;
+  By these despoticly they swayed,
+  And slaves extolled the hand that paid;
+  Nor parts, nor genius were employed,
+  By these alone were realms destroyed.
+_40
+     Now see these wretches in disgrace,
+  Stripp'd of their treasures, power, and place;
+  View them abandoned and forlorn,
+  Exposed to just reproach and scorn.
+  What now is all your pride, your boast?
+  Where are your slaves, your flattering host?
+  What tongues now feed you with applause?
+  Where are the champions of your cause?
+  Now even that very fawning train
+  Which shared the gleanings of your gain,
+_50
+  Press foremost who shall first accuse
+  Your selfish jobs, your paltry views,
+  Your narrow schemes, your breach of trust,
+  And want of talents to be just.
+     What fools were these amidst their power!
+  How thoughtless of their adverse hour!
+  What friends were made? A hireling herd,
+  For temporary votes preferr'd.
+  Was it, these sycophants to get,
+  Your bounty swelled a nation's debt?
+_60
+  You're bit. For these, like Swiss attend;
+  No longer pay, no longer friend.
+  The lion is, beyond dispute,
+  Allowed the most majestic brute;
+  His valour and his generous mind
+  Prove him superior of his kind.
+  Yet to jackals (as 'tis averred)
+  Some lions have their power transferred;
+  As if the parts of pimps and spies
+  To govern forests could suffice.
+_70
+     Once, studious of his private good,
+  A proud jackal oppressed the wood;
+  To cram his own insatiate jaws,   73
+  Invaded property and laws;
+  The forest groans with discontent,
+  Fresh wrongs the general hate foment,
+  The spreading murmurs reached his ear;
+  His secret hours were vexed with fear.
+  Night after night he weighs the case,
+  And feels the terrors of disgrace.
+_80
+     'By friends,' says he, 'I'll guard my seat,
+  By those malicious tongues defeat:
+  I'll strengthen power by new allies,
+  And all my clamorous foes despise.'
+     To make the generous beasts his friends,
+  He cringes, fawns, and condescends;
+  But those repulsed his abject court,
+  And scorned oppression to support.
+  Friends must be had. He can't subsist.
+  Bribes shall new proselytes inlist.
+_90
+  But these nought weighed in honest paws;
+  For bribes confess a wicked cause:
+  Yet think not every paw withstands
+  What had prevailed in human hands.
+     A tempting turnip's silver skin
+  Drew a base hog through thick and thin:
+  Bought with a stag's delicious haunch,
+  The mercenary wolf was stanch:
+  The convert fox grew warm and hearty,
+  A pullet gained him to the party;
+_100
+  The golden pippin in his fist,
+  A chattering monkey joined the list.
+     But soon exposed to public hate,
+  The favourite's fall redressed the state.
+  The leopard, vindicating right,
+  Had brought his secret frauds to light,
+  As rats, before the mansion falls,
+  Desert late hospitable walls,
+  In shoals the servile creatures run,
+  To bow before the rising sun.
+_110
+     The hog with warmth expressed his zeal,
+  And was for hanging those that steal;
+  But hoped, though low, the public hoard
+  Might half a turnip still afford.
+  Since saving measures were profess'd,
+  A lamb's head was the wolf's request.
+  The fox submitted if to touch
+  A gosling would be deemed too much.
+  The monkey thought his grin and chatter,
+  Might ask a nut or some such matter.
+_120
+     'Ye hirelings, hence,' the leopard cries;
+  'Your venal conscience I despise.
+  He who the public good intends,
+  By bribes needs never purchase friends.
+  Who acts this just, this open part,
+  Is propp'd by every honest heart.
+  Corruption now too late hath showed,
+  That bribes are always ill-bestowed,
+  By you your bubbled master's taught,
+  Time-serving tools, not friends, are bought.'
+_130
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE X.
+
+  THE DEGENERATE BEES.
+
+  TO THE REVEREND DR SWIFT, DEAN OF ST PATRICK'S.
+
+  Though Courts the practice disallow,
+  A friend at all times I'll avow.
+  In politics I know 'tis wrong:
+  A friendship may be kept too long;
+  And what they call the prudent part,
+  Is to wear interest next the heart,
+  As the times take a different face,
+  Old friendships should to new give place.
+     I know too you have many foes,
+  That owning you is sharing those,
+_10
+  That every knave in every station,
+  Of high and low denomination,
+  For what you speak, and what you write,
+  Dread you at once, and bear you spite.
+  Such freedoms in your works are shown
+  They can't enjoy what's not their own;
+  All dunces too, in church and state,
+  In frothy nonsense show their hate;
+  With all the petty scribbling crew,
+  (And those pert sots are not a few,)
+_20
+  'Gainst you and Pope their envy spurt,
+  The booksellers alone are hurt.
+     Good gods! by what a powerful race
+  (For blockheads may have power and place)
+  Are scandals raised and libels writ!
+  To prove your honesty and wit!
+  Think with yourself: Those worthy men,
+  You know, have suffered by your pen.
+  From them you've nothing but your due.
+  From thence, 'tis plain, your friends are few.
+_30
+  Except myself, I know of none,
+  Besides the wise and good alone.
+  To set the case in fairer light,
+  My fable shall the rest recite;
+  Which (though unlike our present state)
+  I for the moral's sake relate.
+     A bee of cunning, not of parts,
+  Luxurious, negligent of arts,
+  Rapacious, arrogant, and vain,
+  Greedy of power, but more of gain,
+_40
+  Corruption sowed throughout the hive,
+  By petty rogues the great ones thrive.
+     As power and wealth his views supplied,
+  'Twas seen in over-bearing pride.
+  With him loud impudence had merit;
+  The bee of conscience wanted spirit;
+  And those who followed honour's rules,
+  Were laughed to scorn for squeamish fools,
+  Wealth claimed distinction, favour, grace;
+  And poverty alone was base.
+_50
+  He treated industry with slight,
+  Unless he found his profit by't.
+  Eights, laws, and liberties gave way,
+  To bring his selfish schemes in play.
+  The swarm forgot the common toil,
+  To share the gleanings of his spoil.
+     'While vulgar souls of narrow parts,
+  Waste life in low mechanic arts,
+  Let us,' says he, 'to genius born,
+  The drudgery of our fathers scorn.
+_60
+  The wasp and drone, you must agree,
+  Live with more elegance than we.
+  Like gentlemen they sport and play;
+  No business interrupts the day;
+  Their hours to luxury they give,
+  And nobly on their neighbours live.'
+     A stubborn bee, among the swarm,
+  With honest indignation warm,
+  Thus from his cell with zeal replied:
+     'I slight thy frowns, and hate thy pride.
+_70
+  The laws our native rights protect;
+  Offending thee, I those respect.
+  Shall luxury corrupt the hive,
+  And none against the torrent strive?
+  Exert the honour of your race;
+  He builds his rise on your disgrace.
+  'Tis industry our state maintains:
+  'Twas honest toils and honest gains
+  That raised our sires to power and fame.
+  Be virtuous; save yourselves from shame.
+_80
+  Know, that in selfish ends pursuing,
+  You scramble for the public ruin.'
+     He spoke; and from his cell dismissed,
+  Was insolently scoffed and hissed.
+  With him a friend or two resigned,
+  Disdaining the degenerate kind.
+     'These drones,' says he, 'these insects vile,
+  (I treat them in their proper style,)
+  May for a time oppress the state,
+  They own our virtue by their hate;
+_90
+  By that our merits they reveal,
+  And recommend our public zeal;
+  Disgraced by this corrupted crew,
+  We're honoured by the virtuous few.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+  FABLE XI.
+
+  THE PACK-HORSE AND THE CARRIER.
+
+  TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN.
+
+  Begin, my lord, in early youth,
+  To suffer, nay, encourage truth:
+  And blame me not for disrespect,
+  If I the flatterer's style reject;
+  With that, by menial tongues supplied,
+  You're daily cocker'd up in pride.
+     The tree's distinguished by the fruit,
+  Be virtue then your sole pursuit;
+  Set your great ancestors in view,
+  Like them deserve the title too;
+_10
+  Like them ignoble actions scorn:
+  Let virtue prove you greatly born.
+     Though with less plate their sideboard shone,
+  Their conscience always was their own;
+  They ne'er at levees meanly fawned,
+  Nor was their honour yearly pawned;
+  Their hands, by no corruption stained,
+  The ministerial bribe disdained;
+  They served the crown with loyal zeal;
+  Yet, jealous of the public weal,
+_20
+  They stood the bulwark of our laws,
+  And wore at heart their country's cause;
+  By neither place or pension bought,
+  They spoke and voted as they thought.
+  Thus did your sires adorn their seat;
+  And such alone are truly great.
+     If you the paths of learning slight,
+  You're but a dunce in stronger light;
+  In foremost rank the coward placed,
+  Is more conspicuously disgraced.
+_30
+  If you to serve a paltry end,
+  To knavish jobs can condescend,
+  We pay you the contempt that's due;
+  In that you have precedence too.
+  Whence had you this illustrious name?
+  From virtue and unblemished fame.
+  By birth the name alone descends;
+  Your honour on yourself depends:
+  Think not your coronet can hide
+  Assuming ignorance and pride.
+_40
+  Learning by study must be won,
+  'Twas ne'er entailed from son to son.
+  Superior worth your rank requires;
+  For that mankind reveres your sires;
+     If you degenerate from your race,
+  Their merits heighten your disgrace.
+     A carrier, every night and morn,
+  Would see his horses eat their corn:
+  This sunk the hostler's vails, 'tis true;
+  But then his horses had their due.
+_50
+  Were we so cautious in all cases,
+  Small gain would rise from greater places.
+     The manger now had all its measure;
+  He heard the grinding teeth with pleasure;
+  When all at once confusion rung;
+  They snorted, jostled, bit, and flung:
+  A pack-horse turned his head aside,
+  Foaming, his eye-balls swelled with pride.
+     'Good gods!' says he, 'how hard's my lot!
+  Is then my high descent forgot?
+_60
+  Reduced to drudgery and disgrace,
+  (A life unworthy of my race,)
+  Must I too bear the vile attacks
+  Of rugged scrubs, and vulgar hacks?
+  See scurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred,
+  Dares from the manger thrust my head!
+  Shall I, who boast a noble line,
+  On offals of these creatures dine?
+  Kicked by old Ball! so mean a foe!
+  My honour suffers by the blow.
+_70
+  Newmarket speaks my grandsire's fame,
+  All jockies still revere his name:
+  There yearly are his triumphs told,
+  There all his massy plates enrolled.
+  Whene'er led forth upon the plain,
+  You saw him with a livery train;
+  Returning too with laurels crowned,
+  You heard the drums and trumpets sound.
+  Let it then, sir, be understood,
+  Respect's my due; for I have blood.'
+_80
+     'Vain-glorious fool!' the carrier cried,
+  'Respect was never paid to pride.
+  Know, 'twas thy giddy wilful heart
+  Reduced thee to this slavish part.
+  Did not thy headstrong youth disdain
+  To learn the conduct of the rein?
+  Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
+  In vicious frolics fancy spirit.
+  What is't to me by whom begot?
+  Thou restive, pert, conceited sot.
+_90
+  Your sires I reverence; 'tis their due:
+  But, worthless fool, what's that to you?
+  Ask all the carriers on the road,
+  They'll say thy keeping's ill bestowed.
+  Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
+  That neither mends thy strength or pace.
+  What profits me thy boast of blood?
+  An ass hath more intrinsic good.
+  By outward show let's not be cheated;
+  An ass should like an ass be treated.'
+_100
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XII.
+
+  PAN AND FORTUNE.
+
+  TO A YOUNG HEIR.
+
+  Soon as your father's death was known,
+  (As if the estate had been their own)
+  The gamesters outwardly express'd
+  The decent joy within your breast.
+  So lavish in your praise they grew,
+  As spoke their certain hopes in you.
+     One counts your income of the year,
+  How much in ready money clear.
+     'No house,' says he, 'is more complete;
+  The garden's elegant and great.
+_10
+  How fine the park around it lies!
+  The timber's of a noble size!
+  Then count his jewels and his plate.
+  Besides, 'tis no entailed estate.
+  If cash run low, his lands in fee
+  Are, or for sale, or mortgage free.'
+     Thus they, before you threw the main,
+  Seem to anticipate their gain.
+  Would you, when thieves were known abroad,
+  Bring forth your treasures in the road?
+_20
+     Would not the fool abet the stealth,
+  Who rashly thus exposed his wealth?
+     Yet this you do, whene'er you play
+  Among the gentlemen of prey.
+  Could fools to keep their own contrive,
+  On what, on whom could gamesters thrive?
+  Is it in charity you game,
+  To save your worthy gang from shame?
+  Unless you furnished daily bread,
+  Which way could idleness be fed?
+_30
+     Could these professors of deceit
+  Within the law no longer cheat,
+  They must run bolder risks for prey,
+  And strip the traveller on the way.
+  Thus in your annual rents they share,
+  And 'scape the noose from year to year.
+  Consider, ere you make the bet,
+  That sum might cross your tailor's debt.
+  When you the pilfering rattle shake,
+  Is not your honour too at stake?
+_40
+  Must you not by mean lies evade
+  To-morrow's duns from every trade?
+  By promises so often paid,
+  Is yet your tailor's bill defrayed?
+  Must you not pitifully fawn,
+  To have your butcher's writ withdrawn?
+  This must be done. In debts of play
+  Your honour suffers no delay:
+  And not this year's and next year's rent
+  The sons of rapine can content.
+_50
+     Look round. The wrecks of play behold,
+  Estates dismembered, mortgaged, sold!
+  Their owners, not to jails confined,
+  Show equal poverty of mind.
+  Some, who the spoil of knaves were made,
+  Too late attempt to learn their trade.
+  Some, for the folly of one hour,
+  Become the dirty tools of power,
+  And, with the mercenary list,
+  Upon court-charity subsist.
+_60
+     You'll find at last this maxim true,
+  Fools are the game which knaves pursue.
+     The forest (a whole century's shade)
+  Must be one wasteful ruin made.
+  No mercy's shewn to age or kind;
+  The general massacre is signed.
+  The park too shares the dreadful fate,
+  For duns grow louder at the gate,
+  Stern clowns, obedient to the squire,
+  (What will not barbarous hands for hire?)
+_70
+  With brawny arms repeat the stroke.
+  Fallen are the elm and reverend oak.
+  Through the long wood loud axes sound,
+  And echo groans with every wound.
+     To see the desolation spread,
+  Pan drops a tear, and hangs his head:
+  His bosom now with fury burns:
+  Beneath his hoof the dice he spurns.
+  Cards, too, in peevish passion torn,
+  The sport of whirling winds are borne.
+_80
+     'To snails inveterate hate I bear,
+  Who spoil the verdure of the year;
+  The caterpillar I detest,
+  The blooming spring's voracious pest;
+  The locust too, whose ravenous band
+  Spreads sudden famine o'er the land.
+  But what are these? The dice's throw
+  At once hath laid a forest low.
+  The cards are dealt, the bet is made,
+  And the wide park hath lost its shade.
+_90
+  Thus is my kingdom's pride defaced,
+  And all its ancient glories waste.
+  All this,' he cries, 'is Fortune's doing:
+  'Tis thus she meditates my ruin.
+  By Fortune, that false, fickle jade,
+  More havoc in one hour is made,
+  Than all the hungry insect race,
+  Combined, can in an age deface.'
+     Fortune, by chance, who near him pass'd,
+  O'erheard the vile aspersion cast.
+_100
+     'Why, Pan,' says she, 'what's all this rant?
+  'Tis every country-bubble's cant;
+  Am I the patroness of vice?
+  Is't I who cog or palm the dice?
+  Did I the shuffling art reveal,    105
+  To mark the cards, or range the deal?
+  In all the employments men pursue,
+  I mind the least what gamesters do.
+  There may (if computation's just)
+  One now and then my conduct trust:
+_110
+  I blame the fool, for what can I,
+  When ninety-nine my power defy?
+  These trust alone their fingers' ends,
+  And not one stake on me depends.
+  Whene'er the gaming board is set,
+  Two classes of mankind are met:
+  But if we count the greedy race,
+  The knaves fill up the greater space.
+  'Tis a gross error, held in schools,
+  That Fortune always favours fools.
+_120
+  In play it never bears dispute;
+  That doctrine these felled oaks confute.
+  Then why to me such rancour show?
+  'Tis folly, Pan, that is thy foe.
+  By me his late estate he won,
+  But he by folly was undone.'
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XIII.
+
+  PLUTUS, CUPID, AND TIME.
+
+  Of all the burdens man must bear,
+  Time seems most galling and severe:
+  Beneath this grievous load oppressed,
+  We daily meet some friend distressed.
+     'What can one do? I rose at nine.
+  'Tis full six hours before we dine:
+  Six hours! no earthly thing to do!
+  Would I had dozed in bed till two.'
+     A pamphlet is before him spread,
+  And almost half a page is read;
+_10
+  Tired with the study of the day,
+  The fluttering sheets are tossed away.
+  He opes his snuff-box, hums an air,
+  Then yawns, and stretches in his chair.
+     'Not twenty, by the minute hand!
+  Good gods:' says he, 'my watch must stand!
+  How muddling 'tis on books to pore!
+  I thought I'd read an hour or more,
+  The morning, of all hours, I hate.
+  One can't contrive to rise too late.'
+_20
+     To make the minutes faster run,
+  Then too his tiresome self to shun,
+  To the next coffee-house he speeds,
+  Takes up the news, some scraps he reads.
+  Sauntering, from chair to chair he trails;
+  Now drinks his tea, now bites his nails.
+  He spies a partner of his woe;
+  By chat afflictions lighter grow;
+  Each other's grievances they share,
+  And thus their dreadful hours compare.
+_30
+     Says Tom, 'Since all men must confess,
+  That time lies heavy more or less;
+  Why should it be so hard to get
+  Till two, a party at piquet?
+  Play might relieve the lagging morn:
+  By cards long wintry nights are borne:
+  Does not quadrille amuse the fair,
+  Night after night, throughout the year?
+  Vapours and spleen forgot, at play
+  They cheat uncounted hours away.'
+_40
+     'My case,' says Will, 'then must be hard
+  By want of skill from play debarred.
+  Courtiers kill time by various ways;
+  Dependence wears out half their days.
+  How happy these, whose time ne'er stands!
+  Attendance takes it off their hands.
+  Were it not for this cursed shower
+  The park had whiled away an hour.
+  At Court, without or place or view,
+  I daily lose an hour or two;
+_50
+  It fully answers my design,
+  When I have picked up friends to dine,
+  The tavern makes our burden light;
+  Wine puts our time and care to flight.
+  At six (hard case!) they call to pay.
+  Where can one go? I hate the play.
+  From six till ten! Unless in sleep,
+  One cannot spend the hours so cheap.
+  The comedy's no sooner done,
+  But some assembly is begun;
+_60
+  Loit'ring from room to room I stray;
+  Converse, but nothing hear or say:
+  Quite tired, from fair to fair I roam.
+  So soon: I dread the thoughts of home.
+  From thence, to quicken slow-paced night,
+  Again my tavern-friends invite:
+  Here too our early mornings pass,
+  Till drowsy sleep retards the glass.'
+     Thus they their wretched life bemoan,
+  And make each other's case their own.
+_70
+     Consider, friends, no hour rolls on,
+  But something of your grief is gone.
+  Were you to schemes of business bred,
+  Did you the paths of learning tread.
+  Your hours, your days, would fly too fast;
+  You'd then regret the minute past,
+  Time's fugitive and light as wind!
+  'Tis indolence that clogs your mind!
+  That load from off your spirits shake;
+  You'll own and grieve for your mistake;
+_80
+  A while your thoughtless spleen suspend,
+  Then read, and (if you can) attend.
+     As Plutus, to divert his care,
+  Walked forth one morn to take the air,
+  Cupid o'ertook his strutting pace,
+  Each stared upon the stranger's face,
+  Till recollection set them right;
+  For each knew t'other but by sight.
+  After some complimental talk,
+  Time met them, bowed, and joined their walk.
+_90
+  Their chat on various subjects ran,
+  But most, what each had done for man.
+  Plutus assumes a haughty air,
+  Just like our purse-proud fellows here.
+     'Let kings,' says he, 'let cobblers tell,
+  Whose gifts among mankind excel.
+  Consider Courts: what draws their train?
+  Think you 'tis loyalty or gain?
+  That statesman hath the strongest hold,
+  Whose tool of politics is gold.
+_100
+  By that, in former reigns, 'tis said,
+  The knave in power hath senates led.
+  By that alone he swayed debates,
+  Enriched himself and beggared states.
+  Forego your boast. You must conclude,
+  That's most esteemed that's most pursued.
+  Think too, in what a woful plight
+  That wretch must live whose pocket's light.
+  Are not his hours by want depress'd?
+  Penurious care corrodes his breast.
+_110
+  Without respect, or love, or friends,
+  His solitary day descends.'
+     'You might,' says Cupid, 'doubt my parts,
+  My knowledge too in human hearts,
+  Should I the power of gold dispute,
+  Which great examples might confute.
+  I know, when nothing else prevails,
+  Persuasive money seldom fails;
+  That beauty too (like other wares)
+  Its price, as well as conscience, bears.
+_120
+  Then marriage (as of late profess'd)
+  Is but a money-job at best.
+  Consent, compliance may be sold:
+  But love's beyond the price of gold.
+  Smugglers there are, who by retail,
+  Expose what they call love, to sale,
+  Such bargains are an arrant cheat:
+  You purchase flattery and deceit.
+  Those who true love have ever tried,
+  (The common cares of life supplied,)
+_130
+  No wants endure, no wishes make,
+  But every real joy partake,
+  All comfort on themselves depends;
+  They want nor power, nor wealth, nor friends.
+  Love then hath every bliss in store:
+  'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more.
+  Each other every wish they give,
+  Not to know love, is not to live.'
+     'Or love, or money,' Time replied,
+  'Were men the question to decide,
+_140
+  Would bear the prize: on both intent,
+  My boon's neglected or misspent.
+  'Tis I who measure vital space,
+  And deal out years to human race.
+  Though little prized, and seldom sought,
+  Without me love and gold are nought.
+  How does the miser time employ?
+  Did I e'er see him life enjoy?
+  By me forsook, the hoards he won,
+  Are scattered by his lavish son.
+_150
+  By me all useful arts are gained;
+  Wealth, learning, wisdom is attained.
+  Who then would think (since such, my power)
+  That e'er I knew an idle hour?
+  So subtle and so swift I fly,
+  Love's not more fugitive than I.
+  Who hath not heard coquettes complain
+  Of days, months, years, misspent in vain?
+  For time misused they pine and waste,
+  And love's sweet pleasures never taste.
+_160
+  Those who direct their time aright,
+  If love or wealth their hopes excite,
+  In each pursuit fit hours employed,
+  And both by Time have been enjoyed.
+  How heedless then are mortals grown!
+  How little is their interest known?
+  In every view they ought to mind me;
+  For when once lost they never find me.'
+     He spoke. The gods no more contest,
+  And his superior gift confess'd;
+_170
+  That time when (truly understood)
+  Is the most precious earthly good.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  FABLE XIV.
+
+  THE OWL, THE SWAN, THE COCK, THE SPIDER, THE
+  ASS, AND THE FARMER.
+
+  TO A MOTHER.
+
+  Conversing with your sprightly boys,
+  Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys.
+  With what delight I've heard you quote
+  Their sayings in imperfect note!
+     I grant, in body and in mind,
+  Nature appears profusely kind.
+  Trust not to that. Act you your part;
+  Imprint just morals on their heart,
+  Impartially their talents scan:
+  Just education forms the man.
+_10
+     Perhaps (their genius yet unknown)
+  Each lot of life's already thrown;
+  That this shall plead, the next shall fight,
+  The last assert the church's right.
+  I censure not the fond intent;
+  But how precarious is the event!
+  By talents misapplied and cross'd,
+  Consider, all your sons are lost.
+     One day (the tale's by Martial penned)
+  A father thus addressed his friend:
+_20
+  'To train my boy, and call forth sense,
+  You know I've stuck at no expense;
+  I've tried him in the several arts,
+  (The lad no doubt hath latent parts,)
+  Yet trying all, he nothing knows;
+  But, crab-like, rather backward goes.
+  Teach me what yet remains undone;
+  'Tis your advice shall fix my son.'
+     'Sir,' says the friend, 'I've weighed the matter;
+  Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter:
+_30
+  Make him (nor think his genius checked)
+  A herald or an architect.'
+     Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known)
+  He heard the advice, and took his own.
+    The boy wants wit; he's sent to school,
+  Where learning but improves the fool:
+  The college next must give him parts,
+  And cram him with the liberal arts.
+  Whether he blunders at the bar,
+  Or owes his infamy to war;
+_40
+  Or if by licence or degree
+  The sexton shares the doctor's fee:
+  Or from the pulpit by the hour
+  He weekly floods of nonsense pour;
+  We find (the intent of nature foiled)
+  A tailor or a butcher spoiled.
+     Thus ministers have royal boons
+  Conferred on blockheads and buffoons:
+  In spite of nature, merit, wit,
+  Their friends for every post were fit.
+_50
+     But now let every Muse confess
+  That merit finds its due success.
+  The examples of our days regard;
+  Where's virtue seen without reward?
+  Distinguished and in place you find
+  Desert and worth of every kind.
+  Survey the reverend bench, and see,
+  Religion, learning, piety:
+  The patron, ere he recommends,
+  Sees his own image in his friends.
+_60
+  Is honesty disgraced and poor?
+  What is't to us what was before?
+     We all of times corrupt have heard,
+  When paltry minions were preferred;
+  When all great offices by dozens,
+  Were filled by brothers, sons, and cousins.
+  What matter ignorance and pride?
+  The man was happily allied.
+  Provided that his clerk was good,
+  What though he nothing understood?
+_70
+  In church and state, the sorry race
+  Grew more conspicuous fools in place.
+  Such heads, as then a treaty made,
+  Had bungled in the cobbler's trade.
+     Consider, patrons, that such elves,
+  Expose your folly with themselves.
+  'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
+  To fix each genius in its sphere.
+  Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
+  But never give a blockhead sense.
+_80
+     An owl of magisterial air,
+  Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
+  Assumed the pride of human race,
+  And bore his wisdom in his face;
+  Not to depreciate learned eyes,
+  I've seen a pedant look as wise.
+     Within a barn, from noise retired,
+  He scorned the world, himself admired;
+  And, like an ancient sage, concealed
+  The follies public life revealed.
+_90
+     Philosophers of old, he read,
+  Their country's youth to science bred,
+  Their manners formed for every station,
+  And destined each his occupation.
+  When Xenophon, by numbers braved,
+  Retreated, and a people saved,
+  That laurel was not all his own;
+  The plant by Socrates was sown;
+  To Aristotle's greater name
+  The Macedonian[10] owed his fame.
+_100
+     The Athenian bird, with pride replete,
+  Their talents equalled in conceit;
+  And, copying the Socratic rule,
+  Set up for master of a school.
+  Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart,
+  Trite sentences, hard terms of art,
+  To vulgar ears seemed so profound,
+  They fancied learning in the sound.
+     The school had fame: the crowded place
+  With pupils swarmed of every race.
+_110
+  With these the swan's maternal care
+  Had sent her scarce-fledged cygnet heir:
+  The hen (though fond and loath to part)
+  Here lodged the darling of her heart:
+  The spider, of mechanic kind,
+  Aspired to science more refined:
+  The ass learnt metaphors and tropes,
+  But most on music fixed his hopes.
+     The pupils now advanced in age,
+  Were called to tread life's busy stage.
+_120
+  And to the master 'twas submitted,
+  That each might to his part be fitted.
+     'The swan,' says he, 'in arms shall shine:
+  The soldier's glorious toil be thine.
+  The cock shall mighty wealth attain:
+  Go, seek it on the stormy main.
+  The Court shall be the spider's sphere:
+  Power, fortune, shall reward him there.
+  In music's art the ass's fame
+  Shall emulate Corelli's[1] name.
+_130
+     Each took the part that he advised,
+  And all were equally despised;
+  A farmer, at his folly moved,
+  The dull preceptor thus reproved:
+     'Blockhead,' says he, 'by what you've done,
+  One would have thought 'em each your son:
+  For parents, to their offspring blind,
+  Consult, nor parts, nor turn of mind;
+  But even in infancy decree
+  What this, what t'other son should be.
+_140
+  Had you with judgment weighed the case,
+  Their genius thus had fixed their place:
+  The swan had learnt the sailor's art;
+  The cock had played the soldier's part;
+  The spider in the weaver's trade
+  With credit had a fortune made;
+  But for the fool, in every class
+  The blockhead had appeared an ass.'
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  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. God 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 assigned,
+  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 cumbrous 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 SEXTON, 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 lustre 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 coarser earth, grow old;
+  Like common grass, the fairest flower
+  Must feel the hoary season's power.
+     How weak, how vain is human pride!
+  Dares man upon himself confide?
+  The wretch who glories in his gain,
+  Amasses heaps on heaps in vain.
+  Why lose we life in anxious cares,
+  To lay in hoards 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 sexton, 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.
+  What then? The meanest bird of prey
+  Such want of sense could ne'er betray;
+_100
+  For sure some difference must be found
+  (Suppose the smelling organ sound)
+  In carcases (say what we can)
+  Or where's the dignity of man?'
+     With due respect to human race,
+  The ravens undertook the case.
+  In such similitude of scent,
+  Man ne'er eould think reflections meant.
+  As epicures extol a treat,
+  And seem their savoury words to eat,
+_110
+  They praised dead horse, luxurious food,
+  The venison of the prescient brood.
+     The sexton's indignation moved,
+  The mean comparison reproved;
+  The undiscerning palate blamed,
+  Which two-legged carrion thus defamed.
+     Reproachful speech from either side
+  The want of argument supplied:
+  They rail, revile: as often ends
+  The contest of disputing friends.
+_120
+  'Hold,' says the fowl; 'since human pride
+  With confutation ne'er complied,
+  Let's state the case, and then refer
+  The knotty point: for taste may err.'
+  As thus he spoke, from out the mould
+  An earth-worm, huge of size, unrolled
+  His monstrous length. They straight agree
+  To choose him as their referee.
+  So to the experience of his jaws,
+  Each states the merits of his cause.
+_130
+  He paused, and with a solemn tone,
+  Thus made his sage opinion known:
+     'On carcases of every kind
+  This maw hath elegantly dined;
+  Provoked by luxury or need,
+  On beast, on fowl, on man, I feed;
+  Such small distinctions in the savour,
+  By turns I choose the fancied flavour,
+  Yet I must own (that human beast)
+  A glutton is the rankest feast.
+_140
+  Man, cease this boast; for human pride
+  Hath various tracts to range beside.
+  The prince who kept the world in awe,
+  The judge whose dictate fixed the law,
+  The rich, the poor, the great, the small,
+  Are levelled. Death confounds them all.
+  Then think not that we reptiles share
+  Such cates, such elegance of fair:
+  The only true and real good
+  Of man was never vermin's food.
+_150
+  'Tis seated in the immortal mind;
+  Virtue distinguishes mankind,
+  And that (as yet ne'er harboured here)
+  Mounts with his soul we know not where.
+  So, good man sexton, since the case
+  Appears with such a dubious face,
+  To neither I the cause determine,
+  For different tastes please different vermin.'
+
+  END OF GAY'S FABLES.
+
+
+
+  SONGS.
+
+
+
+  SWEET WILLIAM'S FAREWELL TO BLACK-EYED SUSAN.
+
+  1
+
+      All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd,
+         The streamers waving in the wind,
+      When black-eye'd Susan came aboard.
+         Oh! where shall I my true-love find?
+  Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,
+  If my sweet William sails among the crew.
+
+  2
+
+      William, who high upon the yard
+        Rock'd with the billow to and fro,
+      Soon as her well-known voice he heard,
+        He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below;
+  The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,
+  And (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.
+
+  3
+
+       So the sweet lark, high poised in air,
+         Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
+       (If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,)
+         And drops at once into her nest.
+  The noblest captain in the British fleet
+  Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet.
+
+  4
+
+       O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
+         My vows shall ever true remain;
+       Let me kiss off that falling tear;
+         We only part to meet again.
+  Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
+  The faithful compass that still points to thee.
+
+  5
+
+       Believe not what the landmen say,
+         Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind.
+       They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,
+         In every port a mistress find:
+  Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,
+  For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
+
+  6
+
+       If to fair India's coast we sail,
+         Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright,
+       Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,
+         Thy skin is ivory so white.
+  Thus every beauteous object that I view,
+  Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
+
+  7
+
+       Though battle call me from thy arms,
+         Let not my pretty Susan mourn;
+       Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,
+         William shall to his dear return.
+  Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
+  Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.
+
+  8
+
+       The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
+          The sails their swelling bosom spread;
+       No longer must she stay aboard:
+          They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head.
+  Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:
+  Adieu! she cries; and waved her lily hand.
+
+      *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  A BALLAD,
+
+  FROM THE WHAT-D'YE-CALL-IT.
+
+  1
+
+  'Twas when the seas were roaring
+    With hollow blasts of wind;
+  A damsel lay deploring,
+    All on a rock reclined.
+  Wide o'er the foaming billows
+    She casts a wistful look;
+  Her head was crown'd with willows,
+    That trembled o'er the brook.
+
+  2
+
+  Twelve months are gone and over,
+    And nine long tedious days.
+  Why didst thou, venturous lover,
+    Why didst thou trust the seas?
+  Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
+    And let my lover rest:
+  Ah! what's thy troubled motion
+    To that within my breast?
+
+  3
+
+  The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
+    Sees tempests in despair:
+  But what's the loss of treasure,
+    To losing of my dear?
+  Should you some coast be laid on,
+    Where gold and diamonds grow,
+  You'd find a richer maiden,
+    But none that loves you so.
+
+  4
+
+  How can they say that nature
+    Has nothing made in vain;
+  Why then beneath the water
+    Should hideous rocks remain?
+  No eyes the rocks discover,
+    That lurk beneath the deep,
+  To wreck the wandering lover,
+    And leave the maid to weep.
+
+  5
+
+  All melancholy lying,
+    Thus wail'd she for her dear;
+  Repaid each blast with sighing,
+    Each billow with a tear;
+  When o'er the white wave stooping,
+    His floating corpse she spied;
+  Then, like a lily drooping,
+    She bow'd her head, and died.
+
+  END OF GAY'S SONGS.
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+
+[Footnote 1: Second son of George II.; born in 1721; he was five years
+old at the date of the publication of the 'Fables,' which were written
+for his instruction. He is 'Culloden' Cumberland.]
+
+[Footnote 2: 'Siam,' a country famous for elephants.]
+
+[Footnote 3: 'Gresham Hall,' originally the house of Sir Thomas Gresham
+in Winchester. It was converted by his will into a college, no remains of
+which now exist.]
+
+[Footnote 4: 'Curl,' a famous publisher to Grub Street.]
+
+[Footnote 5: Garth's Dispensary.]
+
+[Footnote 6: 'Porta:' a native of Naples, famous for skill in the occult
+sciences. He wrote a book on Physiognomy, seeking to trace in the human
+face resemblances to animals, and to infer similar correspondences in
+mind.]
+
+[Footnote 7: '----When impious men bear sway,
+              The post of honour is a private station.'-ADDISON.]
+
+[Footnote 8: 'Antiochus': See Plutarch.]
+
+[Footnote 9: Barrow.]
+
+[Footnote 10: 'The Macedonian:' Alexander the Great.]
+
+
+[Footnote 11: 'Corelli:' Arcangelo, the greatest fiddler, till Paganini,
+that has appeared. He was born in the territory of Bologna, in 1653, and
+died in 1713.]
+
+[Footnote 12: 'Antoninus:' Marcus, one of the few emperors who have been
+also philosophers.]
+
+
+
+
+
+THE
+
+LIFE OF WILLIAM SOMERVILLE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is a chapter in an old history of Iceland which has often moved
+merriment. The title of it is, "Concerning Snakes in Iceland," and the
+contents are, "Snakes in Iceland there are none." We suspect, when our
+"Life of William Somerville" is ended, not a few will find in it a
+parallel for that comprehensive chapter, although we strenuously maintain
+that the fault of an insipid and uninteresting life is not always to be
+charged on the biographer.
+
+In "Sartor Resartus" our readers remember an epitaph, somewhat coarse,
+although disguised in good dog-Latin, upon a country squire, and his
+sayings and doings in this world. We have not a copy of that work at
+hand, and cannot quote the epitaph, nor would we, though we could, since
+even the dog-Latin is too plain and perspicuous for many readers. We
+recommend those, however, who choose to turn it up; and they will find in
+it (with the exception of the writing of "the Chase") the full history of
+William Somerville, of whom we know little, but that he was born, that he
+hunted, ate, drank, and died.
+
+He was born in 1682; but in what month, or on what day, we are not
+informed. His estate was in Warwickshire, its name Edston, and he had
+inherited it from a long line of ancestors. His family prided itself upon
+being the first family in the county. He himself boasts of having been
+born on the banks of Avon, which has thus at least produced two poets, of
+somewhat different calibre indeed--the one a deer-stealer, and the other
+a fox-hunter--Shakspeare and Somerville. Somerville was educated at
+Winchester School, and was afterwards elected fellow of New College. From
+his studies--of his success in which we know nothing--he returned to his
+native county, and there, says Johnson, "was distinguished as a poet, a
+gentleman, and a skilful and useful justice of the peace;"--we may add,
+as a jovial companion and a daring fox-hunter. His estate brought him
+in about L1500 a-year, but his extravagance brought him into pecuniary
+distresses, which weighed upon his mind, plunged him into intemperate
+habits, and hurried him away in his 60th year. Shenstone, who knew him
+well, thus mourns aver his departure in one of his letters:--"Our old
+friend Somerville is dead; I did not imagine I could have been so sorry
+as I find myself on this occasion. _Sublatum quoerimus_, I can now excuse
+all his foibles; impute them to age and to distressed circumstances. The
+last of these considerations wrings my very soul to think on; for a
+man of high spirit, conscious of having (at least in one production)
+generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened by wretches
+that are low in every sense; to be forced to drink himself into pains of
+the body in order to get rid of the pains of the mind, is a misery."
+
+Somerville died July 19, 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near
+Henley-on-Arden. His estate went to Lord Somerville in Scotland, but his
+mother, who lived to a great age, had a jointure of L600. He describes
+himself, in verses addressed to Allan Ramsay, as
+
+  "A squire, well-born and six feet high."
+
+He seems, from the affection and sympathy discovered for him by
+Shenstone, to have possessed the virtues as well as the vices of the
+squirearchy of that age; their frankness, sociality, and heart, as well
+as their improvidence and tendency to excess; and may altogether be
+called a sublimated Squire Western.
+
+As to his poetry, much of it is beneath criticism. His "Fables," "Tales,"
+"Hobbinol, or Rural Games," &c., have all in them poetical lines, but
+cannot, as a whole, be called poetry. He wrote some verses, entitled
+"Address to Addison," on the latter purchasing an estate in Warwickshire
+(he gave his Countess L4000 in exchange for it). In this there are two
+lines which Dr Johnson highly commends, saying "They are written with
+the most exquisite delicacy of praise; they exhibit one of those happy
+strokes that are seldom attained."--Here is this bepraised couplet:--
+
+  "When panting virtue her last efforts made,
+  You brought your Clio to the virgin's aid."
+
+Clio, of course, refers to Addison's signatures in the "Spectator,"
+consisting of the four letters composing the name of the Muse of History,
+used in alternation. We cannot coincide in Johnson's encomium. The
+allusion is, we think, at once indecent and obscure; and what, after all,
+does it say, but that Addison's papers aided the struggling cause of
+virtue?
+
+In the same verses we find a fulsome and ridiculous preference of Addison
+to Shakspeare!
+
+  "In heaven he sings, on earth your Muse supplies
+  The important loss, and heals our weeping eyes;
+  Correctly great, she melts each flinty heart,
+  With EQUAL GENIUS, but SUPERIOR ART."
+
+Surely the force of falsehood and flattery can go no further.
+
+It is a pleasure to turn from these small and shallow things to the
+"Chase," which, if not a great poem, is founded on a most poetical
+subject, and which, here and there, sparkles into fine fancy. Dr Johnson
+truly remarks, that Somerville "set a good example to men of his own
+class, by devoting a part of his time to elegant knowledge, and has
+shewn, by the subjects which his poetry has adorned, that it is
+practicable to be at once a skilful sportsman and a man of letters." But
+besides this purpose to be the poet--and hitherto he has been almost
+the sole poet of the squirearchy, as considered apart from the
+aristocracy--Somerville has the merit of being inspired by a genuine love
+for the subject. He writes directly from the testimony of his own eyes,
+and the impulses of his own heart. He has obviously had the mould of his
+poem suggested by Thomson's "Seasons," but it is the mould only; the
+thoughts and feelings which are poured into it are his own. He loves
+the giddy ride over stock and stone, hedge and petty precipice; the
+invigoration which the keen breath of autumn or winter, like that of a
+sturdy veteran, gives the animal spirits; the animated aspect of the
+"assembled jockeyship of half a province;" the wild music of hounds, and
+horns, and hollas, vieing with each other in mirth and loudness; the
+breathless interest of the start; the emulous pant of the coursers; the
+excitement of the moment when the fox appears; the sweeping tumult of the
+pursuit; the dreamlike rapidity with which five-barred gates are cleared,
+the yellow or naked woods are passed, and the stubble-ridges "swallowed
+up in the fierceness and rage" of the rushing steeds; the indifference of
+those engaged in the headlong sport to the danger or even the death of
+their companions; the lengthening and deepening howl of the hounds as
+they near their prey; the fierce silence of the dying victim; and the
+fiercer shout of victory which announces to the echoes that the brush
+is won, and the glorious (or inglorious) day's work is over;--all this
+Somerville loves, and has painted with considerable power. In the course
+of the poem, he sings also of the mysteries of the dog-kennel--pursues
+the blood-hound on his track of death--describes a stag-hunt in Windsor
+Forest--paints the fearful phenomena of canine madness--hunts the hare in
+a joyous spirit--and goes down after the otter into its watery recesses,
+and watches its divings and devious motions as with the eyes of a
+sea-eagle. And, besides, (here also imitating Thomson,) he is led away
+from the comparatively tame "Chase" of England to the more dangerous
+and more inspiring sports of other lands, where "the huntsmen are up in
+Arabia," in pursuit of the wolf, where the bear is bayed amidst forests
+dark as itself, where the leopard is snared by its own image in a mirror,
+where the lion falls roaring into the prepared pit, and where the "Chase"
+is pursued on a large scale by assembled princes amidst the jungles of
+India.
+
+We doubt not, however, that, were a genuine poet of this age taking up
+the "Chase" as a subject for song, and availing himself of the accounts
+of recent travellers, themselves often true poets, such as Lloyd,
+Livingstone, Cumming Bruce, and Charles Boner, (see the admirable
+"Chamois Hunting in Bavaria" of the latter,) he would produce a strain
+incomparably higher than Somerville's. Wilson, at least, as we know from
+his "Christopher in his Sporting Jacket," and many other articles in
+_Maga_, was qualified, in part by nature and in part by extensive
+experience, to have written such a poem. Indeed, one sentence of his
+is superior to anything in the "Chase." Speaking of the charge of the
+cruelty of chasing such an insignificant animal as a fox, he says, "What
+though it be but a smallish, reddish-brown, sharp-nosed animal, with
+pricked-up ears, and passionately fond of poultry, that they pursue?
+After the first tallyho, reynard is rarely seen till he is run in
+upon--once, perhaps, in the whole run, skirting a wood, or crossing a
+common. It is an _idea that is pursued_ on a whirlwind of horses, to a
+storm of canine music, worthy both of the largest lion that ever leaped
+among a band of Moors sleeping at midnight by an extinguished fire on the
+African sands." We do not answer for the humanity of this description,
+but it certainly seems to us to exhaust the subject of the chase, alike
+in its philosophy and its poetry.[1]
+
+
+SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+  BOOK I.
+
+  THE ARGUMENT.
+
+  The subject proposed.--Address to his Royal Highness the Prince.--The
+  origin of hunting.--The rude and unpolished manner of the first
+  hunters.--Beasts at first hunted for food and sacrifice.--The grant
+  made by God to man of the beasts, &c.--The regular manner of hunting
+  first brought into this island by the Normans.--The best hounds
+  and best horses bred here.--The advantage of this exercise to us, as
+  islanders.--Address to gentlemen of estates.--Situation of the kennel
+  and its several courts.--The diversion and employment of hounds in
+  the kennel.--The different sorts of hounds for each different chase.--
+  Description of a perfect hound.--Of sizing and sorting of hounds.--The
+  middle-sized hound recommended.--Of the large, deep-mouthed hound
+  for hunting the stag and otter.--Of the lime-hound; their use on the
+  borders of England and Scotland.--A physical account of scents.--Of
+  good and bad scenting days.--A short admonition to my brethren of
+  the couples.
+
+  The Chase I sing, hounds, and their various breed,
+  And no less various use. O thou Great Prince![2]
+  Whom Cambria's towering hills proclaim their lord,
+  Deign thou to hear my bold, instructive song.
+  While grateful citizens with pompous show,
+  Rear the triumphal arch, rich with the exploits
+  Of thy illustrious house; while virgins pave
+  Thy way with flowers, and, as the royal youth
+  Passing they view, admire, and sigh in vain;
+  While crowded theatres, too fondly proud
+_10
+  Of their exotic minstrels, and shrill pipes,
+  The price of manhood, hail thee with a song,
+  And airs soft-warbling; my hoarse-sounding horn
+  Invites thee to the Chase, the sport of kings;
+  Image of war, without its guilt. The Muse
+  Aloft on wing shall soar, conduct with care
+  Thy foaming courser o'er the steepy rock,
+  Or on the river bank receive thee safe,
+  Light-bounding o'er the wave, from shore to shore.
+  Be thou our great protector, gracious youth!
+_20
+  And if in future times, some envious prince,
+  Careless of right and guileful, should invade
+  Thy Britain's commerce, or should strive in vain
+  To wrest the balance from thy equal hand;
+  Thy hunter-train, in cheerful green arrayed,
+  (A band undaunted, and inured to toils,)
+  Shall compass thee around, die at thy feet,
+  Or hew thy passage through the embattled foe,
+  And clear thy way to fame; inspired by thee
+  The nobler chase of glory shall pursue
+_30
+  Through fire, and smoke, and blood, and fields of death.
+     Nature, in her productions slow, aspires
+  By just degrees to reach perfection's height:
+  So mimic Art works leisurely, till Time
+  Improve the piece, or wise Experience give
+  The proper finishing. When Nimrod bold,
+  That mighty hunter, first made war on beasts,
+  And stained the woodland green with purple dye,
+  New and unpolished was the huntsman's art;
+  No stated rule, his wanton will his guide.
+_40
+  With clubs and stones, rude implements of war,
+  He armed his savage bands, a multitude
+  Untrained; of twining osiers formed, they pitch
+  Their artless toils, then range the desert hills,
+  And scour the plains below; the trembling herd
+  Start at the unusual sound, and clamorous shout
+  Unheard before; surprised alas! to find
+  Man now their foe, whom erst they deemed their lord,
+  But mild and gentle, and by whom as yet
+  Secure they grazed. Death stretches o'er the plain
+_50
+  Wide-wasting, and grim slaughter red with blood:
+  Urged on by hunger keen, they wound, they kill,
+  Their rage licentious knows no bound; at last
+  Incumbered with their spoils, joyful they bear
+  Upon their shoulders broad, the bleeding prey.
+  Part on their altars smokes a sacrifice
+  To that all-gracious Power, whose bounteous hand
+  Supports his wide creation; what remains
+  On living coals they broil, inelegant
+  Of taste, nor skilled as yet in nicer arts
+_60
+  Of pampered luxury. Devotion pure,
+  And strong necessity, thus first began
+  The chase of beasts: though bloody was the deed,
+  Yet without guilt. For the green herb alone
+  Unequal to sustain man's labouring race,
+  Now every moving thing that lived on earth
+  Was granted him for food. So just is Heaven,
+  To give us in proportion to our wants.
+     Or chance or industry in after-times
+  Some few improvements made, but short as yet
+_70
+  Of due perfection. In this isle remote
+  Our painted ancestors were slow to learn,
+  To arms devote, of the politer arts
+  Nor skilled nor studious; till from Neustria's[3] coasts
+  Victorious William, to more decent rules
+  Subdued our Saxon fathers, taught to speak
+  The proper dialect, with horn and voice
+  To cheer the busy hound, whose well-known cry
+  His listening peers approve with joint acclaim.
+  From him successive huntsmen learned to join
+_80
+  In bloody social leagues, the multitude
+  Dispersed, to size, to sort their various tribes,
+  To rear, feed, hunt, and discipline the pack.
+     Hail, happy Britain! highly-favoured isle,
+  And Heaven's peculiar care! To thee 'tis given
+  To train the sprightly steed, more fleet than those
+  Begot by winds, or the celestial breed
+  That bore the great Pelides through the press
+  Of heroes armed, and broke their crowded ranks;
+  Which proudly neighing, with the sun begins
+_90
+  Cheerful his course; and ere his beams decline,
+  Has measured half thy surface unfatigued.
+  In thee alone, fair land of liberty!
+  Is bred the perfect hound, in scent and speed
+  As yet unrivalled, while in other climes
+  Their virtue fails, a weak degenerate race.
+  In vain malignant steams, and winter fogs
+  Load the dull air, and hover round our coasts,
+  The huntsman ever gay, robust, and bold,
+  Defies the noxious vapour, and confides
+_100
+  In this delightful exercise, to raise
+  His drooping head and cheer his heart with joy.
+     Ye vigorous youths, by smiling Fortune blest
+  With large demesnes, hereditary wealth,
+  Heaped copious by your wise forefathers' care,
+  Hear and attend! while I the means reveal
+  To enjoy those pleasures, for the weak too strong,
+  Too costly for the poor: to rein the steed
+  Swift-stretching o'er the plain, to cheer the pack
+  Opening in concerts of harmonious joy,
+_110
+  But breathing death. What though the gripe severe
+  Of brazen-fisted Time, and slow disease
+  Creeping through every vein, and nerve unstrung,
+  Afflict my shattered frame, undaunted still,
+  Fixed as a mountain ash, that braves the bolts
+  Of angry Jove; though blasted, yet unfallen;
+  Still can my soul in Fancy's mirror view
+  Deeds glorious once, recal the joyous scene
+  In all its splendours decked, o'er the full bowl
+  Recount my triumphs past, urge others on
+_120
+  With hand and voice, and point the winding way:
+  Pleased with that social sweet garrulity,
+  The poor disbanded veteran's sole delight.
+     First let the Kennel be the huntsman's care,
+  Upon some little eminence erect,
+  And fronting to the ruddy dawn; its courts
+  On either hand wide opening to receive
+  The sun's all-cheering beams, when mild he shines,
+  And gilds the mountain tops. For much the pack
+  (Roused from their dark alcoves) delight to stretch,
+_130
+  And bask in his invigorating ray:
+  Warned by the streaming light and merry lark,
+  Forth rush the jolly clan; with tuneful throats
+  They carol loud, and in grand chorus joined
+  Salute the new-born day. For not alone
+  The vegetable world, but men and brutes
+  Own his reviving influence, and joy
+  At his approach. Fountain of light! if chance[4]
+  Some envious cloud veil thy refulgent brow,
+  In vain the Muses aid; untouched, unstrung,
+_140
+  Lies my mute harp, and thy desponding bard
+  Sits darkly musing o'er the unfinished lay.
+     Let no Corinthian pillars prop the dome,
+  A vain expense, on charitable deeds
+  Better disposed, to clothe the tattered wretch,
+  Who shrinks beneath the blast, to feed the poor
+  Pinched with afflictive want. For use, not state,
+  Gracefully plain, let each apartment rise.
+  O'er all let cleanliness preside, no scraps
+  Bestrew the pavement, and no half-picked bones,
+_150
+  To kindle fierce debate, or to disgust
+  That nicer sense, on which the sportsman's hope,
+  And all his future triumphs must depend.
+  Soon as the growling pack with eager joy
+  Have lapped their smoking viands, morn or eve,
+  From the full cistern lead the ductile streams,
+  To wash thy court well-paved, nor spare thy pains,
+  For much to health will cleanliness avail.
+  Seek'st thou for hounds to climb the rocky steep,
+  And brush the entangled covert, whose nice scent
+_160
+  O'er greasy fallows, and frequented roads
+  Can pick the dubious way? Banish far off
+  Each noisome stench, let no offensive smell
+  Invade thy wide inclosure, but admit
+  The nitrous air, and purifying breeze.
+     Water and shade no less demand thy care:
+  In a large square the adjacent field inclose,
+  There plant in equal ranks the spreading elm,
+  Or fragrant lime; most happy thy design,
+  If at the bottom of thy spacious court,
+_170
+  A large canal fed by the crystal brook,
+  From its transparent bosom shall reflect
+  Downward thy structure and inverted grove.
+  Here when the sun's too potent gleams annoy
+  The crowded kennel, and the drooping pack,
+  Restless and faint, loll their unmoistened tongues,
+  And drop their feeble tails; to cooler shades
+  Lead forth the panting tribe; soon shalt thou find
+  The cordial breeze their fainting hearts revive:
+  Tumultuous soon they plunge into the stream,
+_180
+  There lave their reeking sides, with greedy joy
+  Gulp down the flying wave; this way and that
+  From shore to shore they swim, while clamour loud
+  And wild uproar torments the troubled flood:
+  Then on the sunny bank they roll and stretch
+  Their dripping limbs, or else in wanton rings
+  Coursing around, pursuing and pursued,
+  The merry multitude disporting play.
+     But here with watchful and observant eye
+  Attend their frolics, which too often end
+_190
+  In bloody broils and death. High o'er thy head
+  Wave thy resounding whip, and with a voice
+  Fierce-menacing o'errule the stern debate,
+  And quench their kindling rage; for oft in sport
+  Begun, combat ensues, growling they snarl,
+  Then on their haunches reared, rampant they seize
+  Each other's throats, with teeth and claws in gore
+  Besmeared, they wound, they tear, till on the ground,
+  Panting, half dead the conquered champion lies:
+  Then sudden all the base ignoble crowd
+_200
+  Loud-clamouring seize the helpless worried wretch,
+  And thirsting for his blood, drag different ways
+  His mangled carcase on the ensanguined plain.
+  O breasts of pity void! to oppress the weak,
+  To point your vengeance at the friendless head,
+  And with one mutual cry insult the fallen!
+  Emblem too just of man's degenerate race.
+     Others apart by native instinct led,
+  Knowing instructor! 'mong the ranker grass
+  Cull each salubrious plant, with bitter juice
+_210
+  Concoctive stored, and potent to allay
+  Each vicious ferment. Thus the hand divine
+  Of Providence, beneficent and kind
+  To all His creatures, for the brutes prescribes
+  A ready remedy, and is Himself
+  Their great physician. Now grown stiff with age,
+  And many a painful chase, the wise old hound
+  Regardless of the frolic pack, attends
+  His master's side, or slumbers at his ease
+  Beneath the bending shade; there many a ring
+_220
+  Runs o'er in dreams; now on the doubtful foil
+  Puzzles perplexed, or doubles intricate
+  Cautious unfolds, then winged with all his speed,
+  Bounds o'er the lawn to seize his panting prey:
+  And in imperfect whimperings speaks his joy.
+     A different hound for every different chase
+  Select with judgment; nor the timorous hare
+  O'ermatched destroy, but leave that vile offence
+  To the mean, murderous, coursing crew; intent
+  On blood and spoil. O blast their hopes, just  Heaven!
+_230
+  And all their painful drudgeries repay
+  With disappointment and severe remorse.
+  But husband thou thy pleasures, and give scope
+  To all her subtle play: by nature led
+  A thousand shifts she tries; to unravel these
+  The industrious beagle twists his waving tail,
+  Through all her labyrinths pursues, and rings
+  Her doleful knell. See there with countenance blithe,
+  And with a courtly grin, the fawning hound
+  Salutes thee cowering, his wide-opening nose
+_240
+  Upward he curls, and his large sloe-black eyes
+  Melt in soft blandishments, and humble joy;
+  His glossy skin, or yellow-pied, or blue,
+  In lights or shades by Nature's pencil drawn,
+  Reflects the various tints; his ears and legs
+  Flecked here and there, in gay enamelled pride
+  Rival the speckled pard; his rush-grown tail
+  O'er his broad back bends in an ample arch;
+  On shoulders clean, upright and firm he stands,
+  His round cat foot, straight hams, and wide-spread  thighs,
+_250
+  And his low-dropping chest, confess his speed,
+  His strength, his wind, or on the steepy hill,
+  Or far-extended plain; in every part
+  So well proportioned, that the nicer skill
+  Of Phidias himself can't blame thy choice.
+  Of such compose thy pack. But here a mean
+  Observe, nor the large hound prefer, of size
+  Gigantic; he in the thick-woven covert
+  Painfully tugs, or in the thorny brake
+  Torn and embarrassed bleeds: but if too small,
+_260
+  The pigmy brood in every furrow swims;
+  Moiled in the clogging clay, panting they lag
+  Behind inglorious; or else shivering creep
+  Benumbed and faint beneath the sheltering thorn.
+  For hounds of middle size, active and strong,
+  Will better answer all thy various ends,
+  And crown thy pleasing labours with success.
+     As some brave captain, curious and exact,
+  By his fixed standard forms in equal ranks
+  His gay battalion, as one man they move
+_270
+  Step after step, their size the same, their arms
+  Far gleaming, dart the same united blaze:
+  Reviewing generals his merit own;
+  How regular! how just! and all his cares
+  Are well repaid, if mighty George approve.
+  So model thou thy pack, if honour touch
+  Thy generous soul, and the world's just applause.
+  But above all take heed, nor mix thy hounds
+  Of different kinds; discordant sounds shall grate
+  Thy ears offended, and a lagging line
+_280
+  Of babbling curs disgrace thy broken pack.
+  But if the amphibious otter be thy chase,
+  Or stately stag, that o'er the woodland reigns;
+  Or if the harmonious thunder of the field
+  Delight thy ravished ears; the deep-flewed hound
+  Breed up with care, strong, heavy, slow, but sure,
+  Whose ears down-hanging from his thick round head
+  Shall sweep the morning dew, whose clanging voice
+  Awake the mountain echo in her cell,
+  And shake the forests: the bold talbot[6] kind
+_290
+  Of these the prime, as white as Alpine snows;
+  And great their use of old. Upon the banks
+  Of Tweed, slow winding through the vale, the seat
+  Of war and rapine once, ere Britons knew
+  The sweets of peace, or Anna's dread commands
+  To lasting leagues the haughty rivals awed,
+  There dwelt a pilfering race; well-trained and skilled
+  In all the mysteries of theft, the spoil
+
+  Their only substance, feuds and war their sport:
+  Not more expert in every fraudful art
+_300
+  The arch felon was of old, who by the tail
+  Drew back his lowing prize: in vain his wiles,
+  In vain the shelter of the covering rock,
+  In vain the sooty cloud, and ruddy flames
+  That issued from his mouth; for soon he paid
+  His forfeit life: a debt how justly due
+  To wronged Alcides, and avenging Heaven!
+  Veiled in the shades of night they ford the stream,
+
+  Then prowling far and near, whate'er they seize
+  Becomes their prey; nor flocks nor herds are safe,
+_310
+  Nor stalls protect the steer, nor strong barred doors
+  Secure the favourite horse. Soon as the morn
+  Reveals his wrongs, with ghastly visage wan
+  The plundered owner stands, and from his lips
+  A thousand thronging curses burst their way:
+  He calls his stout allies, and in a line
+  His faithful hound he leads, then with a voice
+  That utters loud his rage, attentive cheers:
+  Soon the sagacious brute, his curling tail
+
+  Flourished in air, low-bending plies around
+_320
+  His busy nose, the steaming vapour snuff
+  Inquisitive, nor leaves one turf untried,
+  Till conscious of the recent stains, his heart
+  Beats quick; his snuffling nose, his active tail
+  Attest his joy; then with deep opening mouth
+  That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims
+  The audacious felon; foot by foot he marks
+  His winding way, while all the listening crowd
+  Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford,
+  Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hill,
+_330
+  O'er beaten paths, with men and beasts distained,
+  Unerring he pursues; till at the cot
+  Arrived, and seizing by his guilty throat
+  The caitiff'  vile, redeems the captive prey:
+  So exquisitely delicate his sense!
+     Should some more curious sportsman here inquire,
+  Whence this sagacity, this wondrous power
+  Of tracing step by step, or man or brute?
+
+  What guide invisible points out their way,
+  O'er the dank marsh, bleak hill, and sandy plain?
+_340
+  The courteous Muse shall the dark cause reveal.
+  The blood that from the heart incessant rolls
+  In many a crimson tide, then here and there
+  In smaller rills disparted, as it flows
+  Propelled, the serous particles evade
+  Through the open pores, and with the ambient air
+  Entangling mix. As fuming vapours rise,
+  And hang upon the gently purling brook,
+  There by the incumbent atmosphere compressed,
+  The panting chase grows warmer as he flies,
+_350
+  And through the net-work of the skin perspires;
+  Leaves a long-streaming trail behind, which by
+  The cooler air condensed, remains, unless
+  By some rude storm dispersed, or rarefied
+  By the meridian sun's intenser heat.
+  To every shrub the warm effluvia cling,
+  Hang on the grass, impregnate earth and skies.
+  With nostrils opening wide, o'er hill, o'er dale,
+  The vigorous hounds pursue, with every breath
+  Inhale the grateful steam, quick pleasures sting
+_360
+  Their tingling nerves, while they their thanks repay,
+  And in triumphant melody confess
+  The titillating joy. Thus on the air
+  Depend the hunter's hopes. When ruddy streaks
+  At eve forebode a blustering stormy day,
+  Or lowering clouds blacken the mountain's brow,
+  When nipping frosts, and the keen biting blasts
+  Of the dry parching east, menace the trees
+  With tender blossoms teeming, kindly spare
+  Thy sleeping pack, in their warm beds of straw
+_370
+  Low-sinking at their ease; listless they shrink
+  Into some dark recess, nor hear thy voice
+  Though oft invoked; or haply if thy call
+  Rouse up the slumbering tribe, with heavy eyes
+  Glazed, lifeless, dull, downward they drop their tails
+  Inverted; high on their bent backs erect
+  Their pointed bristles stare, or 'mong the tufts
+  Of ranker weeds, each stomach-healing plant
+  Curious they crop, sick, spiritless, forlorn.
+  These inauspicious days, on other cares
+_380
+  Employ thy precious hours; the improving friend
+  With open arms embrace, and from his lips
+  Glean science, seasoned with good-natured wit.
+  But if the inclement skies and angry Jove
+  Forbid the pleasing intercourse, thy books
+  Invite thy ready hand, each sacred page
+  Rich with the wise remarks of heroes old.
+  Converse familiar with the illustrious dead;
+  With great examples of old Greece or Rome
+  Enlarge thy free-born heart, and bless kind Heaven,
+_390
+  That Britain yet enjoys dear Liberty,
+  That balm of life, that sweetest blessing, cheap
+  Though purchased with our blood. Well-bred, polite,
+  Credit thy calling. See! how mean, how low,
+  The bookless sauntering youth, proud of the scut
+  That dignifies his cap, his flourished belt,
+  And rusty couples jingling by his side.
+  Be thou of other mould; and know that such
+  Transporting pleasures were by Heaven ordained
+  Wisdom's relief, and Virtue's great reward.
+_400
+
+    *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+BOOK II.
+
+THE ARGUMENT.
+
+Of the power of instinct in brutes.--Two remarkable instances in the
+hunting of the roebuck, and in the hare going to seat in the morning.--Of
+the variety of seats or forms of the hare, according to the change of the
+season, weather, or wind.--Description of the hare-hunting in all its
+parts, interspersed with rules to be observed by those who follow that
+chase.--Transition to the Asiatic way of hunting, particularly the
+magnificent manner of the Great Mogul, and other Tartarian princes, taken
+from Monsieur Bernier, and the history of Gengiskan the Great.--Concludes
+with a short reproof of tyrants and oppressors of mankind.
+
+  Nor will it less delight the attentive sage
+  To observe that instinct, which unerring guides
+  The brutal race, which mimics reason's lore
+  And oft transcends: heaven-taught, the roe-buck swift
+  Loiters at ease before the driving pack
+  And mocks their vain pursuit, nor far he flies
+  But checks his ardour, till the steaming scent
+  That freshens on the blade, provokes their rage.
+  Urged to their speed, his weak deluded foes
+
+  Soon flag fatigued; strained to excess each nerve,
+_10
+  Each slackened sinew fails; they pant, they foam;
+  Then o'er the lawn he bounds, o'er the high hills
+  Stretches secure, and leaves the scattered crowd
+  To puzzle in the distant vale below.
+     'Tis instinct that directs the jealous hare
+  To choose her soft abode: with step reversed
+  She forms the doubling maze; then, ere the morn
+  Peeps through the clouds, leaps to her close recess.
+     As wand'ring shepherds on the Arabian plains
+
+  No settled residence observe, but shift
+_20
+  Their moving camp, now, on some cooler hill
+  With cedars crowned, court the refreshing breeze;
+  And then, below, where trickling streams distil
+  From some penurious source, their thirst allay,
+  And feed their fainting flocks: so the wise hares
+  Oft quit their seats, lest some more curious eye
+  Should mark their haunts, and by dark treacherous  wiles
+  Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes
+
+  Of plenteous forage, near the ranker mead,
+  Or matted blade, wary, and close they sit.
+_30
+  When spring shines forth, season of love and joy,
+  In the moist marsh, 'mong beds of rushes hid,
+  They cool their boiling blood: when Summer suns
+  Bake the cleft earth, to thick wide-waving fields
+  Of corn full-grown, they lead their helpless young:
+  But when autumnal torrents, and fierce rains
+  Deluge the vale, in the dry crumbling bank
+  Their forms they delve, and cautiously avoid
+
+  The dripping covert: yet when Winter's cold
+  Their limbs benumbs, thither with speed returned
+_40
+  In the long grass they skulk, or shrinking creep
+  Among the withered leaves, thus changing still,
+  As fancy prompts them, or as food invites.
+  But every season carefully observed,
+  The inconstant winds, the fickle element,
+  The wise experienced huntsman soon may find
+  His subtle, various game, nor waste in vain
+  His tedious hours, till his impatient hounds
+  With disappointment vexed, each springing lark
+  Babbling pursue, far scattered o'er the fields.
+_50
+     Now golden Autumn from her open lap
+  Her fragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn;
+  Inwardly smiling, the proud farmer views
+  The rising pyramids that grace his yard,
+  And counts his large increase; his barns are stored,
+  And groaning staddles bend beneath their load.
+  All now is free as air, and the gay pack
+  In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed;
+  No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse
+  Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale lips
+_60
+  Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed:
+  But courteous now he levels every fence,
+  Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud,
+  Charmed with the rattling thunder of the field.
+  Oh bear me, some kind Power invisible!
+  To that extended lawn, where the gay court
+  View the swift racers, stretching to the goal;
+  Games more renowned, and a far nobler train,
+  Than proud Elean fields could boast of old.
+  Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here,
+_70
+  And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right!
+  Or to those spacious plains, where the strained eye
+  In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last
+  Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills ascends,
+  And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs,
+  Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs,
+  With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow,
+
+  And leaves the lagging multitude behind.
+     Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail!
+  Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle spread
+_80
+  O'er half the skies, gems pave thy radiant way,
+  And orient pearls from every shrub depend.
+  Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down
+  Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused,
+  Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to receive
+  Thy early meal, or thy officious maids,
+  The toilet placed, shall urge thee to perform
+  The important work. Me other joys invite,
+  The horn sonorous calls, the pack awaked
+  Their matins chant, nor brook my long delay.
+_90
+  My courser hears their voice; see there with ears
+  And tail erect, neighing he paws the ground;
+  Fierce rapture kindles in his reddening eyes,
+  And boils in every vein. As captive boys
+  Cowed by the ruling rod, and haughty frowns
+  Of pedagogues severe, from their hard tasks,
+  If once dismissed, no limits can contain
+  The tumult raised within their little breasts,
+  But give a loose to all their frolic play:
+
+  So from their kennel rush the joyous pack;
+_100
+  A thousand wanton gaieties express
+  Their inward ecstasy, their pleasing sport
+  Once more indulged, and liberty restored.
+  The rising sun that o'er the horizon peeps,
+  As many colours from their glossy skins
+  Beaming reflects, as paint the various bow
+  When April showers descend. Delightful scene!
+  Where all around is gay, men, horses, dogs,
+  And in each smiling countenance appears
+  Fresh-blooming health, and universal joy.
+_110
+     Huntsman, lead on! behind the clustering pack
+  Submiss attend, hear with respect thy whip
+  Loud-clanging, and thy harsher voice obey:
+
+  Spare not the straggling cur, that wildly roves;
+  But let thy brisk assistant on his back
+  Imprint thy just resentments; let each lash
+  Bite to the quick, till howling he return
+  And whining creep amid the trembling crowd.
+     Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind,
+  With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes;
+_120
+  Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead
+  Affords the wandering hares a rich repast,
+  Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread
+  And range around, and dash the glittering dew.
+  If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice,
+  Avow the recent trail, the jostling tribe
+  Attend his call, then with one mutual cry
+  The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills
+  Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread
+
+  The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along!
+_130
+  But quick they back recoil, and wisely check
+  Their eager haste; then o'er the fallowed ground
+  How leisurely they work, and many a pause
+  The harmonious concert breaks; till more assured
+  With joy redoubled the low valleys ring.
+  What artful labyrinths perplex their way!
+  Ah! there she lies; how close! she pants, she doubts
+  If now she lives; she trembles as she sits,
+  With horror seized. The withered grass that clings
+  Around her head, of the same russet hue
+_140
+  Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes
+  With life full-beaming her vain wiles betrayed.
+  At distance draw thy pack, let all be hushed,
+  No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard,
+  Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the plain
+  Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice.
+  Now gently put her off; see how direct
+  To her known mews she flies! Here, huntsman, bring
+  (But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds,
+
+  And calmly lay them in. How low they stoop,
+_150
+  And seem to plough the ground! then all at once
+  With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam
+  That glads their fluttering hearts. As winds let loose
+  From the dark caverns of the blustering god,
+  They burst away, and sweep the dewy lawn.
+  Hope gives them wings while she's spurred on by fear.
+  The welkin rings; men, dogs, hills, rocks, and woods
+  In the full concert join. Now, my brave youths,
+  Stripped for the chase, give all your souls to joy!
+
+  See how their coursers, than the mountain roe
+_160
+  More fleet, the verdant carpet skim, thick clouds
+  Snorting they breathe, their shining hoofs scarce print
+  The grass unbruised; with emulation fired
+  They strain to lead the field, top the barred gate,
+  O'er the deep ditch exulting bound, and brush
+  The thorny-twining hedge: the riders bend
+  O'er their arched necks; with steady hands, by turns
+  Indulge their speed, or moderate their rage.
+
+  Where are their sorrows, disappointments, wrongs,
+  Vexations, sickness, cares? All, all are gone,
+_170
+  And with the panting winds lag far behind.
+     Huntsman! her gait observe, if in wide rings
+  She wheel her mazy way, in the same round
+  Persisting still, she'll foil the beaten track.
+  But if she fly, and with the favouring wind
+  Urge her bold course; less intricate thy task:
+  Push on thy pack. Like some poor exiled wretch
+  The frighted chase leaves her late dear abodes,
+  O'er plains remote she stretches far away,
+  Ah! never to return! for greedy Death
+_180
+  Hovering exults, secure to seize his prey.
+     Hark! from yon covert, where those towering oaks
+  Above the humble copse aspiring rise,
+  What glorious triumphs burst in every gale
+  Upon our ravished ears! The hunters shout,
+  The clanging horns swell their sweet-winding notes,
+  The pack wide-opening load the trembling air
+  With various melody; from tree to tree
+
+  The propagated cry redoubling bounds,
+  And winged zephyrs waft the floating joy
+_190
+  Through all the regions near: afflictive birch
+  No more the school-boy dreads, his prison broke,
+  Scampering he flies, nor heeds his master's call;
+  The weary traveller forgets his road,
+  And climbs the adjacent hill; the ploughman leaves
+  The unfinished furrow; nor his bleating flocks
+  Are now the shepherd's joy; men, boys, and girls
+  Desert the unpeopled village; and wild crowds
+  Spread o'er the plain, by the sweet frenzy seized.
+  Look, how she pants! and o'er yon opening glade
+_200
+  Slips glancing by; while, at the further end,
+  The puzzling pack unravel wile by wile,
+  Maze within maze. The covert's utmost bound
+  Slily she skirts; behind them cautious creeps,
+  And in that very track, so lately stained
+  By all the steaming crowd, seems to pursue
+  The foe she flies. Let cavillers deny
+  That brutes have reason; sure 'tis something more,
+  'Tis Heaven directs, and stratagems inspires,
+  Beyond the short extent of human thought.
+_210
+  But hold--I see her from the covert break;
+  Sad on yon little eminence she sits;
+  Intent she listens with one ear erect,
+  Pond'ring, and doubtful what new course to take,
+  And how to escape the fierce blood-thirsty crew,
+  That still urge on, and still in vollies loud,
+  Insult her woes, and mock her sore distress.
+  As now in louder peals, the loaded winds
+  Bring on the gathering storm, her fears prevail;
+  And o'er the plain, and o'er the mountain's ridge,
+_220
+  Away she flies; nor ships with wind and tide,
+  And all their canvas wings, scud half so fast.
+  Once more, ye jovial train, your courage try,
+  And each clean courser's speed. We scour along,
+  In pleasing hurry and confusion tossed;
+  Oblivion to be wished. The patient pack
+  Hang on the scent unwearied, up they climb,
+  And ardent we pursue; our labouring steeds
+  We press, we gore; till once the summit gained,
+  Painfully panting, there we breathe a while;
+_230
+  Then like a foaming torrent, pouring down
+  Precipitant, we smoke along the vale.
+  Happy the man, who with unrivalled speed
+  Can pass his fellows, and with pleasure view
+  The struggling pack; how in the rapid course
+  Alternate they preside, and jostling push
+  To guide the dubious scent; how giddy youth
+  Oft babbling errs, by wiser age reproved;
+  How, niggard of his strength, the wise old hound
+  Hangs in the rear, till some important point
+_240
+  Rouse all his diligence, or till the chase
+  Sinking he finds; then to the head he springs,
+  With thirst of glory fired, and wins the prize.
+  Huntsman, take heed; they stop in full career.
+  Yon crowding flocks, that at a distance graze,
+  Have haply soiled the turf. See! that old hound,
+  How busily he works, but dares not trust
+  His doubtful sense; draw yet a wider ring.
+  Hark! now again the chorus fills; as bells
+  Silenced a while at once their peal renew,
+_250
+  And high in air the tuneful thunder rolls.
+  See, how they toss, with animated rage
+  Recovering all they lost!--That eager haste
+  Some doubling wile foreshews.--Ah! yet once more
+  They're checked--hold back with speed--on either hand
+  They nourish round--even yet persist--'Tis right,
+  Away they spring; the rustling stubbles bend
+  Beneath the driving storm. Now the poor chase
+  Begins to flag, to her last shifts reduced.
+  From brake to brake she flies, and visits all
+_260
+  Her well-known haunts, where once she ranged secure,
+  With love and plenty bless'd. See! there she goes,
+  She reels along, and by her gait betrays
+  Her inward weakness. See, how black she looks!
+  The sweat that clogs the obstructed pores, scarce leaves
+  A languid scent. And now in open view
+  See, see, she flies! each eager hound exerts
+  His utmost speed, and stretches every nerve.
+  How quick she turns! their gaping jaws eludes,
+  And yet a moment lives; till round inclosed
+_270
+  By all the greedy pack, with infant screams
+  She yields her breath, and there reluctant dies.
+  So when the furious Bacchanals assailed
+  Thracian Orpheus, poor ill-fated bard!
+  Loud was the cry; hills, woods, and Hebrus' banks,
+  Returned their clamorous rage; distressed he flies,
+  Shifting from place to place, but flies in vain;
+  For eager they pursue, till panting, faint,
+  By noisy multitudes o'erpowered, he sinks,
+  To the relentless crowd a bleeding prey.
+_280
+     The huntsman now, a deep incision made,
+  Shakes out with hands impure, and dashes down
+  Her reeking entrails, and yet quivering heart.
+  These claim the pack, the bloody perquisite
+  For all their toils. Stretched on the ground she lies,
+  A mangled corse; in her dim glaring eyes
+  Cold death exults, and stiffens every limb.
+  Awed by the threatening whip, the furious hounds
+  Around her bay; or at their master's foot,
+  Each happy favourite courts his kind applause,
+_290
+  With humble adulation cowering low.
+  All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind
+  Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack
+  The concert swell, and hills and dales return
+  The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare,
+  A puny, dastard animal, but versed
+  In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train.
+  But if thy proud, aspiring soul disdains
+  So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp,
+  Magnificence and grandeur of the chase;
+_300
+  Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings.
+     Why on the banks of Gemna, Indian stream,
+  Line within line, rise the pavilions proud,
+  Their silken streamers waving in the wind?
+  Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent,
+  Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude?
+  Why shines the polished helm, and pointed lance,
+  This way and that far-beaming o'er the plain?
+  Nor Visapour nor Golconda rebel;
+  Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host
+_310
+  Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires
+  To rob, and to destroy, beneath the name
+  And specious guise of war. A nobler cause
+  Calls Aurengzebe[7] to arms. No cities sacked,
+  No mother's tears, no helpless orphan's cries,
+  No violated leagues, with sharp remorse
+  Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind
+  Shall hail him good and just. For 'tis on beasts
+  He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey
+  Full-fed with human gore. See, see, he comes!
+_320
+  Imperial Delhi opening wide her gates,
+  Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms,
+  And all the pomp of war. Before them sound
+  Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs,
+  And bold defiance. High upon his throne,
+  Borne on the back of his proud elephant,
+  Sits the great chief of Tamur's glorious race:
+  Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze
+  Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd,
+  And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod:
+_330
+  And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside
+  O'er realms of wide extent; but here submiss
+  Their homage pay, alternate kings and slaves.
+  Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around,
+  The fair sultanas of his court; a troop
+  Of chosen beauties, but with care concealed
+  From each intrusive eye; one look is death.
+  A cruel Eastern law! (had kings a power
+  But equal to their wild tyrannic will)
+  To rob us of the sun's all-cheering ray,
+_340
+  Were less severe. The vulgar close the march,
+  Slaves and artificers; and Delhi mourns
+  Her empty and depopulated streets.
+  Now at the camp arrived, with stern review,
+  Through groves of spears, from file to file he darts
+  His sharp experienced eye; their order marks,
+  Each in his station ranged, exact and firm,
+  Till in the boundless line his sight is lost.
+  Not greater multitudes in arms appeared,
+  On these extended plains, when Ammon's[8] son
+_350
+  With mighty Porus in dread battle joined,
+  The vassal world the prize. Nor was that host
+  More numerous of old, which the great king
+  Poured out on Greece from all the unpeopled East;
+  That bridged the Hellespont from shore to shore,
+  And drank the rivers dry. Meanwhile in troops
+  The busy hunter-train mark out the ground,
+  A wide circumference; full many a league
+  In compass round; woods, rivers, hills, and plains,
+  Large provinces; enough to gratify
+_360
+  Ambition's highest aim, could reason bound
+  Man's erring will. Now sit in close divan
+  The mighty chiefs of this prodigious host.
+  He from the throne high-eminent presides,
+  Gives out his mandates proud, laws of the chase,
+  From ancient records drawn. With reverence low,
+  And prostrate at his feet, the chiefs receive
+  His irreversible decrees, from which
+  To vary is to die. Then his brave bands
+  Each to his station leads; encamping round,
+_370
+  Till the wide circle is completely formed;
+  Where decent order reigns, what these command,
+  Those execute with speed, and punctual care;
+  In all the strictest discipline of war:
+  As if some watchful foe, with bold insult
+  Hung lowering o'er their camp. The high resolve,
+  That flies on wings, through all the encircling line,
+  Each motion steers, and animates the whole.
+  So by the sun's attractive power controlled,
+  The planets in their spheres roll round his orb,
+_380
+  On all he shines, and rules the great machine.
+     Ere yet the morn dispels the fleeting mists,
+  The signal given by the loud trumpet's voice,
+  Now high in air the imperial standard waves,
+  Emblazoned rich with gold, and glittering gems;
+  And like a sheet of fire, through the dun gloom
+  Streaming meteorous. The soldiers' shouts,
+  And all the brazen instuments of war,
+  With mutual clamor, and united din,
+  Fill the large concave. While from camp to camp,
+_390
+  They catch the varied sounds, floating in air,
+  Round all the wide circumference, tigers fell
+  Shrink at the noise; deep in his gloomy den
+  The lion starts, and morsels yet unchewed
+  Drop from his trembling jaws. Now all at once
+  Onward they march embattled, to the sound
+  Of martial harmony; fifes, cornets, drums,
+  That rouse the sleepy soul to arms, and bold
+  Heroic deeds. In parties here and there
+  Detached o'er hill and dale, the hunters range
+_400
+  Inquisitive; strong dogs that match in fight
+  The boldest brute, around their masters wait,
+  A faithful guard. No haunt unsearched, they drive
+  From every covert, and from every den,
+  The lurking savages. Incessant shouts
+  Re-echo through the woods, and kindling fires
+  Gleam from the mountain tops; the forest seems
+  One mingling blaze: like flocks of sheep they fly
+  Before the flaming brand: fierce lions, pards,
+  Boars, tigers, bears, and wolves; a dreadful crew
+_410
+  Of grim blood-thirsty foes: growling along,
+  They stalk indignant; but fierce vengeance still
+  Hangs pealing on their rear, and pointed spears
+  Present immediate death. Soon as the night
+  Wrapt in her sable veil forbids the chase,
+  They pitch their tents, in even ranks around
+  The circling camp. The guards are placed, and fires
+  At proper distances ascending rise,
+  And paint the horizon with their ruddy light.
+  So round some island's shore of large extent,
+_420
+  Amid the gloomy horrors of the night,
+  The billows breaking on the pointed rocks,
+  Seem all one flame, and the bright circuit wide
+  Appears a bulwark of surrounding fire.
+  What dreadful bowlings, and what hideous roar,
+  Disturb those peaceful shades where erst the bird
+  That glads the night, had cheered the listening groves
+  With sweet complainings! Through the silent gloom
+  Oft they the guards assail; as oft repelled
+  They fly reluctant, with hot-boiling rage
+_430
+  Stung to the quick, and mad with wild despair.
+  Thus day by day, they still the chase renew;
+  At night encamp; till now in straiter bounds
+  The circle lessens, and the beasts perceive
+  The wall that hems them in on every side.
+  And now their fury bursts, and knows no mean;
+  From man they turn, and point their ill-judged rage
+  Against their fellow brutes. With teeth and claws
+  The civil war begins; grappling they tear.
+  Lions on tigers prey, and bears on wolves:
+_440
+  Horrible discord! till the crowd behind
+  Shouting pursue, and part the bloody fray.
+  At once their wrath subsides; tame as the lamb
+  The lion hangs his head, the furious pard,
+  Cowed and subdued, flies from the face of man,
+  Nor bears one glance of his commanding eye.
+  So abject is a tyrant in distress!
+     At last within the narrow plain confined,
+  A listed field, marked out for bloody deeds,
+  An amphitheatre more glorious far
+_450
+  Than ancient Rome could boast, they crowd in heaps,
+  Dismayed, and quite appalled. In meet array
+  Sheathed in refulgent arms, a noble band
+  Advance; great lords of high imperial blood,
+  Early resolved to assert their royal race,
+  And prove by glorious deeds their valour's growth
+  Mature, ere yet the callow down has spread
+  Its curling shade. On bold Arabian steeds
+  With decent pride they sit, that fearless hear
+  The lion's dreadful roar; and down the rock
+_460
+  Swift-shooting plunge, or o'er the mountain's ridge
+  Stretching along, the greedy tiger leave
+  Panting behind. On foot their faithful slaves
+  With javelins armed attend; each watchful eye
+  Fixed on his youthful care, for him alone
+  He fears, and to redeem his life, unmoved
+  Would lose his own. The mighty Aurengzebe,
+  From his high-elevated throne, beholds
+  His blooming race; revolving in his mind
+  What once he was, in his gay spring of life,
+_470
+  When vigour strung his nerves. Parental joy
+  Melts in his eyes, and flushes in his cheeks.
+  Now the loud trumpet sounds a charge. The shouts
+  Of eager hosts, through all the circling line,
+  And the wild bowlings of the beasts within
+  Rend wide the welkin, flights of arrows, winged
+  With death, and javelins launched from every arm,
+  Gall sore the brutal bands, with many a wound
+  Gored through and through. Despair at last prevails,
+  When fainting nature shrinks, and rouses all
+_480
+  Their drooping courage. Swelled with furious rage,
+  Their eyes dart fire; and on the youthful band
+  They rush implacable. They their broad shields
+  Quick interpose; on each devoted head
+  Their flaming falchions, as the bolts of Jove,
+  Descend unerring. Prostrate on the ground
+  The grinning monsters lie, and their foul gore
+  Defiles the verdant plain. Nor idle stand
+  The trusty slaves; with pointed spears they pierce
+  Through their tough hides; or at their gaping mouths
+_490
+  An easier passage find. The king of brutes
+  In broken roarings breathes his last; the bear
+  Grumbles in death; nor can his spotted skin,
+  Though sleek it shine, with varied beauties gay,
+  Save the proud pard from unrelenting fate.
+  The battle bleeds, grim Slaughter strides along,
+  Glutting her greedy jaws, grins o'er her prey.
+  Men, horses, dogs, fierce beasts of every kind,
+  A strange promiscuous carnage, drenched in blood,
+  And heaps on heaps amassed. What yet remain
+_500
+  Alive, with vain assault contend to break
+  The impenetrable line. Others, whom fear
+  Inspires with self-preserving wiles, beneath
+  The bodies of the slain for shelter creep.
+  Aghast they fly, or hide their heads dispersed.
+  And now perchance (had Heaven but pleased) the work
+  Of death had been complete; and Aurengzebe
+  By one dread frown extinguished half their race.
+  When lo! the bright sultanas of his court
+  Appear, and to his ravished eyes display
+_510
+  Those charms, but rarely to the day revealed.
+     Lowly they bend, and humbly sue, to save
+  The vanquished host. What mortal can deny
+  When suppliant beauty begs? At his command
+  Opening to right and left, the well-trained troops
+  Leave a large void for their retreating foes.
+  Away they fly, on wings of fear upborne,
+  To seek on distant hills their late abodes.
+     Ye proud oppressors, whose vain hearts exult
+  In wantonness of power, 'gainst the brute race,
+_520
+  Fierce robbers like yourselves, a guiltless war
+  Wage uncontrolled: here quench your thirst of blood:
+  But learn from Aurengzebe to spare mankind.
+
+
+BOOK III.
+
+THE ARGUMENT.
+
+Of King Edgar and his imposing a tribute of wolves' heads upon the kings
+of Wales: from hence a transition to fox-hunting, which is described in
+all its parts.--Censure of an over-numerous pack.--Of the several engines
+to destroy foxes, and other wild beasts.--The steel-trap described, and
+the manner of using it.--Description of the pitfall for the lion; and
+another for the elephant.--The ancient way of hunting the tiger with a
+mirror.--The Arabian manner of hunting the wild boar.--Description of the
+royal stag-chase at Windsor Forest.--Concludes with an address to his
+Majesty, and an eulogy upon mercy.
+
+  In Albion's isle when glorious Edgar reigned,
+  He wisely provident, from her white cliffs
+  Launched half her forests, and with numerous fleets
+  Covered his wide domain: there proudly rode
+  Lord of the deep, the great prerogative
+  Of British monarchs. Each invader bold,
+  Dane and Norwegian, at a distance gazed,
+  And disappointed, gnashed his teeth in vain.
+  He scoured the seas, and to remotest shores
+  With swelling sails the trembling corsair fled.
+_10
+  Rich commerce flourished; and with busy oars
+  Dashed the resounding surge. Nor less at land
+  His royal cares; wise, potent, gracious prince!
+  His subjects from their cruel foes he saved,
+  And from rapacious savages their flocks.
+  Cambria's proud kings (though with reluctance) paid
+  Their tributary wolves; head after head,
+  In full account, till the woods yield no more,
+  And all the ravenous race extinct is lost.
+  In fertile pastures, more securely grazed
+_20
+  The social troops; and soon their large increase
+  With curling fleeces whitened all the plains.
+  But yet, alas! the wily fox remained,
+  A subtle, pilfering foe, prowling around    24
+  In midnight shades, and wakeful to destroy.
+  In the full fold, the poor defenceless lamb,
+  Seized by his guileful arts, with sweet warm blood
+  Supplies a rich repast. The mournful ewe,
+  Her dearest treasure lost, through the dun night
+  Wanders perplexed, and darkling bleats in vain:
+_30
+  While in the adjacent bush, poor Philomel,
+  (Herself a parent once, till wanton churls
+  Despoiled her nest) joins in her loud laments,
+  With sweeter notes, and more melodious woe.
+     For these nocturnal thieves, huntsman, prepare
+  Thy sharpest vengeance. Oh! how glorious 'tis
+  To right the oppressed, and bring the felon vile
+  To just disgrace! Ere yet the morning peep,
+  Or stars retire from the first blush of day,
+  With thy far-echoing voice alarm thy pack,
+_40
+  And rouse thy bold compeers. Then to the copse,
+  Thick with entangling grass, or prickly furze,
+  With silence lead thy many-coloured hounds,
+  In all their beauty's pride. See! how they range
+  Dispersed, how busily this way and that,
+  They cross, examining with curious nose
+  Each likely haunt. Hark! on the drag I hear
+  Their doubtful notes, preluding to a cry
+  More nobly full, and swelled with every mouth.
+  As straggling armies at the trumpet's voice,
+_50
+  Press to their standard; hither all repair,
+  And hurry through the woods; with hasty step
+  Bustling, and full of hope; now driven on heaps
+  They push, they strive; while from his kennel sneaks
+  The conscious villain. See! he skulks along,
+  Sleek at the shepherd's cost, and plump with meals
+  Purloined. So thrive the wicked here below.
+  Though high his brush he bear, though tipped with white
+  It gaily shine; yet ere the sun declined
+  Recall the shades of night, the pampered rogue
+_60
+  Shall rue his fate reversed; and at his heels
+  Behold the just avenger, swift to seize
+  His forfeit head, and thirsting for his blood.
+     Heavens! what melodious strains! how beat our  hearts
+  Big with tumultuous joy! the loaded gales
+  Breathe harmony; and as the tempest drives
+  From wood to wood, through every dark recess
+  The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.
+  The chorus swells; less various, and less sweet
+  The trilling notes, when in those very groves,
+_70
+  The feathered choristers salute the spring,
+  And every bush in concert joins; or when
+  The master's hand, in modulated air,
+  Bids the loud organ breathe, and all the powers
+  Of music in one instrument combine,
+  An universal minstrelsy. And now
+  In vain each earth he tries, the doors are barred
+  Impregnable, nor is the covert safe;
+  He pants for purer air. Hark! what loud shouts
+  Re-echo through the groves! he breaks away,
+_80
+  Shrill horns proclaim his flight. Each straggling hound
+  Strains o'er the lawn to reach the distant pack.
+  'Tis triumph all and joy. Now, my brave youths,
+  Now give a loose to the clean generous steed;
+  Flourish the whip, nor spare the galling spur;
+  But in the madness of delight, forget
+  Your fears. Far o'er the rocky hills we range,
+  And dangerous our course; but in the brave
+  True courage never fails. In vain the stream
+  In foaming eddies whirls; in vain the ditch
+_90
+  Wide-gaping threatens death. The craggy steep
+  Where the poor dizzy shepherd crawls with care,
+  And clings to every twig, gives us no pain;
+  But down we sweep, as stoops the falcon bold
+  To pounce his prey. Then up the opponent hill,
+  By the swift motion slung, we mount aloft:
+  So ships in winter-seas now sliding sink
+  Adown the steepy wave, then tossed on high
+  Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.
+     What lengths we pass! where will the wandering  chase
+_100
+  Lead us bewildered! smooth as the swallows skim
+  The new-shorn mead, and far more swift we fly.
+  See my brave pack! how to the head they press,
+  Jostling in close array; then more diffuse
+  Obliquely wheel, while from their opening mouths
+  The vollied thunder breaks. So when the cranes
+  Their annual voyage steer, with wanton wing
+  Their figure oft they change, and their loud clang
+  From cloud to cloud rebounds. How far behind
+  The hunter-crew, wide straggling o'er the plain!
+_110
+  The panting courser now with trembling nerves
+  Begins to reel; urged by the goring spur,
+  Makes many a faint effort: he snorts, he foams,
+  The big round drops run trickling down his sides,
+  With sweat and blood distained. Look back and view
+  The strange confusion of the vale below,
+  Where sour vexation reigns; see yon poor jade,
+  In vain the impatient rider frets and swears,
+  With galling spurs harrows his mangled sides;
+  He can no more: his stiff unpliant limbs
+_120
+  Rooted in earth, unmoved and fixed he stands,
+  For every cruel curse returns a groan,
+  And sobs, and faints, and dies. Who without grief
+  Can view that pampered steed, his master's joy,
+  His minion, and his daily care, well clothed,
+  Well fed with every nicer cate; no cost,
+  No labour spared; who, when the flying chase
+  Broke from the copse, without a rival led
+  The numerous train: now a sad spectacle
+  Of pride brought low, and humbled insolence,
+_130
+  Drove like a panniered ass, and scourged along.
+  While these with loosened reins, and dangling heels,
+  Hang on their reeling palfreys, that scarce bear
+  Their weights; another in the treacherous bog
+  Lies floundering half engulfed. What biting thoughts
+  Torment the abandoned crew! Old age laments
+  His vigour spent: the tall, plump, brawny youth
+  Curses his cumbrous bulk; and envies now
+  The short Pygmean race, he whilom kenn'd
+  With proud insulting leer. A chosen few
+_140
+  Alone the sport enjoy, nor droop beneath
+  Their pleasing toils. Here, huntsman, from this height
+  Observe yon birds of prey; if I can judge,
+  'Tis there the villain lurks; they hover round
+  And claim him as their own. Was I not right?
+  See! there he creeps along; his brush he drags,
+  And sweeps the mire impure; from his wide jaws
+  His tongue unmoistened hangs; symptoms too sure
+  Of sudden death. Ha! yet he flies, nor yields
+  To black despair. But one loose more, and all
+_150
+  His wiles are vain. Hark! through yon village now
+  The rattling clamour rings. The barns, the cots
+  And leafless elms return the joyous sounds.
+  Through every homestall, and through every yard,
+  His midnight walks, panting, forlorn, he flies;
+  Through every hole he sneaks, through every jakes
+  Plunging he wades besmeared, and fondly hopes
+  In a superior stench to lose his own:
+  But faithful to the track, the unerring hounds
+  With peals of echoing vengeance close pursue.
+_160
+  And now distressed, no sheltering covert near,
+  Into the hen-roost creeps, whose walls with gore
+  Distained attest his guilt. There, villain, there
+  Expect thy fate deserved. And soon from thence
+  The pack inquisitive, with clamour loud,
+  Drag out their trembling prize; and on his blood
+  With greedy transport feast. In bolder notes
+  Each sounding horn proclaims the felon dead:
+  And all the assembled village shouts for joy.
+  The farmer who beholds his mortal foe
+_170
+  Stretched at his feet, applauds the glorious deed,
+  And grateful calls us to a short repast!
+  In the full glass the liquid amber smiles,
+  Our native product. And his good old mate
+  With choicest viands heaps the liberal board,
+  To crown our triumphs, and reward our toils.
+     Here must the instructive Muse (but with respect)
+  Censure that numerous pack, that crowd of state,
+  With which the vain profusion of the great
+  Covers the lawn, and shakes the trembling copse.
+_180
+  Pompous incumbrance! A magnificence
+  Useless, vexatious! For the wily fox,
+  Safe in the increasing number of his foes,
+  Kens well the great advantage: slinks behind
+  And slily creeps through the same beaten track,
+  And hunts them step by step; then views escaped
+  With inward ecstasy, the panting throng
+  In their own footsteps puzzled, foiled and lost.
+  So when proud Eastern kings summon to arms
+  Their gaudy legions, from far distant climes
+_190
+  They flock in crowds, unpeopling half a world:
+  But when the day of battle calls them forth
+  To charge the well-trained foe, a band compact
+  Of chosen veterans; they press blindly on,
+  In heaps confused, by their own weapons fall,
+  A smoking carnage scattered o'er the plain.
+     Nor hounds alone this noxious brood destroy:
+  The plundered warrener full many a wile
+  Devises to entrap his greedy foe,
+  Fat with nocturnal spoils. At close of day,
+_200
+  With silence drags his trail; then from the ground
+  Pares thin the close-grazed turf, there with nice hand
+  Covers the latent death, with curious springs
+  Prepared to fly at once, whene'er the tread
+  Of man or beast unwarily shall press
+  The yielding surface. By the indented steel
+  With gripe tenacious held, the felon grins,
+  And struggles, but in vain: yet oft 'tis known,
+  When every art has failed, the captive fox
+  Has shared the wounded joint, and with a limb
+_210
+  Compounded for his life. But if perchance
+  In the deep pitfall plunged, there's no escape;
+  But unreprieved he dies, and bleached in air
+  The jest of clowns, his reeking carcase hangs.
+     Of these are various kinds; not even the king
+  Of brutes evades this deep devouring grave:
+  But by the wily African betrayed,
+  Heedless of fate, within its gaping jaws
+  Expires indignant. When the orient beam
+  With blushes paints the dawn; and all the race
+_220
+  Carnivorous, with blood full-gorged, retire
+  Into their darksome cells, there satiate snore
+  O'er dripping offals, and the mangled limbs
+  Of men and beasts; the painful forester    224
+  Climbs the high hills, whose proud aspiring tops,
+  With the tall cedar crowned, and taper fir,
+  Assail the clouds. There 'mong the craggy rocks,
+  And thickets intricate, trembling he views
+  His footsteps in the sand; the dismal road
+  And avenue to death. Hither he calls
+_230
+  His watchful bands; and low into the ground
+  A pit they sink, full many a fathom deep.
+  Then in the midst a column high is reared,
+  The butt of some fair tree; upon whose top
+  A lamb is placed, just ravished from his dam.
+  And next a wall they build, with stones and earth
+  Encircling round, and hiding from all view
+  The dreadful precipice. Now when the shades
+  Of night hang lowering o'er the mountain's brow;
+  And hunger keen, and pungent thirst of blood,
+_240
+  Rouse up the slothful beast, he shakes his sides,
+  Slow-rising from his lair, and stretches wide
+  His ravenous jaws, with recent gore distained.
+  The forests tremble, as he roars aloud,
+  Impatient to destroy. O'erjoyed he hears
+  The bleating innocent, that claims in vain
+  The shepherd's care, and seeks with piteous moan
+  The foodful teat; himself, alas! designed
+  Another's meal. For now the greedy brute
+  Winds him from far; and leaping o'er the mound
+_250
+  To seize his trembling prey, headlong is plunged
+  Into the deep abyss. Prostrate he lies
+  Astunned and impotent. Ah! what avail
+  Thine eye-balls flashing fire, thy length of tail,
+  That lashes thy broad sides, thy jaws besmeared
+  With blood and offals crude, thy shaggy mane
+  The terror of the woods, thy stately port,
+  And bulk enormous, since by stratagem
+  Thy strength is foiled? Unequal is the strife,
+  When sovereign reason combats brutal rage.
+_260
+     On distant Ethiopia's sun-burnt coasts,
+  The black inhabitants a pitfall frame,
+  But of a different kind, and different use.
+  With slender poles the wide capacious mouth,
+  And hurdles slight, they close; o'er these is spread
+  A floor of verdant turf, with all its flowers
+  Smiling delusive, and from strictest search
+  Concealing the deep grave that yawns below.
+  Then boughs of trees they cut, with tempting fruit
+  Of various kinds surcharged; the downy peach,
+_270
+  The clustering vine, and of bright golden rind
+  The fragrant orange. Soon as evening gray
+  Advances slow, besprinkling all around
+  With kind refreshing dews the thirsty glebe,
+  The stately elephant from the close shade
+  With step majestic strides, eager to taste
+  The cooler breeze, that from the sea-beat shore
+  Delightful breathes, or in the limpid stream
+  To lave his panting sides; joyous he scents
+  The rich repast, unweeting of the death
+_280
+  That lurks within. And soon he sporting breaks
+  The brittle boughs, and greedily devours
+  The fruit delicious. Ah! too dearly bought;
+  The price is life. For now the treacherous turf
+  Trembling gives way; and the unwieldy beast
+  Self-sinking, drops into the dark profound.
+  So when dilated vapours, struggling heave
+  The incumbent earth; if chance the caverned ground
+  Shrinking subside, and the thin surface yield,
+  Down sinks at once the ponderous dome, engulfed
+_290
+  With all its towers. Subtle, delusive man!
+  How various are thy wiles! artful to kill
+  Thy savage foes, a dull unthinking race!
+  Fierce from his lair, springs forth the speckled pard,
+  Thirsting for blood, and eager to destroy;
+  The huntsman flies, but to his flight alone
+  Confides not: at convenient distance fixed,
+  A polished mirror stops in full career
+  The furious brute: he there his image views;
+  Spots against spots with rage improving glow;
+_300
+  Another pard his bristly whiskers curls,
+  Grins as he grins, fierce-menacing, and wide
+  Distends his opening jaws; himself against
+  Himself opposed, and with dread vengeance armed.
+  The huntsman now secure, with fatal aim
+  Directs the pointed spear, by which transfixed
+  He dies, and with him dies the rival shade.
+  Thus man innumerous engines forms, to assail
+  The savage kind: but most the docile horse,
+  Swift and confederate with man, annoys
+_310
+  His brethren of the plains; without whose aid
+  The hunter's arts are vain, unskilled to wage
+  With the more active brutes an equal war.
+  But borne by him, without the well-trained pack,
+  Man dares his foe, on wings of wind secure.
+     Him the fierce Arab mounts, and with his troop
+  Of bold compeers, ranges the deserts wild,
+  Where by the magnet's aid, the traveller
+  Steers his untrodden course; yet oft on land
+  Is wrecked, in the high-rolling waves of sand
+_320
+  Immersed and lost; while these intrepid bands,
+  Safe in their horses' speed, out-fly the storm,
+  And scouring round, make men and beasts their prey.
+  The grisly boar is singled from his herd
+  As large as that in Erimanthian woods.
+  A match for Hercules. Round him they fly
+  In circles wide; and each in passing sends
+  His feathered death into his brawny sides.
+  But perilous the attempt. For if the steed
+  Haply too near approach; or the loose earth
+_330
+  His footing fail; the watchful angry beast
+  The advantage spies; and at one sidelong glance
+  Rips up his groin. Wounded, he rears aloft,
+  And plunging, from his back the rider hurls
+  Precipitant; then bleeding spurns the ground,
+  And drags his reeking entrails o'er the plain.
+  Meanwhile the surly monster trots along,
+  But with unequal speed; for still they wound,
+  Swift-wheeling in the spacious ring. A wood
+  Of darts upon his back he bears; adown
+_340
+  His tortured sides, the crimson torrents roll
+  From many a gaping font. And now at last
+  Staggering he falls, in blood and foam expires.
+     But whither roves my devious Muse, intent
+  On antique tales, while yet the royal stag
+  Unsung remains? Tread with respectful awe
+  Windsor's green glades; where Denham, tuneful bard,
+  Charmed once the listening dryads, with his song
+  Sublimely sweet. Oh! grant me, sacred shade,
+  To glean submiss what thy full sickle leaves.
+_350
+     The morning sun that gilds with trembling rays
+  Windsor's high towers, beholds the courtly train
+  Mount for the chase, nor views in all his course
+  A scene so gay: heroic, noble youths,
+  In arts and arms renowned, and lovely nymphs
+  The fairest of this isle, where Beauty dwells
+  Delighted, and deserts her Paphian grove
+  For our more favoured shades: in proud parade
+  These shine magnificent, and press around
+  The royal happy pair. Great in themselves,
+_360
+  They smile superior; of external show
+  Regardless, while their inbred virtues give
+  A lustre to their power, and grace their court
+  With real splendours, far above the pomp
+  Of eastern kings, in all their tinsel pride.
+  Like troops of Amazons, the female band
+  Prance round their cars, not in refulgent arms
+  As those of old; unskilled to wield the sword,
+  Or bend the bow, these kill with surer aim.
+  The royal offspring, fairest of the fair,
+_370
+  Lead on the splendid train. Anna, more bright
+  Than summer suns, or as the lightning keen,
+  With irresistible effulgence armed,
+  Fires every heart. He must be more than man,
+  Who unconcerned can bear the piercing ray.
+  Amelia, milder than the blushing dawn,
+  With sweet engaging air, but equal power,
+  Insensibly subdues, and in soft chains
+  Her willing captives leads. Illustrious maids,
+  Ever triumphant! whose victorious charms,
+_380
+  Without the needless aid of high descent,
+  Had awed mankind, and taught the world's great lords
+  To bow and sue for grace. But who is he
+  Fresh as a rose-bud newly blown, and fair
+  As opening lilies; on whom every eye
+  With joy and admiration dwells? See, see,
+  He reins his docile barb with manly grace.
+  Is it Adonis for the chase arrayed?
+  Or Britain's second hope? Hail, blooming youth![9]
+  May all your virtues with your years improve,
+_390
+  Till in consumate worth, you shine the pride
+  Of these our days, and to succeeding times
+  A bright example. As his guard of mutes
+  On the great sultan wait, with eyes deject
+  And fixed on earth, no voice, no sound is heard
+  Within the wide serail, but all is hushed,
+  And awful silence reigns; thus stand the pack
+  Mute and unmoved, and cowering low to earth,
+  While pass the glittering court, and royal pair:
+  So disciplined those hounds, and so reserved,
+_400
+  Whose honour 'tis to glad the hearts of kings.
+   But soon the winding horn, and huntsman's voice,
+  Let loose the general chorus; far around
+  Joy spreads its wings, and the gay morning smiles.
+     Unharboured now the royal stag forsakes
+  His wonted lair; he shakes his dappled sides,
+  And tosses high his beamy head, the copse
+  Beneath his antlers bends. What doubling shifts
+  He tries! not more the wily hare; in these
+  Would still persist, did not the full-mouthed pack
+_410
+  With dreadful concert thunder in his rear.
+  The woods reply, the hunter's cheering shouts
+  Float through the glades, and the wide forest rings.
+  How merrily they chant! their nostrils deep
+  Inhale the grateful steam. Such is the cry,
+  And such the harmonious din, the soldier deems
+  The battle kindling, and the statesman grave
+  Forgets his weighty cares; each age, each sex
+  In the wild transport joins; luxuriant joy,
+  And pleasure in excess, sparkling exult
+_420
+  On every brow, and revel unrestrained.
+  How happy art thou, man, when thou 'rt no more
+  Thyself! when all the pangs that grind thy soul,
+  In rapture and in sweet oblivion lost,
+  Yield a short interval, and ease from pain!
+     See the swift courser strains, his shining hoofs
+  Securely beat the solid ground. Who now
+  The dangerous pitfall fears, with tangling heath
+  High-overgrown? Or who the quivering bog
+  Soft yielding to the step? All now is plain,
+_430
+  Plain as the strand sea-laved, that stretches far
+  Beneath the rocky shore. Glades crossing glades
+  The forest opens to our wondering view:
+  Such was the king's command. Let tyrants fierce
+  Lay waste the world; his the more glorious part
+  To check their pride; and when the brazen voice
+  Of war is hushed (as erst victorious Rome)
+  To employ his stationed legions in the works
+  Of peace; to smoothe the rugged wilderness,
+  To drain the stagnate fen, to raise the slope
+_440
+  Depending road, and to make gay the face
+  Of nature, with the embellishments of art.
+     How melts my beating heart! as I behold
+  Each lovely nymph our island's boast and pride,
+  Push on the generous steed, that strokes along
+  O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill,
+  Nor falters in the extended vale below:
+  Their garments loosely waving in the wind,
+  And all the flush of beauty in their cheeks!
+  While at their sides their pensive lovers wait,
+_450
+  Direct their dubious course; now chilled with fear
+  Solicitous, and now with love inflamed.
+  Oh! grant, indulgent Heaven, no rising storm
+  May darken with black wings, this glorious scene!
+  Should some malignant power thus damp our joys,
+  Vain were the gloomy cave, such as of old
+  Betrayed to lawless love the Tyrian queen.
+  For Britain's virtuous nymphs are chaste as fair,
+  Spotless, unblamed, with equal triumph reign
+  In the dun gloom, as in the blaze of day.
+_460
+     Now the blown stag, through woods, bogs, roads, and streams
+  Has measured half the forest; but alas!
+  He flies in vain, he flies not from his fears.
+  Though far he cast the lingering pack behind,
+  His haggard fancy still with horror views
+  The fell destroyer; still the fatal cry
+  Insults his ears, and wounds his trembling heart.
+  So the poor fury-haunted wretch (his hands
+  In guiltless blood distained) still seems to hear
+
+  The dying shrieks; and the pale threatening ghost
+_470
+  Moves as he moves, and as he flies pursues.
+  See here his slot; up yon green hill he climbs,
+  Pants on its brow a while, sadly looks back
+  On his pursuers, covering all the plain;
+  But wrung with anguish, bears not long the sight,
+  Shoots down the steep, and sweats along the vale:
+  There mingles with the herd, where once he reigned
+  Proud monarch of the groves, whose clashing beam
+
+  His rivals awed, and whose exalted power
+  Was still rewarded with successful love.
+_480
+  But the base herd have learned the ways of men,
+  Averse they fly, or with rebellious aim
+  Chase him from thence: needless their impious deed,
+  The huntsman knows him by a thousand marks,
+  Black, and embossed; nor are his hounds deceived;
+  Too well distinguish these, and never leave
+  Their once devoted foe; familiar grows
+  His scent, and strong their appetite to kill.
+  Again he flies, and with redoubled speed
+  Skims o'er the lawn; still the tenacious crew
+_490
+  Hang on the track, aloud demand their prey,
+  And push him many a league. If haply then
+  Too far escaped, and the gay courtly train
+  Behind are cast, the huntsman's clanging whip
+  Stops full their bold career; passive they stand,
+  Unmoved, an humble, an obsequious crowd,
+  As if by stern Medusa gazed to stones.
+  So at their general's voice whole armies halt
+  In full pursuit, and check their thirst of blood.
+  Soon at the king's command, like hasty streams
+_500
+  Dammed up a while, they foam, and pour along
+  With fresh-recruited might. The stag, who hoped
+  His foes were lost, now once more hears astunned
+  The dreadful din; he shivers every limb,
+  He starts, he bounds; each bush presents a foe.
+  Pressed by the fresh relay, no pause allowed,
+  Breathless, and faint, he falters in his pace,
+  And lifts his weary limbs with pain, that scarce
+  Sustain their load! he pants, he sobs appalled;
+  Drops down his heavy head to earth, beneath
+_510
+  His cumbrous beams oppressed. But if perchance
+  Some prying eye surprise him; soon he rears
+  Erect his towering front, bounds o'er the lawn
+  With ill-dissembled vigour, to amuse
+  The knowing forester; who inly smiles
+
+  At his weak shifts, and unavailing frauds.
+  So midnight tapers waste their last remains,
+  Shine forth a while, and as they blaze expire.
+  From wood to wood redoubling thunders roll,
+  And bellow through the vales; the moving storm
+_520
+  Thickens amain, and loud triumphant shouts,
+  And horns shrill-warbling in each glade, prelude
+  To his approaching fate. And now in view
+  With hobbling gait, and high, exerts amazed
+  What strength is left: to the last dregs of life
+  Reduced, his spirits fail, on every side
+  Hemmed in, besieged; not the least opening left
+  To gleaming hope, the unhappy's last reserve.
+  Where shall he turn? or whither fly? Despair
+  Gives courage to the weak. Resolved to die,
+_530
+  He fears no more, but rushes on his foes,
+  And deals his deaths around; beneath his feet
+  These grovelling lie, those by his antlers gored
+  Defile the ensanguined plain. Ah! see distressed
+  He stands at bay against yon knotty trunk,
+  That covers well his rear, his front presents
+  An host of foes. Oh! shun, ye noble train,
+  The rude encounter, and believe your lives
+  Your country's due alone. As now aloof
+  They wing around, he finds his soul upraised
+_540
+  To dare some great exploit; he charges home
+  Upon the broken pack, that on each side
+  Fly diverse; then as o'er the turf he strains,
+  He vents the cooling stream, and up the breeze
+  Urges his course with eager violence:
+  Then takes the soil, and plunges in the flood
+  Precipitant; down the mid-stream he wafts
+  Along, till (like a ship distressed, that runs
+  Into some winding creek) close to the verge
+  Of a small island, for his weary feet
+_550
+  Sure anchorage he finds, there skulks immersed.
+  His nose alone above the wave draws in
+  The vital air; all else beneath the flood
+  Concealed, and lost, deceives each prying eye
+  Of man or brute. In vain the crowding pack
+  Draw on the margin of the stream, or cut
+  The liquid wave with oary feet, that move
+  In equal time. The gliding waters leave
+  No trace behind, and his contracted pores
+  But sparingly perspire: the huntsman strains
+_560
+  His labouring lungs, and puffs his cheeks in vain;
+  At length a blood-hound bold, studious to kill,
+  And exquisite of sense, winds him from far;
+  Headlong he leaps into the flood, his mouth
+  Loud opening spends amain, and his wide throat
+  Swells every note with joy; then fearless dives
+  Beneath the wave, hangs on his haunch, and wounds
+  The unhappy brute, that flounders in the stream,
+  Sorely distressed, and struggling strives to mount
+  The steepy shore. Haply once more escaped,
+_570
+  Again he stands at bay, amid the groves
+  Of willows, bending low their downy heads.
+  Outrageous transport fires the greedy pack;
+  These swim the deep, and those crawl up with pain
+  The slippery bank, while others on firm land
+  Engage; the stag repels each bold assault,
+  Maintains his post, and wounds for wounds returns.
+  As when some wily corsair boards a ship
+  Full-freighted, or from Afric's golden coasts,
+  Or India's wealthy strand, his bloody crew
+_580
+  Upon her deck he slings; these in the deep
+  Drop short, and swim to reach her steepy sides,
+  And clinging, climb aloft; while those on board
+  Urge on the work of fate; the master bold,
+  Pressed to his last retreat, bravely resolves
+  To sink his wealth beneath the whelming wave,
+  His wealth, his foes, nor unrevenged to die.
+  So fares it with the stag: so he resolves
+  To plunge at once into the flood below,
+  Himself, his foes in one deep gulf immersed.
+_590
+  Ere yet he executes this dire intent,
+  In wild disorder once more views the light;
+  Beneath a weight of woe, he groans distressed:
+  The tears run trickling down his hairy cheeks;
+  He weeps, nor weeps in vain. The king beholds
+  His wretched plight, and tenderness innate
+  Moves his great soul. Soon at his high command
+  Rebuked, the disappointed, hungry pack
+  Retire submiss, and grumbling quit their prey.
+     Great Prince! from thee, what may thy subjects hope;
+_600
+  So kind, and so beneficent to brutes?
+  O mercy, heavenly born! Sweet attribute!
+  Thou great, thou best prerogative of power!
+  Justice may guard the throne, but joined with thee,
+  On rocks of adamant it stands secure,
+  And braves the storm beneath; soon as thy smiles
+  Gild the rough deep, the foaming waves subside,
+  And all the noisy tumult sinks in peace.
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+THE ARGUMENT.
+
+
+Of the necessity of destroying some beasts, and preserving others for the
+use of man.--Of breeding of hounds; the season for this business.--The
+choice of the dog, of great moment.--Of the litter of whelps.--Number to
+be reared.--Of setting them out to their several walks.--Care to be taken
+to prevent their hunting too soon.--Of entering the whelps.--Of breaking
+them from running at sheep.-Of the diseases of hounds.-Of their age.--Of
+madness; two sorts of it described, the dumb, and outrageous madness: its
+dreadful effects.--Burning of the wound recommended as preventing all ill
+consequences.--The infectious hounds to be separated, and fed apart.--The
+vanity of trusting to the many infallible cures for this malady.--The
+dismal effects of the biting of a mad dog, upon man, described.
+--Description of the otter hunting.--The conclusion.
+
+  Whate'er of earth is formed, to earth returns
+  Dissolved: the various objects we behold,
+  Plants, animals, this whole material mass,
+  Are ever changing, ever new. The soul
+  Of man alone, that particle divine,
+  Escapes the wreck of worlds, when all things fail.
+  Hence great the distance 'twixt the beasts that perish,
+  And God's bright image, man's immortal race.
+  The brute creation are his property,
+  Subservient to his will, and for him made.
+_10
+  As hurtful these he kills, as useful those
+  Preserves; their sole and arbitrary king.
+  Should he not kill, as erst the Samian sage
+  Taught unadvised, and Indian Brahmins now
+  As vainly preach; the teeming ravenous brutes
+  Might fill the scanty space of this terrene,
+  Encumbering all the globe: should not his care
+  Improve his growing stock, their kinds might fail,
+  Man might once more on roots, and acorns, feed,
+  And through the deserts range, shivering, forlorn,
+_20
+  Quite destitute of every solace dear,
+  And every smiling gaiety of life.
+     The prudent huntsman, therefore, will supply,
+  With annual large recruits, his broken pack,
+  And propagate their kind. As from the root
+  Fresh scions still spring forth, and daily yield
+  New blooming honours to the parent-tree;
+  Far shall his pack be famed, far sought his breed,
+  And princes at their tables feast those hounds
+  His hand presents, an acceptable boon.
+_30
+     Ere yet the Sun through the bright Ram has urged
+  His steepy course, or mother Earth unbound
+  Her frozen bosom to the western gale;
+  When feathered troops, their social leagues dissolved,
+  Select their mates, and on the leafless elm
+  The noisy rook builds high her wicker nest;
+  Mark well the wanton females of thy pack,
+  That curl their taper tails, and frisking court
+  Their pyebald mates enamoured; their red eyes
+  Flash fires impure; nor rest, nor food they take,
+_40
+  Goaded by furious love. In separate cells
+  Confine them now, lest bloody civil wars
+  Annoy thy peaceful state. If left at large,
+  The growling rivals in dread battle join,
+  And rude encounter. On Scamander's streams
+  Heroes of old with far less fury fought,
+  For the bright Spartan dame, their valour's prize.
+  Mangled and torn thy favourite hounds shall lie,
+  Stretched on the ground; thy kennel shall appear
+  A field of blood: like some unhappy town
+_50
+  In civil broils confused, while Discord shakes
+  Her bloody scourge aloft, fierce parties rage,
+  Staining their impious hands in mutual death.
+  And still the best beloved, and bravest fall:
+  Such are the dire effects of lawless love.
+     Huntsman! these ills by timely prudent care
+  Prevent: for every longing dame select
+  Some happy paramour; to him alone
+  In leagues connubial join. Consider well
+  His lineage; what his fathers did of old,
+_60
+  Chiefs of the pack, and first to climb the rock,
+  Or plunge into the deep, or thread the brake
+  With thorns sharp-pointed, plashed, and briers inwoven.
+  Observe with care his shape, sort, colour, size.
+  Nor will sagacious huntsmen less regard
+  His inward habits: the vain babbler shun,
+  Ever loquacious, ever in the wrong.
+  His foolish offspring shall offend thy ears
+  With false alarms, and loud impertinence.
+  Nor less the shifting cur avoid, that breaks
+_70
+  Illusive from the pack; to the next hedge
+  Devious he strays, there every mews he tries:
+  If haply then he cross the steaming scent,
+  Away he flies vain-glorious; and exults
+  As of the pack supreme, and in his speed
+  And strength unrivalled. Lo! cast far behind
+  His vexed associates pant, and labouring strain
+  To climb the steep ascent. Soon as they reach
+  The insulting boaster, his false courage fails,
+  Behind he lags, doomed to the fatal noose,
+_80
+  His master's hate, and scorn of all the field.
+  What can from such be hoped, but a base brood
+  Of coward curs, a frantic, vagrant race?
+     When now the third revolving moon appears,
+  With sharpened horns, above the horizon's brink;
+  Without Lucina's aid, expect thy hopes
+  Are amply crowned; short pangs produce to light
+  The smoking litter; crawling, helpless, blind,
+  Nature their guide, they seek the pouting teat
+  That plenteous streams. Soon as the tender dam
+_90
+  Has formed them with her tongue, with pleasure view
+  The marks of their renowned progenitors,
+  Sure pledge of triumphs yet to come. All these
+  Select with joy; but to the merciless flood
+  Expose the dwindling refuse, nor o'erload
+  The indulgent mother. If thy heart relent,
+  Unwilling to destroy, a nurse provide,
+  And to the foster-parent give the care
+  Of thy superfluous brood; she'll cherish kind
+  The alien offspring; pleased thou shalt behold
+_100
+  Her tenderness, and hospitable love.
+      If frolic now, and playful they desert
+  Their gloomy cell, and on the verdant turf
+  With nerves improved, pursue the mimic chase,
+  Coursing around; unto thy choicest friends
+  Commit thy valued prize: the rustic dames
+  Shall at thy kennel wait, and in their laps
+  Receive thy growing hopes, with many a kiss
+  Caress, and dignify their little charge
+  With some great title, and resounding name
+_110
+  Of high import. But cautious here observe
+  To check their youthful ardour, nor permit
+  The unexperienced younker, immature,
+  Alone to range the woods, or haunt the brakes
+  Where dodging conies sport: his nerves unstrung,
+  And strength unequal; the laborious chase
+  Shall stint his growth, and his rash forward youth
+  Contract such vicious habits, as thy care
+  And late correction never shall reclaim.
+     When to full strength arrived, mature and bold,
+_120
+  Conduct them to the field; not all at once
+  But as thy cooler prudence shall direct,
+  Select a few, and form them by degrees
+  To stricter discipline. With these consort
+  The stanch and steady sages of thy pack,
+  By long experience versed in all the wiles,
+  And subtle doublings of the various chase.
+  Easy the lesson of the youthful train,
+  When instinct prompts, and when example guides.
+  If the too forward younker at the head
+_130
+  Press boldly on, in wanton sportive mood,
+  Correct his haste, and let him feel abashed
+  The ruling whip. But if he stoop behind
+  In wary modest guise, to his own nose
+  Confiding sure; give him full scope to work
+  His winding way, and with thy voice applaud
+  His patience, and his care; soon shalt thou view
+  The hopeful pupil leader of his tribe,
+  And all the listening pack attend his call.
+     Oft lead them forth where wanton lambkins play,
+_140
+  And bleating dams with jealous eyes observe
+  Their tender care. If at the crowding flock
+  He bay presumptuous, or with eager haste
+  Pursue them scattered o'er the verdant plain;
+  In the foul fact attached, to the strong ram
+  Tie fast the rash offender. See! at first
+  His horned companion, fearful, and amazed,
+  Shall drag him trembling o'er the rugged ground;
+  Then with his load fatigued, shall turn a-head,
+   And with his curled hard front incessant peal
+_150
+  The panting wretch; till breathless and astunned,
+  Stretched on the turf he lie. Then spare not thou
+  The twining whip, but ply his bleeding sides
+  Lash after lash, and with thy threatening voice,
+  Harsh-echoing from the hills, inculcate loud
+  His vile offence. Sooner shall trembling doves
+  Escaped the hawk's sharp talons, in mid air,
+  Assail their dangerous foe, than he once more
+  Disturb the peaceful flocks. In tender age
+  Thus youth is trained; as curious artists bend
+_160
+  The taper, pliant twig; or potters form
+  Their soft and ductile clay to various shapes.
+     Nor is't enough to breed; but to preserve
+  Must be the huntsman's care. The stanch old hounds
+  Guides of thy pack, though but in number few,
+  Are yet of great account; shall oft untie
+  The Gordian knot, when reason at a stand
+  Puzzling is lost, and all thy art is vain.
+  O'er clogging fallows, o'er dry plastered roads,
+  O'er floated meads, o'er plains with flocks distained
+_170
+  Rank-scenting, these must lead the dubious way.
+  As party-chiefs in senates who preside,
+  With pleaded reason and with well turned speech
+  Conduct the staring multitude; so these
+  Direct the pack, who with joint cry approve,
+  And loudly boast discoveries not their own.
+     Unnumbered accidents, and various ills,
+  Attend thy pack, hang hovering o'er their heads,
+  And point the way that leads to Death's dark cave.
+  Short is their span; few at the date arrive
+  Of ancient Argus in old Homer's song
+_180
+  So highly honoured: kind, sagacious brute!
+  Not even Minerva's wisdom could conceal
+  Thy much-loved master from thy nicer sense.
+  Dying, his lord he owned, viewed him all o'er
+  With eager eyes, then closed those eyes, well pleased.
+     Of lesser ills the Muse declines to sing,
+  Nor stoops so low; of these each groom can tell
+  The proper remedy. But oh! what care!
+  What prudence can prevent madness, the worst
+  Of maladies? Terrific pest! that blasts
+_190
+  The huntsman's hopes, and desolation spreads
+  Through all the unpeopled kennel unrestrained.
+  More fatal than the envenomed viper's bite;
+  Or that Apulian[10] spider's poisonous sting,
+  Healed by the pleasing antidote of sounds.
+     When Sirius reigns, and the sun's parching beams
+  Bake the dry gaping surface, visit thou
+  Each even and morn, with quick observant eye,
+  Thy panting pack. If in dark sullen mood,
+  The gloating hound refuse his wonted meal,
+_200
+  Retiring to some close, obscure retreat,
+  Gloomy, disconsolate: with speed remove
+  The poor infectious wretch, and in strong chains
+  Bind him suspected. Thus that dire disease
+  Which art can't cure, wise caution may prevent.
+     But this neglected, soon expect a change,
+  A dismal change, confusion, frenzy, death.
+  Or in some dark recess the senseless brute
+  Sits sadly pining: deep melancholy,
+  And black despair, upon his clouded brow
+_210
+  Hang lowering; from his half-opening jaws
+  The clammy venom, and infectious froth,
+  Distilling fall; and from his lungs inflamed,
+  Malignant vapours taint the ambient air,
+  Breathing perdition: his dim eyes are glazed,
+  He droops his pensive head, his trembling limbs
+  No more support his weight; abject he lies,
+  Dumb, spiritless, benumbed; till death at last
+  Gracious attends, and kindly brings relief.
+     Or if outrageous grown, behold alas!
+_220
+  A yet more dreadful scene; his glaring eye
+  Redden with fury, like some angry boar
+  Churning he foams; and on his back erect
+  His pointed bristles rise; his tail incurved
+  He drops, and with harsh broken bowlings rends
+  The poison-tainted air, with rough hoarse voice
+  Incessant bays; and snuff's the infectious breeze;
+  This way and that he stares aghast, and starts
+  At his own shade; jealous, as if he deemed
+  The world his foes. If haply toward the stream
+_230
+  He cast his roving eye, cold horror chills
+  His soul; averse he flies, trembling, appalled.
+  Now frantic to the kennel's utmost verge
+  Raving he runs, and deals destruction round.
+  The pack fly diverse; for whate'er he meets
+  Vengeful he bites, and every bite is death.
+     If now perchance through the weak fence escaped,
+  Far up the wind he roves, with open mouth
+  Inhales the cooling breeze, nor man, nor beast
+   He spares, implacable. The hunter-horse,
+_240
+  Once kind associate of his sylvan toils,
+  (Who haply now without the kennel's mound
+  Crops the rank mead, and listening hears with joy
+  The cheering cry, that morn and eve salutes
+  His raptured sense) a wretched victim falls.
+  Unhappy quadruped! no more, alas!
+  Shall thy fond master with his voice applaud
+  Thy gentleness, thy speed; or with his hand
+  Stroke thy soft dappled sides, as he each day
+  Visits thy stall, well pleased; no more shalt thou
+_250
+  With sprightly neighings, to the winding horn
+  And the loud opening pack in concert joined,
+  Glad his proud heart. For oh! the secret wound
+  Rankling inflames, he bites the ground and dies.
+     Hence to the village with pernicious haste
+  Baleful he bends his course: the village flies
+  Alarmed; the tender mother in her arms
+  Hugs close the trembling babe; the doors are barred,
+  And flying curs, by native instinct taught,
+  Shun the contagious bane; the rustic bands
+_260
+  Hurry to arms, the rude militia seize
+  Whate'er at hand they find; clubs, forks, or guns
+  From every quarter charge the furious foe,
+  In wild disorder, and uncouth array:
+  Till now with wounds on wounds oppressed and gored,
+  At one short poisonous gasp he breathes his last.
+     Hence to the kennel, Muse, return, and view
+  With heavy heart that hospital of woe:
+  Where Horror stalks at large; insatiate Death
+  Sits growling o'er his prey: each hour presents
+_270
+  A different scene of ruin and distress.
+  How busy art thou, Fate! and how severe
+  Thy pointed wrath! the dying and the dead
+  Promiscuous lie; o'er these the living fight
+  In one eternal broil; not conscious why,
+  Nor yet with whom. So drunkards in their cups,
+  Spare not their friends, while senseless squabble reigns.
+     Huntsman! it much behoves thee to avoid
+  The perilous debate! Ah! rouse up all
+  Thy vigilance, and tread the treacherous ground
+_280
+  With careful step. Thy fires unquenched preserve,
+  As erst the vestal flame; the pointed steel
+  In the hot embers hide; and if surprised
+  Thou feel'st the deadly bite, quick urge it home
+  Into the recent sore, and cauterise
+  The wound; spare not thy flesh, nor dread the event:
+  Vulcan shall save when Aesculapius fails.
+     Here, should the knowing Muse recount the means
+  To stop this growing plague. And here, alas!
+  Each hand presents a sovereign cure, and boasts
+_290
+  Infallibility, but boasts in vain.
+  On this depend, each to his separate seat
+  Confine, in fetters bound; give each his mess
+  Apart, his range in open air; and then
+  If deadly symptoms to thy grief appear,
+  Devote the wretch, and let him greatly fall,
+  A generous victim for the public weal.
+     Sing, philosophic Muse, the dire effects
+  Of this contagious bite on hapless man.
+  The rustic swains, by long tradition taught
+_300
+  Of leeches old, as soon as they perceive
+  The bite impressed, to the sea-coasts repair.
+  Plunged in the briny flood, the unhappy youth
+  Now journeys home secure; but soon shall wish
+  The seas as yet had covered him beneath
+  The foaming surge, full many a fathom deep.
+  A fate more dismal, and superior ills
+  Hang o'er his head devoted. When the moon,
+  Closing her monthly round, returns again
+  To glad the night; or when full orbed she shines
+_310
+  High in the vault of heaven; the lurking pest
+  Begins the dire assault. The poisonous foam,
+  Through the deep wound instilled with hostile rage,
+  And all its fiery particles saline,
+  Invades the arterial fluid; whose red waves
+  Tempestuous heave, and their cohesion broke,
+  Fermenting boil; intestine war ensues,
+  And order to confusion turns embroiled.
+  Now the distended vessels scarce contain
+  The wild uproar, but press each weaker part,
+_320
+  Unable to resist: the tender brain
+  And stomach suffer most; convulsions shake
+  His trembling nerves, and wandering pungent pains
+  Pinch sore the sleepless wretch; his fluttering pulse
+  Oft intermits; pensive, and sad, he mourns
+  His cruel fate, and to his weeping friends
+  Laments in vain; to hasty anger prone,
+  Resents each slight offence, walks with quick step,
+  And wildly stares; at last with boundless sway
+  The tyrant frenzy reigns. For as the dog
+_330
+  (Whose fatal bite conveyed the infectious bane)
+  Raving he foams, and howls, and barks, and bites.
+  Like agitations in his boiling blood
+  Present like species to his troubled mind;
+  His nature, and his actions all canine.
+  So as (old Homer sung) the associates wild
+  Of wandering Ithacus, by Circe's charms
+  To swine transformed, ran grunting through the groves.
+  Dreadful example to a wicked world!
+  See there distressed he lies! parched up with thirst,
+_340
+  But dares not drink. Till now at last his soul
+  Trembling escapes, her noisome dungeon leaves,
+  And to some purer region wings away.
+     One labour yet remains, celestial Maid!
+  Another element demands thy song.
+  No more o'er craggy steeps, through coverts thick
+  With pointed thorn, and briers intricate,
+  Urge on with horn and voice the painful pack
+  But skim with wanton wing the irriguous vale,
+  Where winding streams amid the flowery meads
+_350
+  Perpetual glide along; and undermine
+  The caverned banks, by the tenacious roots
+  Of hoary willows arched; gloomy retreat
+  Of the bright scaly kind; where they at will,
+  On the green watery reed their pasture graze,
+  Suck the moist soil, or slumber at their ease,
+  Rocked by the restless brook, that draws aslope
+  Its humid train, and laves their dark abodes.
+  Where rages not oppression? Where, alas!
+  Is innocence secure? Rapine and spoil
+_360
+  Haunt even the lowest deeps; seas have their sharks,
+  Rivers and ponds inclose the ravenous pike;
+  He in his turn becomes a prey; on him
+  The amphibious otter feasts. Just is his fate
+  Deserved; but tyrants know no bounds; nor spears
+  That bristle on his back, defend the perch
+  From his wide greedy jaws; nor burnished mail
+  The yellow carp; nor all his arts can save
+  The insinuating eel, that hides his head
+  Beneath the slimy mud; nor yet escapes
+_370
+  The crimson-spotted trout, the river's pride,
+  And beauty of the stream. Without remorse,
+  This midnight pillager ranging around,
+  Insatiate swallows all. The owner mourns
+  The unpeopled rivulet, and gladly hears
+  The huntsman's early call, and sees with joy
+  The jovial crew, that march upon its banks
+  In gay parade, with bearded lances armed.
+     This subtle spoiler of the beaver kind,
+  Far off, perhaps, where ancient alders shade
+  The deep still pool; within some hollow trunk
+_380
+  Contrives his wicker couch: whence he surveys
+  His long purlieu, lord of the stream, and all
+  The finny shoals his own. But you, brave youths,
+  Dispute the felon's claim; try every root,
+  And every reedy bank; encourage all
+  The busy-spreading pack, that fearless plunge
+  Into the flood, and cross the rapid stream.
+  Bid rocks and caves, and each resounding shore,
+  Proclaim your bold defiance; loudly raise
+_390
+  Each cheering voice, till distant hills repeat
+  The triumphs of the vale. On the soft sand
+  See there his seal impressed! and on that bank
+  Behold the glittering spoils, half-eaten fish,
+  Scales, fins, and bones, the leavings of his feast.
+  Ah! on that yielding sag-bed, see, once more
+  His seal I view. O'er yon dank rushy marsh
+  The sly goose-footed prowler bends his course,
+  And seeks the distant shallows. Huntsman, bring
+  Thy eager pack; and trail him to his couch.
+_400
+  Hark! the loud peal begins, the clamorous joy,
+  The gallant chiding, loads the trembling air.
+     Ye Naiads fair, who o'er these floods preside,
+  Raise up your dripping heads above the wave,
+  And hear our melody. The harmonious notes
+  Float with the stream; and every winding creek
+  And hollow rock, that o'er the dimpling flood
+  Nods pendant; still improve from shore to shore
+  Our sweet reiterated joys. What shouts!
+  What clamour loud! What gay heart-cheering sounds
+_410
+  Urge through, the breathing brass their mazy way!
+  Nor choirs of Tritons glad with sprightlier strains
+  The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides
+  In triumph o'er the deep. How greedily
+  They snuff the fishy steam, that to each blade
+  Rank-scenting clings! See! how the morning dews
+  They sweep, that from their feet besprinkling drop
+  Dispersed, and leave a track oblique behind.
+  Now on firm land they range; then in the flood
+  They plunge tumultuous; or through reedy pools
+_420
+  Rustling they work their way: no holt escapes
+  Their curious search. With quick sensation now
+  The fuming vapour stings; flutter their hearts,
+  And joy redoubled bursts from every mouth
+  In louder symphonies. Yon hollow trunk,
+  That with its hoary head incurved, salutes
+  The passing wave, must be the tyrant's fort,
+  And dread abode. How these impatient climb,
+  While others at the root incessant bay:
+  They put him down. See, there he dives along!
+_430
+  The ascending bubbles mark his gloomy way.
+  Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat
+  Into the sheltering deeps. Ah, there he vents!
+  The pack lunge headlong, and protended spears
+  Menace destruction: while the troubled surge
+  Indignant foams, and all the scaly kind
+  Affrighted, hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns,
+  And loud uproar. Ah, there once more he vents!
+  See, that bold hound has seized him; down they sink,
+  Together lost: but soon shall he repent
+_440
+  His rash assault. See there escaped, he flies
+  Half-drowned, and clambers up the slippery bank
+  With ouze and blood distained. Of all the brutes,
+  Whether by Nature formed, or by long use,
+  This artful diver best can bear the want
+  Of vital air. Unequal is the fight,
+  Beneath the whelming element. Yet there
+  He lives not long; but respiration needs
+  At proper intervals. Again he vents;
+  Again the crowd attack. That spear has pierced
+_450
+  His neck; the crimson waves confess the wound.
+  Fixed is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest,
+  Where'er he flies; with him it sinks beneath,
+  With him it mounts; sure guide to every foe.
+  Inly he groans; nor can his tender wound
+  Bear the cold stream. Lo! to yon sedgy bank
+  He creeps disconsolate; his numerous foes
+  Surround him, hounds and men. Pierced through and through,
+  On pointed spears they lift him high in air;
+  Wriggling he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain:
+_460
+  Bid the loud horns, in gaily warbling strains,
+  Proclaim the felon's fate; he dies, he dies.
+  Rejoice, ye scaly tribes, and leaping dance
+  Above the wave, in sign of liberty
+  Restored; the cruel tyrant is no more.
+     Rejoice, secure and blessed; did not as yet
+  Remain, some of your own rapacious kind;
+  And man, fierce man, with all his various wiles.
+     O happy, if ye knew your happy state,
+  Ye rangers of the fields! whom Nature boon
+_470
+  Cheers with her smiles, and every element
+  Conspires to bless. What, if no heroes frown
+  From marble pedestals; nor Raphael's works,
+  Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls?
+  Yet these the meanest of us may behold;
+  And at another's cost may feast at will
+  Our wondering eyes; what can the owner more?
+  But vain, alas! is wealth, not graced with power.
+  The flowery landscape, and the gilded dome,
+  And vistas opening to the wearied eye,
+_480
+  Through all his wide domain; the planted grove,
+  The shrubby wilderness with its gay choir
+  Of warbling birds, can't lull to soft repose
+  The ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul
+  Is harrowed day and night; he mourns, he pines,
+  Until his prince's favour makes him great.
+  See, there he comes, the exalted idol comes!
+  The circle's formed, and all his fawning slaves
+  Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth
+  The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns
+_490
+  With promises, that die as soon as born.
+  Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place.
+  Frown but the monarch; all his glories fade;
+  He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone,
+  The pageant of a day; without one friend
+  To soothe his tortured mind; all, all are fled.
+  For though they basked in his meridian ray,
+  The insects vanish, as his beams decline.
+     Not such our friends; for here no dark design,
+  No wicked interest bribes the venal heart;
+_500
+  But inclination to our bosom leads,
+  And weds them there for life; our social cups
+  Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserved.
+  We speak our inmost souls; good humour, mirth,
+  Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free,
+  Smoothe every brow, and glow on every cheek.
+     O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan
+  Beneath the galling load of power, or walk
+  Upon the slippery pavements of the great,
+  Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure?
+_510
+     Ye guardian powers who make mankind your care,
+  Give me to know wise Nature's hidden depths,
+  Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read
+  The expanded volume, and submiss adore
+  That great creative Will, who at a word
+  Spoke forth the wondrous scene. But if my soul
+  To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth
+  With less ambitious wing; unskilled to range
+  From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way;
+  And view with piercing eyes, the grand machine,
+_520
+  Worlds above worlds; subservient to his voice,
+  Who veiled in clouded majesty, alone
+  Gives light to all; bids the great system move,
+  And changeful seasons in their turns advance,
+  Unmoved, unchanged himself; yet this at least
+  Grant me propitious, an inglorious life,
+  Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits
+  Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise
+  My drooping friends, preventing modest want
+  That dares not ask. And if to crown my joys,
+_530
+  Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks,
+  Blooms in my life's decline; fields, woods, and streams,
+  Each towering hill, each humble vale below,
+  Shall hear my cheering voice, my hounds shall wake
+  The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round.
+
+END OF SOMERVILLE'S CHASE.
+
+
+
+[Footnote 1: In republishing only the "Chase" of Somerville and "the
+Fables" of Gay, we have acted on the principle of selecting the best, and
+the most characteristic, in our age, perhaps the only readable specimen
+of either poet.]
+
+[Footnote 2: 'Great Prince:' Prince Frederick. Our readers will remember
+the humorous epitaph on him, in edifying contrast to Somerville's
+praise:--
+
+  'Here lies Fred,
+  Who was alive, and is dead:
+  If it had been his father,
+  I'd much rather;
+  Had it been his mother,
+  Better than another;
+  Were it his sister,
+  Nobody would have miss'd her;
+  Were it the whole generation,
+  The better for the nation.
+  But since it's only Fred,
+  There's no more to be said,
+  But that he was alive, and is dead.'
+
+We quote this from recollection of Thackeray's recitation, but think it
+pretty accurate.]
+
+[Footnote 3: 'Neustria:' Normandy.]
+
+[Footnote 4: 'Fountain of light,' &c. Scott as well as Somerville loved
+to write in brilliant sunshine.]
+
+[Footnote 6: 'Talbot kind:' Derived, we think, from the famous John
+Talbot, the first Earl of Shrewsbury, who employed this species of hound
+against the Irish rebels.]
+
+[Footnote 7: 'Aurengzebe:' in 1659, seized the throne of India, after
+murdering his relatives, but became a good, wise, and brave emperor.]
+
+[Footnote 8: 'Ammon's son:' Alexander the Great.]
+
+[Footnote 9: 'Blooming youth:' Fred again.]
+
+[Footnote 10: 'Apulia:' now Puglia, the south-eastern part of Italy.]
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's
+Fables; and Somerville's Chase, by Joseph Addison, John Gay, William Sommerville
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF ADDISON ***
+
+***** This file should be named 10587.txt or 10587.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/8/10587/
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed
+Proofreaders
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS," WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
+eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
+compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
+the old filename and etext number.  The replaced older file is renamed.
+VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
+new filenames and etext numbers.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
+are filed in directories based on their release date.  If you want to
+download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
+search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
+download by the etext year.
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06
+
+    (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
+     98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
+
+EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
+filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+     https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL
+
+
diff --git a/old/10587.zip b/old/10587.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a8765b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/10587.zip