'What means yon peasant's daily toil,
From choking weeds to rid the soil?
Why wake you to the morning's care,
Why with new arts correct the year,
Why glows the peach with crimson hue,
And why the plum's inviting blue;
Were they to feast his taste design'd,
That vermin of voracious kind?

Crush then the slow, the pilfering race;
So purge thy garden from disgrace.'

'What arrogance!' the snail replied; 'How insolent is upstart pride!

Hadst thou not thus with insult vain,
Provoked my patience to complain,
I had concealed thy meaner birth,
Nor traced thee to the scum of earth.
For scarce nine suns have waked the hours,
To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers,
Since I thy humbler life surveyed,
In base, in sordid guise arrayed;
A hideous insect, vile, unclean,
You dragged a slow and noisome train;
And from your spider-bowels drew
Foul film, and spun the dirty clew.
I own my humble life, good friend;
Snail was I born, and snail shall end.
And what's a butterfly? At best,
He's but a caterpillar, dress'd;
And all thy race (a numerous seed)
Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'

FABLE XXV.

THE SCOLD AND THE PARROT.

THE husband thus reproved his wife:
'Who deals in slander, lives in strife.
Art thou the herald of disgrace,
Denouncing war to all thy race?
Can nothing quell thy thunder's rage,
Which spares no friend, nor sex, nor age?
That vixen tongue of yours, my dear,
Alarms our neighbours far and near.
Good gods! 'tis like a rolling river,
That murmuring flows, and flows for ever!
Ne'er tired, perpetual discord sowing!
Like fame, it gathers strength by going.'

Heyday!' the flippant tongue replies,

How solemn is the fool, how wise!
Is nature's choicest gift debarred?
Nay, frown not; for I will be heard.
Women of late are finely ridden,
A parrot's privilege forbidden!

You praise his talk, his squalling song;
But wives are always in the wrong.'
Now reputations flew in pieces,

Of mothers, daughters, aunts, and nieces.
She ran the parrot's language o'er,
Bawd, hussy, drunkard, slattern, whore;
On all the sex she vents her fury,
Tries and condemns without a jury.

At once the torrent of her words.
Alarmed cat, monkey, dogs, and birds:
All join their forces to confound her;
Puss spits, the monkey chatters round her;

The yelping cur her heels assaults;
The magpie blabs out all her faults;
Poll, in the uproar, from his cage,
With this rebuke out-screamed her rage:
'A parrot is for talking prized,
But prattling women are despised.
She who attacks another's honour,
Draws every living thing upon her.
Think, madam, when you stretch your lungs,
That all your neighbours too have tongues.
One slander must ten thousand get,
The world with interest pays the debt.'

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FABLE XXVI.

THE CUR AND THE MASTIFF.

A SNEAKING cur, the master's spy,
Rewarded for his daily lie,
With secret jealousies and fears
Set all together by the ears.
Poor puss to-day was in disgrace,
Another cat supplied her place;
The hound was beat, the mastiff chid,
The monkey was the room forbid ;
Each to his dearest friend grew shy,
And none could tell the reason why.

A plan to rob the house was laid,
The thief with love seduced the maid;
Cajoled the cur, and stroked his head,
And bought his secrecy with bread.
He next the mastiff's honour tried,
Whose honest jaws the bribe defied.

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He stretched his hand to proffer more;
The surly dog his fingers tore.

Swift ran the cur; with indignation
The master took his information.

'Hang him, the villain's cursed,' he cries;
And round his neck the halter ties.
The dog his humble suit preferred,
And begged in justice to be heard.
The master sat. On either hand
The cited dogs confronting stand;
The cur the bloody tale relates,
And, like a lawyer, aggravates.

'Judge not unheard,' the mastiff cried,
'But weigh the cause on either side.
Think not that treachery can be just,
Take not informers' words on trust.
They ope their hand to every pay,
And you and me by turns betray.'

He spoke. And all the truth appeared, The cur was hanged, the mastiff cleared.

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FABLE XXVII.

THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.

Is there no hope?' the sick man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the man with gasping breath;
'I feel the chilling wound of death:
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.

I grant, my bargains well were made,
But all men over-reach in trade;
"Tis self-defence in each profession,
Sure self-defence is no transgression.
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increased. If unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs,
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail;
If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
Reduced a family to need,

My will hath made the world amends;
My hope on charity depends.

When I am numbered with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,

By heaven and earth 'twill then be known
My charities were amply shown.'

An angel came. 'Ah, friend!' he cried,
'No more in flattering hope confide.
Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action's in thy power,
Embrace with joy the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,

Prove your intention is sincere.

This instant give a hundred pound;

Your neighbours want, and you abound.'

'But why such haste?' the sick man whines;

'Who knows as yet what Heaven designs? Perhaps I may recover still;

That sum and more are in my will.'

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