FABLE.

THE GOAT WITHOUT A BEARD.

'Tis certain that the modish passions Descend among the crowd like fashions. Excuse me, then, if pride, conceit (The manners of the fair and great) I give to monkeys, asses, dogs,

I

Fleas, owls, goats, butterflies, and hogs, say that these are proud: what then! I never said they equal men.

A Goat (as vain as Goat can be)
Affected singularity:

Whene'er a thymy bank he found,
He roll'd upon the fragrant ground,
And then with fond attention stood,
Fix'd o'er his image in the flood.

"I hate my frowzy beard," he cries,
"My youth is lost in this disguise.
Did not the females know my vigour,
Well might they loath this reverend figure."
Resolv'd to smooth his shaggy face,
He sought the barber of the place.
A flippant monkey, spruce and smart,
Hard by, profess'd the dapper art:
His pole with pewter-basons hung,
Black rotten teeth in order strung,
Rang'd cups, that in the window stood,
Lin'd with red rags to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,

Who shav'd, drew teeth, and breath'd a vein.

The Goat he welcomes with an air, And seats him in his wooden chair: Mouth, nose, and cheek, the lather hides : Light, smooth, and swift, the razor glides. "I hope your custom, sir," says Pug. "Sure never face was half so smug!" The Goat, impatient for applause, Swift to the neighbouring hill withdraws. The shaggy people grinn'd and star'd. "Heigh-day! what's here? without a beard! Say, brother, whence the dire disgrace? What envious hand hath robb'd your face ?" When thus the fop, with smiles of scorn, "Are beards by civil nations worn? Ev'n Muscovites have mow'd their chins. Shall we, like formal Capuchins, Stubborn in pride, retain the mode, And bear about the hairy load? Whene'er we through the village stray, Are we not mock'd along the way, Insulted with loud shouts of scorn, By boys our beards disgrac'd and torn? "Were you no more with Goats to dwell, Brother, I grant you reason well," Replies a bearded chief. "Beside, If boys can mortify thy pride, How wilt thou stand the ridicule Of our whole flock? Affected fool!" Coxcombs, distinguish'd from the rest, To all but coxcombs are a jest.

FABLE.

THE UNIVERSAL APPARITION.

A RAKE, by every passion rul'd,
With every vice his youth had cool'd;
Disease his tainted blood assails;

His spirits droop, his vigour fails:
With secret ills at home he pines,
And, like infirm old age, declines.

As, twing'd with pain, he pensive sits,
And raves, and prays, and swears, by fits,
A ghastly Phantom, lean and wan,
Before him rose, and thus began:

"My name, perhaps, hath reach'd your ear;

Attend, and be advis'd by Care.

Nor love, nor honour, wealth, nor power,
Can give the heart a cheerful hour,
When health is lost. Be timely wise:
With health all taste of pleasure flies."
Thus said, the Phantom disappears.
The wary counsel wak'd his fears.
He now from all excess abstains,
With physic purifies his veins ;
And, to procure a sober life,
Resolves to venture on a wife.

But now again the Sprite ascends,
Where'er he walks, his ear attends,
Insinuates that beauty 's frail,
That perseverance must prevail,
With jealousies his brain inflames,
And whispers all her lovers' names.
In other hours she represents

His household charge, his annual rents,

Increasing debts, perplexing duns,
And nothing for his younger sons.

Straight all his thought to gain he turns,
And with the thirst of lucre burns.
But, when possess'd of Fortune's store,
The Spectre haunts him more and more;
Sets want and misery in view,

Bold thieves, and all the murdering crew;
Alarms him with eternal frights,

Infests his dreams, or wakes his nights.
How shall he chase this hideous guest?
Power may, perhaps, protect his rest.
To power he rose. Again the Sprite
Besets him morning, noon, and night;
Talks of Ambition's tottering seat,
How Envy persecutes the great ;
Of rival hate, of treacherous friends,
And what disgrace his fall attends.

The court he quits, to fly from Care,
And seeks the peace of rural air;
His groves, his fields, amus'd his hours;
He prun'd his trees, he rais'd his flowers
But Care again his steps pursues,
Warns him of blasts, of blighting dews,
Of plundering insects, snails, and rains,
And droughts that starv'd the labour'd plains.
Abroad, at home, the Spectre's there;
In vain we seek to fly from Care.

At length he thus the Ghost addrest:
Since thou must be my constant guest,
Be kind, and follow me no more;
For Care, by right, should go before.”

FABLE.

THE JUGGLERS.

A JUGGLER long through all the town Had rais'd his fortune and renown; You'd think (so far his art transcends) The devil at his fingers' ends.

Vice heard his fame, she read his bill;
Convinc'd of his inferior skill,

She sought his booth, and from the crowd
Defy'd the man of art aloud.

"Is this then he so fam'd for sleight?
Can this slow bungler cheat your sight?
Dares he with me dispute the prize?
I leave it to impartial eyes."

Provok'd, the Juggler cry'd, "Tis done; In science I submit to none."

Thus said, the cups and balls he play'd;
By turns this here, that there, conveyed.
The cards, obedient to his words,
Are by a fillip turn'd to birds.

His little boxes change the grain:
Trick after trick deludes the train.
He shakes his bag, he shows all fair;
His fingers spread, and nothing there;
Then bids it rain with showers of gold;
And now his ivory eggs are told;
But, when from thence the hen he draws,
Amaz'd spectators hum applause.

Vice now stept forth, and took the place, With all the forms of his grimace.