The Plague among the Beasts.
One time a mighty Plague did pester
All Beasts Domestick and Sylvester,
They try'd a world of Remedies;
But none that conquer'd the Disease:
And, as in the Calamity
All did not dye, so none were free.
The Lyon in this Consternation
Sends by his Royal Proclamation
To all his loving Subjects greeting,
And summons 'em t' a general Meeting;
And when they're come about his Den,
He says, my Lords and Gentlemen,
I believe you're met full of the Sence
Of this consuming Pestilence;
Sure such extraordinary Punishment
On common Crimes was never sent;
Therefore it took its derivation,
Not from the trivial Sence of the Nation;
But some notorious Wickedness; }
Then let us search our Consciences, }
And ev'ry one his Faults confess. }
We'll judge the biggest and the least,
And he that is the wicked'st Beast
Shall as a Sacrifice be giv'n,
T'allay the wrath of angry Heav'n,
And serve our Sins an expiation
By ancient way of Immolation;
And, since no one is free from Sin,
Thus with my own I'll first begin.
I've kill'd an Ox, and which is worse,
Committed Murder on a Horse;
And one Day, as I am a Sinner,
I have eat seven Pigs for Dinner,
Robb'd Woods, and Fens, and like a Glutton,
Fed on whole Flocks of Lamb and Mutton:
Nay sometimes, for 'tis in vain to lie,
The Shepherd went for Company.
This was his Speech; when Chanc'lor Fox
Cries out, what signifies an Ox,
Or Horse? Sure those unworthy things
Are honour'd, when made sport for Kings.
But, Sir, your Conscience is too nice,
Hunting's a Princely Exercise:
As for the Sheep, that foolish Cattle,
Not fit for Carriage nor for Battle,
And being tolerable Meat,
Are good for nothing, but to eat.
The shepherd your sworn Enemy
Deserv'd no better Destiny.
Thus was he, that had sin'd for Twenty,
Clear'd Nemine Contradicente.
The Bear, the Tyger, Beasts that fight,
And all that could but scratch or bite
Came off well; for their gross Abuses
Others as bad found Excuses.
Nay even the Cat of wicked Nature
That kills at play his Fellow Creature
Went scot free: But his Gravity
An Ass of stupid Memory
Confess'd, that, going to Sturbridge-Fair
His Back most broke with Wooden-ware,
He chanc'd half starv'd, and faint, to pass
By a Church-yard with exc'lent Grass,
They had forgot to shut the Gate,
He ventur'd in, stoop'd down and ate.
Hold, cries Judge Wolf, no more, for Crimes
As these, deserve such fatal Times.
By several Acts of Parliament
'Tis Sacriledge, they all consent;
And thus the silly virtuous Ass
Was Sacrifis'd for eating Grass.
The Moral.
The Fable shews you poor Folk's fate
Whilst Laws can never reach the Great.
The Grasshopper and Ant.
A Merry Grasshopper, that sung
And tun'd it all the Summer long,
Fed on small Flies, and had no Reason
To have sad thoughts the gentler Season;
For when 'twas hot the Wind at South,
The Victuals flew into his Mouth:
But when the Winters cold came on,
He found he was as much undone,
As any Insect under Heav'n;
And now the hungry Songster's driv'n
To such a state, no Man can know it,
But a Musician or a Poet,
He makes a Visit to an Ant,
Desires he would relieve his want;
I come not in a begging way, }
Says he, No Sir, name but a day }
In July next, and I'll repay, }
Your Interest and your Principal
Shall both be ready at a Call.
The thrifty Ant says truly Neighbour,
I get my Living by hard Labour;
But you, that in this Storm came hither,
What have you done when 'twas fair Weather?
I've sung, replies the Grasshopper;
Sung! says the Ant, your Servant, Sir;
If you have sung away the best
Of all the Year, go dance the rest.
The Milk Woman.
A Straping Dame, a going to Town
To sell her Milk with thin Stuff Gown,
And Coats tuck'd up fit for a Race,
Marches along a swinging Pace:
And in her Thoughts already counts
The Price to which her Milk amounts;
She fancies all is sold, and lays
The Money out a hundred ways;
At last she's fix'd, and thinks it plain,
That Eggs would bring the surest Gain:
She buys a hundred, which she reckons
Will four Weeks hence be six Score Chickens.
Such mighty care she takes to rear 'em,
No Fox or Kite can e'er come near 'em,
The finest Hens are kept for Eggs;
The others sold to buy some Piggs;
To whom a little Bran she gives
With Turnep-tops and Cabbage leaves;
And tho' they get no Pease to speak on,
Yet in short time they're sold for Bacon.
O! how the Money pleas'd her Thought
For which a Cow and Calf are bought;
She'll have 'em on the Common kept,
There see 'em jump, at that she leapt
For joy; down comes the Pail, and now
Good Night t'ye Chickens, Calf and Cow,
Eggs, Bacon; all her busy care,
With them are dwindled into Air.
She looks with Sorrow on the Ground,
And Milk, in which her Fortune's drown'd:
Then carries home the doleful News,
And strives to make the best Excuse:
Her Husband greets her with a Curse,
And well it was she far'd no worse.
The Hermit, and the Man of Fame,
Pompeus, and our Country Dame,
The wisest Judge, and my Lord May'r,
They all build Castles in the Air:
And all a secret Pleasure take
In dreaming whilst they are awake:
Pleas'd with our Fancies we possess
Friends, Honour, Women, Palaces.
When I'm alone I dare defy
Mankind for Wit and Bravery.
I beat the French in half an Hour,
Get all their Cities in my Power.
Sometimes I'm pleas'd to be a King,
That has success in every thing,
And just when all the World's my own,
Comes one to dun me for a Crown;
And presently I am the poor,
And idle Dunce I was before.