But now (and they speak it with sorrow and tears)
Since your honour has sat at the helm of affairs,
No party will join them, no faction invite

To heed what they say, or to read what they write;
Sedition, and Tumult, and Discord are fled,
An-1 Slander scarce ventures to lift up her head-
In short, public business is so carry'd on,
That their country is sav'd, and the patriots undone.
To perplex them still more, and sure famine to
bring,

(Now satire has lost both its truth and its sting) If, in spite of their natures, they bungle at praise, Your honour regards not, and nobody pays.

YOUR petitioners therefore most humbly intreat (As the times will allow, and your honour thinks meet)

That measures be chang'd, and some cause of complaint

Be immediately furnish'd, to end their restraint;
Their credit thereby, and their trade to retrieve,
That again they may rail, and the nation believe.
Or else (if your wisdom shall deem it all one)
Now the parliament 's rising, and business is done,
That your honour would please, at this dangerous
crisis,

To take to your bosom a few private vices,
By which your petitioners haply might thrive,
And keep both themselves and Contention alive.
In compassion, good sir, give them something to
say,

And your honour's petitioners ever shall pray.

However to make matters short, And not to trespass on the court, The lady was discover'd soon, And thus it was. One afternoon, The ninth of July last, or near it, (As to the day, he could not swear it) In company at Mrs. P.'s, Where folks say any thing they please; Dean L. and lady Mary by, And Fanny waiting on Miss Y. (He own'd he was inclin'd to think Both were a little in their drink) The pris'ner ask'd, and call'd him cousin, How many kisses made a dozen? That being, as he own'd, in liquor, The question made his blood run quicker, And, sense and reason in eclipse, He vow'd he 'd score them on her lips. That rising up to keep his word, He got as far as kiss the third, And would have counted t' other nine, And so all present did opine, But that he felt a sudden dizziness, That quite undid him for the business: His speech, he said, began to falter, His eyes to stare, his mouth to water, His breast to thump without cessation, And all within one conflagration.

FOR PRIVATELY STEALING.

THE prisoner was at large indicted,
For that by thirst of gain excited,
One day in July last, at tea,

And in the house of Mrs. P.
From the left breast of E. M. gent.
With base felonious intent,

Did then and there a heart with strings,
Rest, quiet, peace, and other things,
Steal, rob, and plunder; and all them
The chattels of the said E. M.

The prosecutor swore, last May
(The month he knew, but not the day)
He left his friends in town, and went
Upon a visit down in Kent:

That staying there a month or two,
He spent his time as others do,

In riding, walking, fishing, swimming;
But being much inclin'd to women,

And young and wild, and no great reasoner,
He got acquainted with the prisoner.
He own'd, 'twas rumour'd in those parts
That she 'd a trick of stealing hearts,
And from fifteen to twenty-two,
Had made the devil and all to do:
But Mr. W. the vicar,

(And no man brews you better liquor)
Spoke of her thefts as tricks of youth,
The frolics of a girl forsooth:
Things now were on another score,
He said; for she was twenty-four.

And after that such cruel smarting,
He thought the soul and body parting.
That then he let the pris'ner go,
And stagger'd off a step or so;
And thinking that his heart was ill,
He begg'd of miss Y.'s maid to feel.
That Fanny stept before the rest,
And laid her hand upon his breast;
But, mercy on us! what a stare
The creature gave! No heart was there;
Souse went her fingers in the hole,
Whence heart, and strings, and all were stole.
That Tammy turn'd, and told the prisoner,
She was a thief, and so she 'd christen her;
And that it was a burning shame,
And brought the house an evil name;
And if she did not put the heart in,

The man would pine and die for certain.
The prisner then was in her airs,
And bid her mind her own affairs;
And told his reverence, and the rest of 'em,
She was as honest as the best of 'em.
That lady Mary and dean L.
Rose up and said, "Twas mighty well,"
But that, in general terms they said it,
A heart was gone, and some one had it:
Words would not do, for search they must,
And search they would, and her the first.
That then the pris'ner dropp'd her anger,
And said, she hop'd they would not hang her;
That all she did was meant in jest,
And there the heart was, and the rest.

That then the dean cry'd out, "O fie!"
And sent in haste for justice I.

Who, though he knew her friends and pity'd her,
Call'd her hard names, and so committed her.

The parties present swore the same;
And Fanny said, the pris'ner's name
Had frighten'd all the country round;
And glad she was the bill was found.
She knew a man, who knew another,
Who knew the very party's brother,
Who lost his heart by mere surprise,
One morning looking at her eyes;
And others had been known to squeak,
Who only chanc'd to hear her speak:
For she had words of such a sort,
That though she knew no reason for it,
Would make a man of sense run mad,
And rifle him of all he had;

And that she 'd rob the whole community,
If ever she had opportunity.

The pris'ner now first silence broke,
And curtsy'd round her as she spoke.
She own'd, she said, it much incens'd her,
To hear such matters sworn against her,
But that she hop'd to keep her temper,
And prove herself eadem semper.
That what the prosecutor swore

Was some part true, and some part more:
She own'd she had been often seen with him,

And laugh'd and chatted on the green with him;
The fellow seem'd to have humanity,
And told her tales that sooth'd her vanity,
Pretending that he lov'd her vastly,
And that all women else look'd ghastly.
But then she hop'd the court would think
She never was inclin'd to drink,

Or suffer hands like his to daub her, or
Encourage men to kiss and slobber her;
She'd have folks know she did not love it,
Or if she did, she was above it.

But this, she said, was sworn of course,
To prove her giddy, and then worse;
As she whose conduct was thought lævis,
Might very well be reckon'd thievish.
She hop'd, she said, the court's discerning
Would pay some honour to her learning,
For every day from four to past six,
She went up stairs, and read the classics.
Thus having clear'd herself of levity,

The rest, she said, would come with brevity.
And first, it injur'd not her honour
To own the heart was found upon her;
For she could prove, and did aver,
The paltry thing belong'd to her:

The fact was thus. This prince of knaves
Was once the humblest of her slaves,
And often had confess'd the dart
Her eyes had lodg'd within his heart:
That she, as 'twas her constant fashion,
Made great diversion of his passion;
Which set his blood in such a ferment,
As seem'd to threaten his interment:
That then she was afraid of losing him,
And so desisted from abusing him;
And often cane and felt his pulse,
And bid him write to doctor Hulse.
The prosecutor thank'd her kindly,
And sigh'd, and said she look'd divinely;
But told her that his heart was bursting,
And doctors he had little trust in ;

He therefore begg'd her to accept it,
And hop'd 'twould mend if once she kept it.
That having no aversion to it,

She said, with all her soul, she 'd do it;
But then she begg'd him to remember,
If he should need it in December,

(For winter months would make folks shiver,

Who wanted either heart or liver)

It never could return; and added,
'Twas her's for life, if once she had it.
The prosecutor said, Amen,

And that he wish'd it not again;

And took it from his breast and gave her,
And bow'd, and thank'd her for the favour;
But begg'd the thing might not be spoke of,
As heartless men were made a joke of.
That next day, whisp'ring him about it,
And asking how he felt without it,
He sigh'd, and cry'd, Alack! alack!
And begg'd, and pray'd to have it back;
Or that she'd give him her's instead on 't :
But she conceiv'd there was no need on 't;
And said, and bid him make no pother,
He should have neither one nor t' other.
That then he rav'd and storm'd like fury,
And said, that one was his de jure,
And rather than he 'd leave pursuing her,
He'd swear a robbery, and ruin her.
That this was truth she did aver,
Whatever hap betided her.

Only that Mrs. P. she said,

Miss Y. and her deluded maid,

And lady Mary, and his reverence,

Were folks to whom she paid some deference; And that she verily believ'd

They were not perjur'd, but deceiv'd.

Then doctor D. begg'd leave to speak,
And sigh'd as if his heart would break.
He said, that he was madam's surgeon,
Or rather, as in Greek, chirurgeon,
From cheir, manus, ergon, opus,
(As scope is from the Latin scopus.)
That he, he said, had known the prisoner
From the first sun that ever rose on her;
And griev'd he was to see her there;
But took upon himself to swear,
There was not to be found in nature
A sweeter or a better creature;
And if the king (God bless him) knew her,
He'd leave St. James's to get to her:
But then, as to the fact in question,
He knew no more on 't than Hephæstion;
It might be false, and might be true;
And this, he said, was all he knew.
The judge proceeded to the charge,
And gave the evidence at large,
But often cast a sheep's eye at her,
And strove to mitigate the matter,
Pretending facts were not so clear,
And mercy ought to interfere.

The jury then withdrew a moment,
As if on weighty points to comment;
And, right or wrong, resolv'd to save her,
They gave a verdict in her favour.

But why or wherefore things were so,
It matters not for us to know:
The culprit by escape grown bold,
Pilfers alike from young and old,
The country all around her teazes,
And robs or murders whom she pleases.

FABLES FOR THE LADIES.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

Tuz following Fables were written at intervals, when I found myself in humour, and disengaged from matters of greater moment. As they are the writings of an idle hour, so they are intended for the reading of those, whose only business is amusement. My hopes of profit, or applause, are not immoderate; nor have I printed through necessity, or request of friends. I have leave from her royal highness to address her, and I claim the fair for my readers. My fears are lighter than my expectations; I wrote to please myself, and I publish to please others; and this so universally, that

I have not wished for correctness to rob the critic of his censure, or my friend of the laugh.

My intimates are few, and I am not solicitous to increase them. I have learnt, that where the writer would please, the man should be unknown. An author is the reverse of all other objects, and magnities by distance, but diminishes by approach. His private attachments must give place to public favour; for no man can forgive his friend the illnatured attempt of being thought wiser than himself.

To avoid therefore the misfortunes that may attend me from any accidental success, I think it necessary to inform those who know me, that I have been assisted in the following papers by the author of Gustavus Vasa 1. Let the crime of pleasing be his, whose talents as a writer, and whose virtues as a man, have rendered him a living afront to the whole circle of his acquaintance.

FABLE I.

THE EAGLE AND THE ASSEMBLY OF BIRDS.

TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES.

THE moral lay, to beauty due,

I write, fair excellence, to you;

Well pleas'd to hope my vacant hours
Have been employ'd to sweeten yours.
Truth under fiction I impart,

To weed out folly from the heart;
And show the paths that lead astray
The wand'ring nymph from Wisdom's way.
] flatter none. The great and good
Are by their actions understood;
Your monument if actions raise,
Shall I deface by idle praise?

I echo not the voice of Fame,
That dweils delighted on your name;
Her friendly tale, however true,
Were flatt'ry, if I told it you.

The proud, the envious, and the vain,
The jilt, the paude, demand my strain;
To these, detesting praise, I write,
And vent, in charity, my spite.

With friendly hand I hold the glass
To all, promiscuous as they pass;
Should Folly there her likeness view,
I fret not that the mirror 's true;
If the fantastic form offend,
I made it no, but would amend.

Virtue, in every clime and age,
Spurns at the folly-soothing page,
While satire, that offends the ear
Of Vice and Passion, pleases her.

Premising this, your anger spare; And claim the fable you who dare.

To Jupiter their pray'rs address'd;
THE birds in place, by factions press'd,
By specious lies the state was vex'd,
Their counsels libellers perplex'd;
They begg'd (to stop seditious tongues)
A gracious hearing of their wrongs.
Jove grants their suit. The Eagle sate,
Decider of the grand debate.

The Pyc, to trust and pow'r preferr'd,
Demands permission to be heard.
ys he, Prolixity of phrase
You know I hate. This libel says,

Are hir'd to silence Wisdom's voice,
Some birds there are, who, prone to noise,
And skill'd to chatter out the hour,
Rise by their emptiness to pow'r.'
That this is aim'd direct at ine,
No doubt, you'll readily agree;
Yet well this sage assembly knows,
By parts to government rose;
My prudent counsels prop the state;
Magpies were never known to prate."
In virtue's sufferings bore a part.
The Kite rose up. "His honest heart
That there were birds of prey he knew;
So far the libeller said true;

Voracious, bold, to rapine prone,
Who knew no intrest but their own;
Who hovering o'er the farmer's yard,
Nor pigeon, chick, nor duckling spar'd.'
This might be true, but if apply'd
To him, in troth, the sland'rer ly'd.
Since igu'rance then might be misled,
Such things, he thought, were best unsaid."
The Crow was vex'd. As yester-morn
He flew across the new-sown corn,
A screaming boy was set for pay,
He knew, to drive the crows away;
Scandal bad found out him in turn,
And buzz'd abroad, that crows love corn.
The Owl arose, with solemn face,

And thus harangu'd upon the case.

That magpies prate, it may be true,

A kite may be voracious too,
Crows sometimes deal in new-sown pease;
He libels not, who strikes at these;
The slander's here- But there are birds,
Whose wisdom lies in looks, not words;
Blund'rers, who level in the dark,
And always shoot beside the mark.'
He names not me; but these are hints,
Which manifests at whom he squints;
I were indeed that blund'ring fowl,
To question if he meant an ov!."

"Ye wretches, hence!" the Eagle cries, "'Tis conscience, conscience that applies;

P

The virtuous mind takes no alarm, Secur'd by innocence from harm: While Guilt, and his associate, Fear, Are startled at the passing air."

FABLE II.

THE

PANTHER, THE HORSE, AND OTHER BEASTS.
THE man who seeks to win the fair,
(So custom says) must truth forbear;
Must fawn and flatter, cringe and lie,
And raise the goddess to the sky.
For truth is hateful to her car,
A rudeness, which she cannot bear.

A rudeness? Yes. I speak my thoughts;
For truth upbraids her with her faults.
How wretched, Chloe, then am I,
Who love you, and yet cannot le!
And still to make you less my friend,
I strive your errours to amend!
But shall the senseless fop impart
The softest passion to your heart,
While he, who tells you honest truth,
And points to happiness your youth,
Determines, by his care, his lot,
And lives neglected, and forgot?

Trust me, my dear, with greater ease
Your taste for flatt'ry I could please,
And similies in cach dull line,
Like glow-worms in the dark, should shine.
What if I say your lips disclose
The freshness of the op'ning rose?
Or that your cheeks are beds of flow'rs,
Enripen'd by refreshing show'rs?
Yet certain as these flow'rs shall fade,
Time every beauty will invade.
The butterfly, of various hue,
More than the flow'r resembles you;
Fair, fluttering, fickle, busy thing,
To pleasure ever on the wing,
Gayly coquetting for an hour,

To die, and ne'er be thought of more.

Would you the bloom of youth should last?

"Tis virtue that must bind it fast;

An easy carriage, wholly free

From sour reserve, or levity;
Good-natur'd mirth, an open heart,
And looks unskill'd in any art;
Humility, enough to own

The frailties, which a friend makes known;
And decent pride, enough to know
The worth, that virtue can bestow.

These are the charms, which ne'er decay,
Though youth and beauty fade away;
And time, which all things else removes,
Still heightens virtue, and improves.

You'll frown, and ask to what intent
This blunt address to you is sent ?
I'll spare the question, and confess
I'd praise you, if I lov'd you less:
But rail, be angry, or complain,
I will be rude, while you are vain.

BENEATH a lion's peaceful reign, When beasts met friendly on the plain, A Panther, of majestic port, (The vainest female of the court)

With spotted skin, and eyes of fire,
Fill'd every bosom with desire.
Where'er she mov'd, a servile crowd
Of fawning creatures cring'd and bow'd;
Assemblies every week she held,

(Like modern belles) with coxcombs fill'd,
Where noise and nonsense, and grimace,
And lies and scandal fill'd the place.

Behold the gay, fantastic thing,
Encircled by the spacious ring.
Low bowing, with important look,
As first in rank, the Monkey spoke.

Gad take me, madam, but I swear,
No angel ever look'd so fair:
Forgive my rudeness, but I vow
You were not quite divine till now;

Those limbs! that shape! and then those eyes!

O, close them, or the gazer dies!"

Nay, gentle pug, for goodness hush,

I vow, and swear, you make me blush;

I shall be angry at this rate;
"Tis so Eke flatt'ry, which I hate."

The Fox, in deeper cunning vers'd,
The beauties of her mind rehears'd,
And talk'd of knowledge, taste, and sense,
To which the fair have vast pretence!
Yet well he knew them always vain
Of what they strive not to attain,
And play'd so cunningly his part,
That pug was rivall'd in his art.

The Goat avow'd his amorous flame;
And burnt-for what he durst not name;
Yei hop'd a meeting in the wood
Might make his meaning understood.
Half angry at the bold address,

She frown'd; but yet, she must confess,
Such beauties might inflame his blood,
But still his phrase was somewhat rude.

The Hog her neatness much admir'd;
The formal Ass her swiftness fir'd;
While all to feed her folly strove,
And by their praises shar'd her love.

The Horse, whose gen'rous heart disdain'd Applause by servile flatt'ry gain'd,

With graceful courage, silence broke,
And thus with indignation spoke.

When flattering monkeys fawn and prate, They justly raise contempt or hate; For merit 's turn'd to ridicule, Applauded by the grinning fool. The artful fox your wit commends, To lure you to his selfish ends; From the vile flatt'rer turn away, For knaves make friendships to betray. Dismiss the train of fops and fools, And learn to live by wisdom's rules; Such beauties might the lion warm, Did not your folly break the charm; For who would comit that lovely shape, To be the rival of an ape?"

He said; and snorting in disdain, Spurn'd at the crowd, and sought the plain.

FABLE III.

THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.

Tur prudent nymph, whose checks disclose The lily, and the blushing rose,

From public view her charms will screen,
And rarely in the crowd be seen;
This simple truth shall keep her wise,
"The fairest fruits attract the flies."

ONE night, a Glow-worm, proud and vain,
Contemplating her glitt'ring train,
Cry'd, "Sure there never was in nature
So elegant, so fine a creature.
All other insects, that I see,
The frugal ant, industrious bee,
Or silkworm, with contempt I view ;
With all that low, mechanic crew,
Who servilely their lives employ
In business, enemy to joy.

Mean, vulgar herd! ye are my scorn,
For grandeur only I was born,
Or sure am sprung from race divine,
And plac'd on Earth, to live and shine.
Those lights that sparkle so on high,
Are but the glow-worms of the sky,
And kings on Earth their gems admire,
Because they imitate my fire."

She spoke. Attentive on a spray,
A Nightingale forbore his lay;
He saw the shining morsel near,
And flew, directed by the glare;
A while he gaz'd with sober look,
And thus the trembling prey bespoke.
“Deluded fool, with pride elate,
Know, 'tis thy beauty brings thy fate:
Less dazzling, long thou might'st have lain
Unheeded on the velvet plain :
Pride, soon or late, degraded mourns,
And Beauty wrecks whom she adorns."

FABLE IV.

HYMEN AND DEATH.

SIXTEEN, d'ye say? Nay then 'tis time;
Another year destroys your prime.
But stay-The settlement ! That's made."
Why then 's my simple girl afraid?
Yet hold a moment, if you can,
And heedfully the fable scan.

THE shades were fled, the morning blush'd,
The winds were in their caverns hush'd,
When Hymen, pensive and sedate,
Held o'er the fields his musing gait.
Behind him, through the green-wood shade,
Death's meagre form the god survey'd,
Who quickly, with gigantic stride,
Out-went his pace, and join'd his side.
The chat on various subjects ran,
Tall angry Hymen thus began.

"Relentless Death, whose iron sway
Mortals reluctant must obey,
Still of thy pow'r shall I complain,
And thy too partial hand arraign?
When Cupid brings a pair of hearts
All over stuck with equal darts,
Thy cruel shafts my hopes deride,
And cut the knot, that Hymen ty'd.
"Shall not the bloody, and the bold,
The miser, hoarding up his gold,
The harlot, reeking from the stew,
Alone thy fell revenge pursue?

But must the gentle, and the kind,
Thy fury, undistinguish'd, find?”

The monarch calmnly thus reply'd:
"Weigh well the cause, and then decide.
That friend of yours, you lately nam'd,
Cupid, alone is to be blam'd;
Then let the charge be justly laid;
That idle boy neglects his trade,
And hardly once in twenty years,
A couple to your temple bears.
The wretches, whom your office blends,
Silenus now, or Plutus sends;
Hence care, and bitterness, and strife
Are common to the nuptial life.
"Believe me; more than all mankind,
Your vot'ries my compassion find ;
Yet cruel am I call'd, and base,
Who seek the wretched to release;
The captive from his bonds to free,
Indissoluble but for me.

""Tis I entice him to the yoke;
By me, your crowded altars smoke:
For mortals boldly dare the noose,
Secure that Death will set them loose."

FABLE V.

THE POET AND HIS PATRON.

WHY, Calia, is your spreading waist

So loose, so negligently lac'd?

Why must the wrapping bed-gown bide
Your snowy bosom's swelling pride?

How ill that dress adorns your head,
Distain'd, and rumpled from the bed!
Those clouds, that shade your blooming face,
A little water might displace,

As Nature every morn bestows

The crystal dew, to cleanse the rose.

Those tresses, as the raven black,
That way'd in ringlets down your back,
Uncomb'd, and injur'd by neglect,
Destroy the face, which once they deck'd.
Whence this forgetfulness of dress?
Pray, madam, are you marry'd?
Nay, then indeed the won ler ceases,
No matter now how loose your dress is;
The end is won, your fortune's made,
Your sister now may take the trade.

Alas! what pity 'tis to find
This fault in half the female kind!
From hence proceed aversion, strife,
And all that sours the wedded life.
Beauty can only po'nt the dart,
Tis neatness guides it to the heart;
Let neatness then, and beanty strive
To keep a wav'ring flame alive.

"Tis harder far (you'll find it true)
To keep the conquest, than subdue;
Admn't us once bebind the screen,
What is there further to be seen?
A newer face may raise the flame,
But every woman is the same.

Yes,"

Then study chiefly to improve The charm, that fix'd your husband's love. Weigh well his humour. Was it dress, That gave your beauty power to bless? Pursue it still; be neater seen;

'Tis always frugal to be clean;