Aesop Dress'd; Or a collection of Fables Part 7

The Moral.

_Wise Men sometimes Instruction find In that, which others never mind; Examining the least of things, By Deeds, not Words, they judge of Kings; And never venture on that Coast, Where once they knew another lost._

_The Satyr and the Pa.s.senger._

A Satyr at his Country House, A dismal Cave, was with his Spouse, And Brats a going to eat some Broth: Without a Chair, or Table-Cloath, On mossy ground they squatted down, With special Stomachs of their own.

And just as they fell to a main, Comes one to shelter for the Rain: The Guest's invited to sit down, Tho' in the mean time they went on.

He shiver'd, look'd as cold as Death, And warm'd his Fingers with his Breath, Says ne'er a Word, takes good Advice, And stays not till they ask him twice, Falls to the Porridge, takes a sup; But being newly taken up, 'Twas hot, he blows it. Says the Satyr, Whose Palate could bear scalding-water, Friend, what the Devil are you a doing?

What do you mean by all this blowing?

The Stranger answers, I did blow At first to warm my hands, and now I blow again to cool my Broth.

How, says my Landlord, does it both!

Than y'are not like to stay with me, I hate such juggling Company.

What! Out of the same Mouth to blow Both hot and cold! Friend, prithee go.

I thank the G.o.ds my Roof contains None such as you. The Fable means.

The Moral.

_None are more like to do us wrong; Than those that wear a double Tongue._

_The Lyon in Love._

Before the Reign of Buxom _Dido_, When Beasts could speak as well as I do; Lyons and we convers'd together, And marry'd among one another.

Nay, why not? they have more bravery, And are of the eldest Family.

One of 'em walking in a Grove, Met with a Wench, and fell in Love.

Says he, dear Girl, upon my Life, Y'are handsome, and must be my Wife.

Then sees her Home, and asks her Father, Th' old Gentleman would have had rather A Son-in-Law of milder Nature, And not so terrible a Feature; He could not give her heartily, And yet 'twas dangerous to deny.

Besides she lov'd a fierce Gallant, Says he, they have ask'd my Consent; If now I make a Noise about it, Who knows but they may do't without it.

Therefore he us'd a Stratagem With honey-words to wheedle him.

My Daughter thanks you, Sir, for the honour, Which you are pleas'd to bestow upon her.

To talk of Joyntures would be rude; I know what's for my Children's good.

She's wholly yours, and from this hour, Son, I resign her to your power.

I only wish, because your Bride Has but a foolish tender Hide, That when you take her in your Arm, For fear your Claws might do her harm, You'd suffer somebody to pare 'em; And then your Spouse need not to fear 'em.

Your Teeth indeed look fine and strong; But yet th'are somewhat sharp and long; If y'had 'em filed an Inch or two, 'T would be no prejudice to you, And she'd respect you ne'er the less, Admire the softness of your kiss, And be more free with you a Bed.

So senceless is a Lover's head: The Lyon yields, and stupidly Lets 'em disarm him _Cap-a-pe_.

And so the loving Son-in-Law, Remaining without Tooth or Claw, Look'd as defenceless as a Town With all the Walls and Gates broke down, With Dogs his complaisance they pay, To whom he falls an easy Prey.

The Moral.

_Where Love his Tyrany Commences; There, farewell Prudence, farewell Sences._

_The Angler and the little Carp._

That little Fishes may be greater, And that, the larger th' are the better I know; but then, to let em swim, And all the while to stay for 'em; Since catching so uncertain is, I think's a foolish Business.

An Angler patiently a fishing Employ'd with looking on, and wishing, Catches at last a little Carp That's very poor; but being sharp He thought 'twas something to begin, Opens his pouch to put him in.

But cries the Prisoner pitiously Alas, what would you do with me!

Let me grow bigger, throw me in.

Some two Year hence you'll catch m' again; I'll stay for you, for you may be sure; Then sell me to some Epicure, But now I'm such a silly Fish, A hundred would not make a Dish; And if they should, when all is done, There would be only Skin and Bone.

Says the Angler I've a Mind to try you, And if y' an't fit to Stew, I'll Fry you.

Leave preaching till anon, and then Discourse your Mattets to the Pan.

The Moral.

I _Chuse_ One is _for_ two May be's, _One sure for Ten_ Uncertainties.

_The Wolves and the Sheep._

Between the Wolves, and Sheep, the Wars Had lasted many hundred Years.

The Sheep could never feed in quiet; But Wolves disturb'd 'em at their Diet: And truly Wolf is every Day By Mastiff hunted from his Prey.

The Shepherd often cuts his Throat, And turns his Skin into a Coat.

But now both Parties are for ease; And met to agree on terms of Peace.

When in Debates some time was spent, On each side Hostages are sent: As such both Nations were to give What's valued most, the Wolves receive, The Dogs, of which in Awe they stood; The Sheep young Wolves of n.o.ble Blood: And thus the Peace is ratify'd, With Joy proclaim'd on every side.

But in short time the Whelps grew strong, The st.u.r.dy Rogues began to long For Blood, and Mischief; watch'd a day, The Shepherds were not in the way, Then hunt the young ones from their Dames, And pick'd and cull'd the finest Lambs; Kill'd and devour'd a Mult.i.tude; The rest they carry'd to a Wood, Where with the other Wolves they joyn, Who knew before hand their design.

The Dogs on publick Faith secure (And pray what ties could be more sure) Where whilst they slept, and thought no harm, Throttled before they heard th' alarm.

The Moral.

_Some Nations, fond of slothful Ease, Trust to deluding Enemies; And striving to avoid Expence, Will leave themselves without defence; But cunning Tyrants call 'em Friends, No longer than it serves their Ends.

Against a mighty King that is, Regardless of his Promises, Proclaim an everlasting War, Observe his Motions, watch with care; And never hearken to Peace, Proffer'd by faithless Enemies._

_The Wasps and Bees._

A Troop of Wasps claims openly Some Honey Combs without a Tree.

A Regiment of Bees declares, } The Honey, and the Combs, were theirs, } And let him touch the Goods that dares; } They'd shew that they were Bees, and forsooth.

Then says the Wasps, we'll pluck a Crew for't, An shall not fly for Bees, we scorn it.