Humble your arrogance of thought,
Purfue the ways by Nature taught:
So fhall you find delicious fare,
And grateful farmers praise your care;
So fhall fleek mice your chace reward,
And no keen cat find more regard."
THE COURTIER AND PROTEUS.
WHENE'ER a Courtier's out of place,
The country fhelters his difgrace;
Where, doom'd to exercife and health,
His house and gardens own his wealth.
He builds new fchemes, in hope to gain
The plunder of another reign;
Like Philip's fon, would fain be doing,
And fighs for other realms to ruin.
As one of thefe (without his wand)
Penfive along the winding ftrand
Employ'd the folitary hour,
In projects to regain his power,
The waves in fpreading circles ran,
Proteus arofe, and thus began.
"Came you from court? for in your mien
A felf-important air is feen."
He frankly own'd his friends had trick'd him, And how he fell his party's victim.
"Know, fays the God, by matchless skill I change to every fhape at will;
But yet, I'm told, at court you fee
Those who prefume to rival me."
Thus faid a Snake, with hideous trail, Proteus extends his fcaly mail.
"Know, fays the Man, though proud in place, All Courtiers are of reptile race.
Like you, they take that dreadful form,
Bafk in the fun, and fly the ftorm;
With malice hifs, with envy glote,
And for convenience change their coat;
With new-got luftre rear their head,
Though on a dunghill born and bred."
Sudden the God a Lion ftands;
He shakes his mane, he fpurns the fands.
Now a fierce Lynx, with fiery glare;
A Wolf, an Ass, a Fox, a Bear.
"Had I ne'er liv'd at court, he cries,
Such transformation might furprize;
But there, in queft of daily game,
Each able Courtier acts the fame;
Wolves, Lions, Lynxes, while in place,
Their friends and fellows are their chace.
They play the Bear's and Fox's part,
Now rob by force, now fteal with art.
They fometimes in the fenate bray,
Or, chang'd again to beafts of prey,
Down from the Lion to the Ape,
Practife the frauds of every fhape."
So faid upon the god he flies,
In cords the ftruggling captive ties.
"Now, Proteus! now (to truth compell'd)
Speak, and confefs thy art excell’d.
Ufe ftrength, furprize, or what you will,
The Courtier finds evafions ftill;
Not to be bound by any ties,
And never forc'd to leave his lyes."
HOSE who in quarrels interpofe,
Muft often wipe a bloody nofe.
A Maftiff, of true English blood,
Lov'd fighting better than his food.
When dogs were fnarling for a bone,
He long'd to make the war his own,
And often found (when two contend)
To interpofe obtain'd his end.
He glory'd in his limping pace;
The fears of honour feam'd his face;
In every limb a gafh appears,
And frequent fights retrench'd his ears.
As on a time he heard from far
Two dogs engag'd in noisy war,
Away he fcours, and lays about him,
Refolv'd no fray fhould be without him.
Forth from his yard a tanner flies,
And to the bold intruder cries:
"A cudgel fhall correct your manners:
Whence fprung this curfed hate to tanners?
While on my dog you vent your spite,
Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite."
To fee the battle thus perplex'd,
With equal rage a butcher, vex'd,
Hoarfe-fcreaming from the circled crowd,
To the curs'd Maftiff cries aloud :
"Both Hockleyhole and Marybone
The combats of my dog have known:
He ne'er, like bullies, coward-hearted,
Attacks in public, to be parted.
Think not, rafh fool, to fhare his fame
Be his the honour, or the fhame."
Thus faid, they fwore, and rav'd like thunder,
Then dragg'd their faften'd dogs afunder;
While clubs and kicks from every fide
Rebounded from the Maftiff's hide.
All recking now with fweat and blood,
A while the parted warriors stood;
Then pour'd upon the meddling foe,
Who, worried, howl'd and sprawl'd below.
He rofe; and, limping from the fray,
By both files mangled, fneak'd away.
THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.
How many faucy airs we meet
From Temple-bar to Aldgate-ftreet!
Proud rogues, who thar'd the South-fea prey,
And sprung like mushrooms in a day !
They think it mean to condefcend
To know a brother or a friend;
They blush to hear their mother's name,
And by their pride expofe their fhame.
As crofs his yard, at early day,
A careful farmer took his way,
He stopp'd; and, leaning on his fork,
Obferv'd the flail's inceffant work.
In thought he meafur'd all his ftore,
His geefe, his hogs, he number'd o'er;
In fancy weigh'd the fleeces fhorn,
And multiply'd the next year's corn.
A Barley-mow, which ftood befide,
Thus to its mufing mafter cry'd :
Say, good Sir, is it fit or right
To treat me with neglect and flight?
Me, who contribute to your cheer,
And raife your mirth with ale and beer?
Why thus infulted, thus difgrac'd,
And that vile Dunghill near me plac'd ?
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