A Wolf so pitious poor and thin,
His very Bones stuck through his Skin,
(A sign the Dogs were watchful) met
A sturdy Mastiff, slick and fat.
Sir Wolf, revengeful on his Foes,
Had murder'd him, as one of those
That hinder'd him from stealing Cattle;
But was afraid of joyning Battle
With one, that look'd, as if he could
Stand buff, and make his party good.
And therefore in an humble way
He gives the Dog the time o'th' Day;
Talks mighty complaisant, and vents
A Waggon Load of Compliments
Upon his being in such a Case,
His brawny Flank and jolly Face.
Sir Wolf, replies the Mastiff, you
May be as fat as any Doe,
If you'll but follow my advice;
For Faith, I think you are unwise,
To ramble up and down a Wood,
Where's nothing to be had, that's good,
No Elemosynary meat,
Or e'er a bit, that's good to eat,
But what is got by downright force,
For which at last you pay in course.
And thus yourselves, your hagged Wives
And Children lead but wretched lives;
Always in fear of being caught,
Till commonly y'are starv'd or shot.
Quoth Wolf, shew me a livelyhood,
And then, the Devil take the Wood:
I stand in need of better Diet,
And would be glad to feed in quiet:
But, pray, What's to be done, an't please ye?
Nothing, but what is very easy;
To bark at Fellows that look poor,
Fright pilfring Strolers from the Door;
And then, which is the chiefest matter,
To wag your Tail, to coax and flatter
Those of the Family; for this
They'll give you hundred Niceties,
As Chicken Bones, boyl'd Loins of Mutton,
As good as ever Tooth was put in,
The licking of a greasy Dish,
And all the Dainties Heart can wish;
Besides, the Master shall caress ye,
Spit in your Mouth, and——Heaven bless ye.
Good Sir, let's go immediately,
Reply'd the Wolf, and wept for Joy.
They went; and tho' they walk'd apace,
The Wolf spy'd here and there a Place
About the Neck of Mastiff, where,
It seems, his Curship lost some Hair,
And said, pray Brother Dog, What's this?
Nothing. Nay, tell me, what it is;
It looks like gall'd. Perhaps 'tis from
My Collar. Then, I find, at home
They tie you. Yes. I'm not inclin'd to't,
Or goes it loose when y'have a Mind to't,
Truely not always; but what's that?
What's that! quoth he; I smell a Rat;
My Liberty is such a Treasure,
I'll change it for no Earthly Pleasure;
At that his Wolfship fled, and so
Is flying still for ought I know.
The Frog.
A Frog threw his ambitious Eyes
Upon an Ox, admired his size,
And, from the smallness of an Egg,
Endeavoured to become as big.
He swells himself, and puffs, and blows,
And every foot, cries there he goes.
Well, Brother, have I bulk enough,
An't I as large, as he? What stuff!
Pray look again. The Dev'l a bit.
Then now. You don't come near him yet.
Again he swells, and swells so fast,
Till, straining more, he bursts at last.
So full of Pride is every Age!
A Citizen must have a Page,
A Petty Prince Ambassadors,
And Tradesmens Children Governours;
A Fellow, that i'n't worth a Louse,
Still keeps his Coach and Country-house;
A Merchant swell'd with haughtiness,
Looks ten times bigger than he is;
Buys all, and draws upon his Friend,
As if his Credit had no end;
At length he strains with so much Force,
Till, like the Frog, he bursts in course,
And, by his empty Skin you find,
That he was only fill'd with Wind.
The Pumkin and Acorn.
A Self conceited Country Bumkin
Thus made his glosses on a Pumkin.
The Fruit, says he, is very big,
The Stalk not thicker than a Twig,
Scarce any Root, great Leaves; I wonder,
Dame Nature should make such a blunder:
Had I been she, I would have plac'd it
On yon high Oak, and 'twould have grac'd it
Better than Acorns; its a whim
A little Shrub would do for them;
Why should a Tree so tall and fine,
Bear small stuff only fit for Swine?
But hundred things are made in waste,
Which shews the World was fram'd in haste.
Had I been sent for in those Days,
'Twould have been managed otherwise:
I would have made all of a suit,
And large Trees should have had large Fruit.
Thus he went on, and in his Eyes,
The Simpleton was very wise;
A little after, coming nigh
An Oak, whose Crown was very high,
He liked the Place and down he laid
His weary Carcass, in the Shade:
But, as the find-fault Animal
Turn'd on his Back, an Acorn fell,
And hit his Nose a swinging Blow.
Good God was this the Pumkin now!
The very thought on't struck him dumb:
He prais'd his Maker, and went home.
The Moral.
The World's vast Fabrick is so well
Contrived by its Creator's Skill;
There's nothing in't, but what is good
To him, by whom its understood;
And what opposes Human Sence,
Shews but our Pride and Ignorance.