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But yet with patience you fhall view

As much as paint and art can do."

Obferve the work. My Lord replied,

"Till now I thought my mouth was wide; Befides, my nofe is fomewhat long;

Dear Sir, for me, 'tis far too young,"

"Oh! pardon me, the artist cry'd; In this, we Painters muft decide.

The piece ev'n common eyes must strike,
I warrant it extremely like."

My Lord examin'd it a-new;
No looking-glass seem'd half so true.
A lady came; with borrow'd grace
He from his Venus form'd her face.
Her lover prais'd the Painter's art;
So like the picture in his heart!
To every age fome charm he lent;
Ev'n beauties were almoft content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd;
His cuftom grew, his price was rais'd.
Had he the real likenefs fhown,
Would any man the picture own?
But, when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

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H

OW fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base!

Thefe

Thefe cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from fuperior merit fly.

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,

And lofe their hours in ale and fmoke.
There o'er fome petty club prefide;

So poor, fo paltry, is their pride!

Nay, ev'n with fools whole nights will fit,
In hopes to be fupreme in wit.

If these can read, to thefe I write,
To fet their worth in trueft light.

A Lion-cub, of fordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind;

Fond of applaufe, he fought the feafts
Of vulgar and ignoble beafts ;

With affes all his time he spent,
Their club's perpetual president.

He caught their manners, looks, and airs ;
An ass in every thing but ears!
If e'er his Highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applaufe before he fpoke;
But at each word what shouts of praise !
Good gods! how natural he brays!
Elate with flattery and conceit,
He feeks his royal fire's retreat;
Forward, and fond to fhow his parts,
His Highness brays; the Lion ftarts.

Puppy! that curs'd vociferation Betrays thy life and conversation: Coxcombs, an ever-noify race,

Are trumpets of their own difgrace."

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"Why

"Why fo fevere? the Cub replies; Our fenate always held me wife.”

“How weak is pride! returns the fire :
All fools are vain when fools admire !
But know, what ftupid affes prize,
Lions and noble beafts defpife."

FABLE XX.

THE OLD HEN AND THE COCK.

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RESTRAIN your child; you'll foon believe

The text which fays we fprung from Eve.
As an old Hen led forth her train,

And feem'd to peck to fhow the grain,
She rak'd the chaff, the fcratch'd the ground,
And glean'd the fpacious yard around.

A giddy chick, to try her wings,
On the well's narrow margin fprings,
And prone the drops. The mother's breaft
All day with forrow was poffeft.

A Cock the met; her fon fhe knew,
And in her heart affection grew.

"My Son, fays The, I grant your years
Have reach'd beyond a mother's cares.
I fee you vigorous, ftrong, 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 fure perdition to our race.

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Print

Print this my counsel on thy breaft;

To the juft gods I leave the reft."
He thank'd her care; yet day by day

His bofom burn'd to disobey,

And every time the well he faw,

Scorn'd in his heart the foolish law:

Near and more near each day he drew,
And long'd to try the dangerous view.

"Why was this idle charge? he cries
Let courage female fears defpife.
Or did fhe 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 fhe thus my

fearch prevent?

I ftand refolv'd, and dare th' event."

Thus faid, he mounts the margin's round,

And pries into the depth profound.

He ftretch'd his neck; and from below
With ftretching neck advanc'd a foe :
With wrath his ruffled plumes he rears,
The foe with ruffled plumes appears :
Threat anfwer'd threat; his fury grew;
Headlong to meet the war he flew ;
But, when the watery death he found,
He thus lamented as he drown'd:

"I ne'er had been in this condition, But for my Mother's prohibition."

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FABLE

FABLE XXI.

THE RAT-CATCHER AND CATS.

THE rats by night fuch mischief did,
Betty was every morning chid:

They undermin'd whole fides of bacon,
Her cheese was fapp'd, her tarts were taken;
Her pafties, fenc'd with thickest paste,
Were all demolish'd and laid waste :
She curs'd the Cat, for want of duty,
Who left her foes a conftant booty.
An engineer, of noted skill,
Engag'd to ftop the growing ill.

From room to room he now furveys

Their haunts, their works, their fecret ways;
Finds where they 'fcape an ambufcade,
And whence the nightly fally 's made.
An envious Cat from place to place,
Unfeen, attends his filent pace :
She faw that, if his trade went on,
The purring race must be undone;
So fecretly removes his baits,
And every ftratagem defeats.

Again he fets the poifon'd toils;

And Pufs again the labour foils.

"What foe (to fruftrate my defigns)

My schemes thus nightly countermines ?
Incens'd, he cries, this very hour

The wretch fhall bleed beneath my power."