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Ill-manners never found a just pretence, And rude expressions shew a barren sense : But, when high birth descends to mean abuse, The crime runs foulest, and finds no excuse.

FABLE VII.

THE FOX AND WEAZLE.

TO THE LATE HONOURABLE THE COMMISSIONERS OF

THE PRIZE-OFFICE,

A NEEDY Weazle heretofore,
Very rapacious, lank, and poor,
That had no place, small comings-in,
And liv'd in terrour of the gin;
Nor got a morsel to his hole,

But what he either begg'd or stole ;
One night, a foraging for prey,
He found a store-house in his way:
Each cranny then he nimbly past,
With lantern jaws and slender waist;
And made long time his quarters good,
On slaughter'd mice and wheaten food.

But growing corpulent and round, Too small the widest chink was found: And now he squeez'd and thurst in vain, For liberty and home again.

A Fox that chanc'd to stroll that way, For meditation's sake, or prey, Stood grinning at him for a while, With rogueish looks and sneering smile; And though he shrewdly gave a guess, Yet ask'd him how and what's the case; And why his Weazleship would keep In durance vile, and play boh-peep,

Quoth he, "Alack, sir, I was lean,
Haggard and poor, when I came in :
A skeleton, mere skin and bone!
Though now so gross and bulky grown,
That with good chear and dainties fed,
My rump is bigger than my head.
But if a helping paw you 'Il lend,
To force a board and serve a friend;
So fain I would my bacon save,
I'll kiss your foot and live your slave."
Quoth Ren, "We doctors hold it best,

After a long debauch, to fast:
Then as for discipline, 'tis fit,
You take a quantum sufficit.
Slacken with abstinence your skin,
And you'll return as you got in:
For, till each collop you refund,
You 're like to quarter in Lob's-pound,"

THE MORAL.

Cæsar, no more in foreign camps expose Your sacred life, to Britain's generous foes: Thy dread tribunal now erect at home, And, arm'd with vengeance, to her rescue come. In power her basest enemies remain, Oppress thy subjects, and thy treasures drain : With sums immense they raise their fortunes high, Though armies starve, and fleets neglected lie.

Bane of the war! curse of thy martial reign! You share the toil and dangers, they the gain: To justice then the known offenders bring, Avenge thy people, and assert the king.

FABLE VIII.

AN OWL AND THE SUN.

A SAUCY buffle-headed Ow!
One morning on the Sun fell foul,
Because it made him blind:
But by his sophistry you'll guess
Him not of the Athenian race,

But a more modern kind.

The morn was fragrant, cool, and bright,
The Sun illustrious with his light,

Dispensing warmth to all :
Madge on a pinnacle was got,
Sputtering and hooting like a sot,
And thus began the brawl.

"D'ye hear, you prince of red-fac'd fools! Hot-headed puppy! foe to owls'

Why this offensive blaze?
Behind some cloud go sneak aside,
Your carbuncles and rubies hide,

And quench that flaming face.
"When I'm a taking the fresh air,
Whip in my eyes you come full glare,
And so much rudeness show!

I wonder when the modest Moon
Would serve an Owl as you have done,
Or tan and burn one so !"

Bright Phoebus smil'd at what was said,
And cry'd," "Tis well, sir Logger-head
You've neither sense nor shame!
Because a blinking fool can't bear
An object so transcending fair,

The Sun must take the blame.
Shall I the universe benight,
And rob the injur'd world of light,
Because you rail and scowl;
When birds of the most abject sort
Deride and grin you for their sport,
And treat you like an Owl?"

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This to the wanton billows was but sport,
They roar'd and gambol'd along,
This was the burthen of their song,
They'd have a storm, and show good reason for't.
Then a fresh maggot takes them in the head,
To have one merry jaunt on shore:
They'd not be fetter'd-up, they swore,
But thus to the insulted margin said:
"Hey, slugs! d'ye hear, ye lazy hounds!
Open to right and left! make way,
And give free passage to the Sea,

Down with your ramparts and obstructing mounds. "See how they stir! awake, ye brutes!

And let us have one frisk at land; Or, 'zbud, we'll wash you into sand, Without the tedious form of long disputes," "Hold! soft and fair! the Banks reply'd; we're In honour, to make good our post: And will, for all your windy boast,

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As barriers to the Sea maintain our ground.
Go, lord it in your watery realms, the Main!
There rage and bluster as you please,
Licentious in your native Seas,

But not an inch as trespassers you'll gain.
"So, my fierce mutineers, be jogging home!
For if you dare invade our coast,
You'll run your heads against a post,
And shamefully retire in empty foam."

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The Cuckow's note was one unvary'd tone, Exceeding hoarse, yet pleas'd, she roar'd it on. Appeal was made; the judge this sentence gave, "You, sirrah, Nightingale !

Of music you some smatterings have,

And may in time do well;

But for substantial song, I needs must say, My friend, the Cuckow, bears the bell away,"

THE MORAL.

Mackworth, who reads thy well-digested lines,
Where eloquence with nervous reason shines,
Sees art and judgment now through every page,
The patriot's zeal free from indecent rage;
So pure thy style, thy manners so refin'd,
Your pen transmits the candour of your mind,

Yet happier he that has the answer wrote,
In penury of sense, and dearth of thought:
Whilst Asses judge, and Faction claims a vote,
Abusive nonsense is th' admired note:
Where want of art and manners merit praise,
He robs the Cuckow of her ancient bays.

FABLE XI,

THE SUN AND THE WIND.

THE Sun and Wind one day fell out
In matters they discours'd about.
Old Boreas, in a rage,
Call'd the Sun fool, and swore he ly'd,
Spit in his face, his power defy'd,

And dar'd him to engage.
Quoth he, "Yon goes a traveller,
With formal cloak and looks demure,

The whiggish signs of grace:
Who fairly off the cloak can force,
From one so stiff, proud, and morose,
Deserves the upper place,"

With that the Wind began to rise,

Bluster'd and storm'd it through the skies,
Making a dismal roar:

The non-con wrapp'd his cloak about,
Trudg'd on, resolv'd to weather 't out,

And see the tempest o'er.

The storm being spent, with piercing rays,
Full on his shoulders Phoebus plays,

Which soon the zealot felt;
Aside the cumberous cloak was thrown,
Panting and faint, he laid him down,

More decently to melt.

The Sun then ask'd his blustering friend, If farther yet he durst contend,

And try some other way: But, conscious of so plain a truth, He put his finger in his mouth, Without a word to say.

THE MORAL.

Your Whigs disgrac'd, like bullies of the town,
Libel and rail, the more they 're tumbled down:
Superior merit still prevails at last,
The fury of their feeble storm is past.

1 Sir Humphry Mackworth, to whom Yalden addressed an excellent poetical epistle On the Mines late of Sir Carbery Price, p. 74.SirHumphry wrote some political pamphlots about this time. N.

But when the senate darts its piercing rays,
Faction unbuttons, and rebates its pace :
The hypocritic cloak is tiresome found,
And the faint zealot pants upon the ground.

FABLE XII.

THE BOAR AND FOREST.

A LION, generous and brave,

For wars renown'd, belov'd in peace;
His lands in royal bounties gave,

And treasures much impair'd by acts of grace.
His ministers whole realms obtain'd;
And courtiers, much inclin'd to want,
His manors begg'd, and forfeits gain'd,
With patents to confirm the royal grant,

The Boar, to shew a subject's love,
Crav'd for the public good a boon,
His ancient forest to improve,
By felling trees, and cutting timber down.
"Alcoves and shady walks, quoth he,
Are laid aside, become a jest;
Your vistos lofty, wide, and free,
Are à la mode, and only in request."'
The grant being pass'd, the ravenous Boar,
A desert of the forest made:

Up by the roots vast oaks he tore,
And low on earth the princely cedars laid.
This act of violence and wrong
Alarum'd all the savage race;

With loud complaints to court they throng, Stripp'd of their shades, and ancient resting-place. With generous rage the Lion shook,

And vow'd the Boar should dearly pay;
"I hate, quoth he, a down-cast look,
That robs the public in a friendly way.
"Unhappy groves, my empire's pride!
Lov'd solitudes, ye shades divine!
The rage of tempests ye defy'd,
Condemn'd to perish by a sordid swine.

"Ye rural deities, and powers unknown,
What can so great a loss suffice!
If a hung brawner will atone,
Accept friend Chucky for a sacrifice."

THE MORAL.

The British oak's our nation's strength and pride, With which triumphant o'er the main we ride; Insulting foes are by our navies aw'd,

A guard at home, our dreaded power abroad.

Like druids then your forests sacred keep,
Preserve with them your empire of the deep.
Subjects their prince's bounty oft abuse,
And spoil the public for their private use;
But no rapacious hand should dare deface,
The royal stores of a well-timber'd chase.

FABLE XIII.

THE FOX AND FLIES.

As crafty Reynard strove to swim The torrent of a rapid stream,

To gain the farther side: Before the middle space was past, A whirling eddy caught him fast, And drove him with the tide.

With vain efforts and struggling spent,
Half drown'd, yet forc'd to be content,
Poor Ren a soaking lay;

Till some kind ebb should set him free,
Or chance restore that liberty

The waves had took away.

A swarm of half-starv'd haggard Flies,
With fury seiz'd the floating prize,

By raging hunger led;

With many a curse and bitter groan,
He shook his sides, and wish'd them gone,
Whilst plenteously they fed.

A Hedge-hog saw his evil plight;
Touch'd with compassion at the sight,

Quoth he, "To show I'm civil,
I'll brush those swigging dogs away,
That on thy blood remorseless prey,
And send them to the Devil."
"No, courteous sir, the Fox reply'd,
Let them infest and gore my hide,

With their insatiate thirst;
Since I such fatal wounds sustain,
"Twill yield some pleasure midst the pain,
To see the blood hounds burst."

THE MORAL; FROM NOSTRADAMUS.
Le sang du juste à Londres fera saute
Brusler par feu, &c.

Thus guilty Britain to her Thames complains,
"With royal blood defil'd, O cleanse my stains!
Whence plagues arise! whence dire contagions come!
And flames that my Augusta's pride consume!"

"In vain," saith Thames; "the regicidal breed Will swarm again, by them thy land shall bleed: Extremest curse! but so just Heaven decreed! Republicans shall Britain's treasures drain, Betray her monarch, and her church prophane! Till, gorg'd with spoils, with blood the leeches burst, Or Tyburn add the second to the first."

FABLE XIV.

THE BEAR AND MOUNTEBANK.

THERE liv'd a quack in high repute,
By virtue of a velvet suit,

And celebrated bill;

As for his knowledge, 'tis allow'd,
He had enough to cheat the crowd,
And that's good modern skill.
Once as this orator held forth
On topics of his medicines' worth,

And wondrous cures they wrought;
Though not a word they understood,
His eloquence so charm'd the crowd,

That still they gap'd and bought. Midst his harangue, one day it chanc'd, Tom Dove the Bear that way advanc'd,

In procession to his stake;

The rabble quit their doctor straight,
And with huzzas on Bruin wait,
Who thus the chief bespake:

"D'ye hear, ye pack of bawling louts, Compos'd of vermin, stink, and clouts, Why all this noise and do?

Though through my nose a ring is got, And here I'm baited like a sot,

Still I resemble you.

1 Tom Dove has been celebrated by Dryden and King.

"Observe that Mountebanking fool,
Perch'd yonder on his three-legg'd stool,
With poisonous drugs to sell ;
See o'er his shoulder how he sneers,
Three hours to lug you by the ears,
Yet pleases wondrous well..
"With fulsome lyes and stupid stuff,
He cheats and banters you enough,

Yet there ye flock by shoals;

But if by chance a bear 's brought out,
At him ye hollow, laugh, and shout,
And who's the greater fools?
"So, brother monsters, face about,
The quack, your keeper, wants his rout;
For, underneath the rose,

Another sort of brutes there are,
Besides a stupid Russian bear,
That's misled by the nose."

THE MORAL.

Ill ministers, like quacks, the crowd deceive, Defraud them for their good; and they believe: At France and Rome they rail with specious arts, And, whilst they cheat the vulgar, gain their hearts.

But if sagacious Bruin smells them out, Their frauds exposing to the injur'd rout; To mischief prone, implacable, and strong, Ten thousand tongues and hands revenge the wrong.

FABLE XV.

THE PEACOCK PROCLAIMED KING.

A VULTURE, old and feeble grown, Took up and much reform'd his life; His beak decay'd, and talons gone, Yet still he relish'd noise and strife: Once a young Peacock to the birds brought forth, On his high birth harangued, and blooming worth. "The isles and watery realm," said he, "This hopeful monarch shall command! His sceptre to depend on me, And rule the tributary land; Reserving only for our royal use,

Whate'er the seas and fertile coasts produce."

The Peacock, a pert dapper spark,
Made the sagacious Vulture's choice;
His title and descent, though dark,
Soon gain'd the whole assembly's voice,
The Pye except, a member of the board,
Who, midst their acclamations, crav'd a word.
"His highness' merits and desert,"
Quoth he, " 'tis needless to dispute!
In giving empires we 're too pert,
With neither right nor power to do 't;

You've made a Peacock king: pray now 'tis done,
What champion here conducts him to his throne,
"Where the Imperial Eagle reigns,
Renown'd for arms and warlike might,
Who such a feeble youth disdains,
And Vultures dares engage in fight?

Therefore, messieurs, it is my private voice, That the possessor first approve our choice."

THE MORAL.

Cæsar, that prince betrays his fears,
Who styles thee monarch in the field,
But, when thy army disappears,
To weak pretenders will thy titles yield.
But wiser politicians say,

True conduct is not so much shown,
In giving others' realms away,
As in defending well their own.

FABLE XVI.

A LACONIC CONDEMNED,

A SAGE Laconic, truly wise,
Whose conversation was concise,

Train'd up in rigid schools;
Once, when a single word would do,
Had lavishly made use of two,

In high contempt of rules.
A bill against him was preferr'd,
The charge by evidence averr'd,

That fully prov'd the fact:
The judges aggravate the crime,
In words as few, and little time,
As answer'd men compact.
Quoth one, "The being too verbose
A misdemeanor is so gross,

Of that pernicious kind!

The punishment must reach your sense,
And reason smart for this offence,
By torturing your mind.
"Read Jura Populi o'er twice,
Pittis and Bunyan, books of price,

And Oats's modest vein :

Read Baxter's volumes, Tindal's works,
Yorkshire Petish with that of Bucks,
True cant and libel strain,

"For solid nonsense, thoughtless words,
The Vindication of the Lords,

That answers Mackworth's State:
Read first and second paragraph,
If possible drudge on through half,
Your crime you'll expiate.'

The wretch with strong convulsions shook,
Despair and anguish in his look,

To Heaven for mercy cry'd: Quoth he, "Send gibbets, racks, or wheel, Algiers and gallies please me well,

Such torments I'll abide.
"But damn me not for one offence,
To volumes unally'd to sense,

Vainly to waste my breath:
That answer to the Commons' Rights
With labour'd dullness so affrights,
The thoughts are worse than death,"

END OF YALDEN'S POEMS.

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