And drudg'd as vulgar Needles do,

Of no more confequence than you.”

FABLE XVH.

THE SHEPHERD'S DOG AND THE WOLF.

A

WOLF, with hunger fierce and bold,

Ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold;.

Deep in the wood fecure he lay,

The thefts of night regal'd the day..

In vain the fhepherd's wakeful care

Had fpread the toils, and watch'd the fnare;
In vain the Dog purfued his pace,

The fleeter robber mock'd the chace.

As Lightfoot rang'd the foreft round,
By chance his foe's retreat he found.
Let us a while the war fufpend,
And reason as from friend to friend.

"A truce?" replies the Wolf, 'Tis done.

The Dog the parley thus begun.

"How can that ftrong intrepid mind.

Attack a weak defencelefs kind?

Those jaws fhould prey on nobler food,
And drink the boar's and lion's blood..
Great fouls with generous pity melt,.
Which coward tyrants never felt.
How harmless is our fleecy care!
Be brave, and let thy mercy fpare.”-

"Friend, fays the Wolf, the matter weigh;

Nature defign'd us beasts of prey;

As fuch, when hunger finds a treat,
"Tis neceffary wolves should eat.
If, mindful of the bleating weal,
Thy bofom burn with real zeal,
Hence, and thy tyrant lord befeech
To him repeat the moving speech:
A Wolf eats fheep but now and then,
Ten thousands are devour'd by men.

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FABLE XVIII.

THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY
AND EVERY BODY,

EST men fufpect 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 ev'n his real courage doubted.
But flattery never seems abfurd;
The flatter'd always take your word ::
Impoffibilities feem just;

They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er fo great,
Will still come fhort of felf-conceit.
very like a Painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;

So

He hit complexion, feature, air,
So juft, the life itfelf was there..
No flattery with his colours laid,.
To bloom reftor'd the faded maid;
He
gave
each muscle all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nofe's length;
His honeft pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth..
He loft his friends, his practice fail'd;
Truth fhould not always be reveal'd:.
In dufty piles his pictures lay,
For no one fent the fecond pay.

Two buftos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,

He plac'd in view; refolv'd to pleafe,
Whoever fat he drew from thefe,
From thefe corrected every feature,

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And fpirited each aukward creature.

All things were fet; the hour was come,

The features, fraught with fenfe and wit,
You'll grant, are very hard to hit ;

But!

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!

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55

60

Would any man the picture own?
But, when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

THE LION AND THE CUB.

HOW fond are men of rule and place,

Who court it from the mean and bafe!

There

These cannot bear an equal nigh,

But from fuperior merit fly.

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,

And lofe their hours in ale and smoke.
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 prefident.

He caught their manners, looks, and airs;
An afs in every thing but ears!
If e'er his Highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applaufe before he spoke ;
But at each word what shouts of praise'l
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 starts.

<< Puppy! ! that curs'd vociferation
Betrays thy life and conversation:
Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,
Are trumpets of their own difgrace."