Aesop Dress'd; Or a collection of Fables Part 4

And thus the Rebels disobey; Who swear they'll now keep Holy-day, Resolv'd to live like Gentlemen.

His Gutship calls and calls again, They answer'd they would toil no more; But rest as he had done before: But soon the Mutineers repent; } The Belly when his Stock was spent, } Could not send down the Nourishment, } That's requisite for every part; The weakness seiz'd the drooping Heart: Till all the Members suffer'd by't, And languished in a woeful plight: They saw, when 'twas too late, how he, Whom they accused of Gluttony, Of Laziness, Ingrat.i.tude, } Had labour d for the common Good, } By ways they never understood. }

The Moral.

_The Belly is the Government, From whence the Nourishment is sent, Of wholesome Laws for mutual Peace, For Plenty, Liberty, and Ease, To all the Body Politick, Which where it fails the Nation's sick.

The Members are the discontent_ Pleibeians; _that are ignorant, How necessary for the State It is, that Princes should be great: Which, if their Pomp and Pow'r were less, Could not preserve our Happiness.

The Vulgar think all Courts to be But Seats of Sloth and Luxury; Themselves, but Slaves compell'd to bear The Taxes, and the Toils of War; But in this Fable they may see The dismal Fruits of Mutiny; Whilst Subjects, that a.s.sist the Crown, But labour to maintain their own._

_The Countryman and the Knight._

An honest Countryman had got Behind his House a pretty Spot, Of Garden Ground, with all what might Contribute to the Taste and Sight, The Rose and Lilly, which have been Still kept to compliment the Skin, Poppies renown'd for giving ease, With Roman Lettice, Endive, Pease, And Beans, which Nat'ralists do reckon To be so ominous to Bacon.

The Beds were dung'd, the Walks well swept, And every thing was nicely kept.

Only a Hare wou'd now and then Spite of the Master and the Men Make raking work for half a day, Then fill her Gut and scow'r away.

In vain they beat and search the Ground, The cunning Jilt can ne'er be found, The Master once in angry Mood } Starts up and swears by all that's good, } He'd be revenged, that he would. } Runs to a Country Knight his Neighbour, And there complains how all his labour Was spoil'd by one confounded Hare, Which though the'd watch'd her every where He nor his People ne'er could catch, And of a certain was a Witch.

His Worship smiles and promises To rid him of the Sawcy Puss.

At break of Day _Jack_ winds his Horn, The Beagles scamper thro' the Corn; Deep mouth'd Curs set up a Cry, And make a cursed Symphony.

Now stir you Rogues; the Knight is come With _Robin_, _Lightfoot_, _d.i.c.k_ and _Tom_.

The House is full of Dogs and Boys, And ev'ry where's a horrid Noise, Well, Landlord, Come, What shall we do?

Must w' eat a Bit before we go?

What have you got? Now all's fetch'd out, The Victuals rak'd, and tore about.

One pairs the Loaf, another Groom } Draws Beer, as if he was at home, } And spils it half about the Room. } What Horseman's yonder at the Door?

Why, Faith, there's half a dozen more: They're Gentlemen, that live at Court, Come down the Country for some Sport; Some old Acquaintance of the Knight, Who whips from Table, bids 'em light.

They ask no Questions but sit down, Fall too as if it was their own.

One finishes the Potted Salmon, Then swears, because he had no Lemon.

Good Lord, how sharp the Rogues are set!

It puts my Landlord in a Sweat.

His Daughter comes with fresh Supplies Of Collard Beef, and Apple-pies.

His Worship falls aboard of her; The modest Creature quakes for fear.

When do we marry Mistress _Ann_?

Who is to be the happy Man?

He takes her Hand, and chucks her Chin, Stares in her Face, commends her Skin, Removes her Linnen, shews her Neck; There's Milk, and Blood, Gad take me _Jack_.

She blushes, and he vows she is A pretty Girl, then takes a Kiss; She don't consent, nor dares deny, Defends herself respectfully; And now the Knight would let her go; } Another Rake cries, Damme no: } I'll have a Kiss as well as you. } He hugs her close, then calls her Dear, And whispers bawdy in her Ear.

My charming Rogue, I would not hurt ye.

She answers not, but drops a Courtsie.

He's rude, and she's asham'd to squeak; Her Father sees it, dares not speak; But patiently enduring all, Stands like a Statue in the Hall.

Now for the Garden and the Hare, The Dogs get in, and sc.r.a.pe and tear, The Hors.e.m.e.n follow, leap the Rails; Down goes the Quick-set-hedge, and Pales.

The Huntsman hollows, runs and pushes, All goes to Rack, the Borders, Bushes.

And now my Landlord cries amain, You've ruin'd me; but all in vain.

The Cabbages are kick'd about, And Flowers with Roots and all pull'd out.

The Beds are levell'd with the Ground, At last poor trembling Puss is found Hid underneath a Collyflower.

The Prey is took, away they scower, And leave our Countryman to think On all his Loss of Meat and Drink: What havock's made in ev'ry place, His Daughter wrong'd before his Face.

Small was the Mischief of the Hare To ravenous Hunters to compare.

He wrings his Hands, and all in Tears Repents his foolish rashness, swears, He'll ne'er call help again in haste, Since Hounds and Horses made more waste, In half an hour, than all the Hares Of th' Country could in Seven Years.

The Moral.

_When petty Princes can't agree, And strive for Superiority, They often take my Landlord's Course, Invite for Aid a foreign Force; And when their Subjects Slaves are made, Their Countries all in ruins laid, As commonly it proves their fate, Repent with him when it's too late._

_The Plague among the Beasts._

One time a mighty Plague did pester All Beasts Domestick and _Sylvester_, They try'd a world of Remedies; But none that conquer'd the Disease: And, as in the Calamity All did not dye, so none were free.

The Lyon in this Consternation Sends by his Royal Proclamation To all his loving Subjects greeting, And summons 'em t' a general Meeting; And when they're come about his Den, He says, my Lords and Gentlemen, I believe you're met full of the Sence Of this consuming Pestilence; Sure such extraordinary Punishment On common Crimes was never sent; Therefore it took its derivation, Not from the trivial Sence of the Nation; But some notorious Wickedness; } Then let us search our Consciences, } And ev'ry one his Faults confess. } We'll judge the biggest and the least, And he that is the wicked'st Beast Shall as a Sacrifice be giv'n, T'allay the wrath of angry Heav'n, And serve our Sins an expiation By ancient way of Immolation; And, since no one is free from Sin, Thus with my own I'll first begin.

I've kill'd an Ox, and which is worse, Committed Murder on a Horse; And one Day, as I am a Sinner, I have eat seven Pigs for Dinner, Robb'd Woods, and Fens, and like a Glutton, Fed on whole Flocks of Lamb and Mutton: Nay sometimes, for 'tis in vain to lie, The Shepherd went for Company.

This was his Speech; when Chanc'lor Fox Cries out, what signifies an Ox, Or Horse? Sure those unworthy things Are honour'd, when made sport for Kings.

But, Sir, your Conscience is too nice, Hunting's a Princely Exercise: As for the Sheep, that foolish Cattle, Not fit for Carriage nor for Battle, And being tolerable Meat, Are good for nothing, but to eat.

The shepherd your sworn Enemy Deserv'd no better Destiny.

Thus was he, that had sin'd for Twenty, Clear'd _Nemine Contradicente_.

The Bear, the Tyger, Beasts that fight, And all that could but scratch or bite Came off well; for their gross Abuses Others as bad found Excuses.

Nay even the Cat of wicked Nature That kills at play his Fellow Creature Went scot free: But his Gravity An a.s.s of stupid Memory Confess'd, that, going to _Sturbridge_-Fair His Back most broke with Wooden-ware, He chanc'd half starv'd, and faint, to pa.s.s By a Church-yard with exc'lent Gra.s.s, They had forgot to shut the Gate, He ventur'd in, stoop'd down and ate.

Hold, cries Judge Wolf, no more, for Crimes As these, deserve such fatal Times.

By several Acts of Parliament 'Tis Sacriledge, they all consent; And thus the silly virtuous a.s.s Was Sacrifis'd for eating Gra.s.s.

The Moral.

_The Fable shews you poor Folk's fate Whilst Laws can never reach the Great._

_The Gra.s.shopper and Ant._

A Merry Gra.s.shopper, that sung And tun'd it all the Summer long, Fed on small Flies, and had no Reason To have sad thoughts the gentler Season; For when 'twas hot the Wind at South, The Victuals flew into his Mouth: But when the Winters cold came on, He found he was as much undone, As any Insect under Heav'n; And now the hungry Songster's driv'n To such a state, no Man can know it, But a Musician or a Poet, He makes a Visit to an Ant, Desires he would relieve his want; I come not in a begging way, } Says he, No Sir, name but a day } In _July_ next, and I'll repay, } Your Interest and your Princ.i.p.al Shall both be ready at a Call.

The thrifty Ant says truly Neighbour, I get my Living by hard Labour; But you, that in this Storm came hither, What have you done when 'twas fair Weather?

I've sung, replies the Gra.s.shopper; Sung! says the Ant, your Servant, Sir; If you have sung away the best Of all the Year, go dance the rest.

_The Milk Woman._

A Straping Dame, a going to Town To sell her Milk with thin Stuff Gown, And Coats tuck'd up fit for a Race, Marches along a swinging Pace: And in her Thoughts already counts The Price to which her Milk amounts; She fancies all is sold, and lays The Money out a hundred ways; At last she's fix'd, and thinks it plain, That Eggs would bring the surest Gain: She buys a hundred, which she reckons Will four Weeks hence be six Score Chickens.

Such mighty care she takes to rear 'em, No Fox or Kite can e'er come near 'em, The finest Hens are kept for Eggs; The others sold to buy some Piggs; To whom a little Bran she gives With Turnep-tops and Cabbage leaves; And tho' they get no Pease to speak on, Yet in short time they're sold for Bacon.

O! how the Money pleas'd her Thought For which a Cow and Calf are bought; She'll have 'em on the Common kept, There see 'em jump, at that she leapt For joy; down comes the Pail, and now Good Night t'ye Chickens, Calf and Cow, Eggs, Bacon; all her busy care, With them are dwindled into Air.

She looks with Sorrow on the Ground, And Milk, in which her Fortune's drown'd: Then carries home the doleful News, And strives to make the best Excuse: Her Husband greets her with a Curse, And well it was she far'd no worse.

The Hermit, and the Man of Fame, _Pompeus_, and our Country Dame, The wisest Judge, and my Lord May'r, They all build Castles in the Air: And all a secret Pleasure take In dreaming whilst they are awake: Pleas'd with our Fancies we possess Friends, Honour, Women, Palaces.

When I'm alone I dare defy Mankind for Wit and Bravery.