View not with envy the luxurious great:
Think that from riot bankruptcies will come,
And mark your prudent neighbour worth a plum.
Reflection.
Whenever a man endeavours to live equal with one of a greater fortune than himself, he is sure to share a like fate with the Frog in the Fable. How many vain people of moderate easy circumstances burst and come to nothing, by vying with those whose estates are more ample than their own! Sir Changeling Plumbstock was possessed of a very considerable demesne, devolved to him by the death of an old uncle of the city, who had adopted him his heir. He had a false taste of happiness; and, without the least economy, trusting to the sufficiency of his vast revenue, was resolved to be outdone by nobody, in shewish grandeur and expensive living. He gave five thousand pounds for a piece of ground in the country, to set a house upon, the building and furniture of which cost fifty thousand more; and his gardens were proportionably magnificent. Besides which, he thought himself under a necessity of buying out two or three tenements which stood in his neighbourhood, that he might have elbow room enough. All this he could very well bear; and still might have been happy, had it not been for an unfortunate view which he one day happened to take of my Lord Castlebuilder’s gardens, which consist of twenty acres, whereas his own were not above twelve. For from that time he grew pensive; and before the ensuing winter, gave five and thirty years’ purchase for a dozen acres more to enlarge his gardens, built a couple of exorbitant greenhouses and a large pavilion at the farther end of a terrace walk, the bare repairs and superintendencies of all which call for the remaining part of his income. He is mortgaged pretty deep, and pays nobody; but, being a privileged person, resides altogether at a private cheap lodging in the city of Westminster.
Fable LXIII.
The Dove and the Bee.
The Bee, compelled by thirst, went to drink in a clear purling rivulet; but the current, with its circling eddy, snatched her away, and carried her down the stream. A Dove, pitying her distressed condition, cropt a branch from a neighbouring tree, and let it fall into the water, by means of which the Bee saved herself, and got ashore. Not long after, a Fowler, having a design upon the Dove, planted his nets and all his little artillery in due order, without the Bird’s observing what he was about; which the Bee perceiving, just as he was going to put his design in execution she bit him by the heel, and made him give so sudden a start, that the Dove took the alarm, and flew away.