The Moral.
Wise Men sometimes Instruction find
In that, which others never mind;
Examining the least of things,
By Deeds, not Words, they judge of Kings;
And never venture on that Coast,
Where once they knew another lost.
The Satyr and the Passenger.
A Satyr at his Country House,
A dismal Cave, was with his Spouse,
And Brats a going to eat some Broth:
Without a Chair, or Table-Cloath,
On mossy ground they squatted down,
With special Stomachs of their own.
And just as they fell to a main,
Comes one to shelter for the Rain:
The Guest's invited to sit down,
Tho' in the mean time they went on.
He shiver'd, look'd as cold as Death,
And warm'd his Fingers with his Breath,
Says ne'er a Word, takes good Advice,
And stays not till they ask him twice,
Falls to the Porridge, takes a sup;
But being newly taken up,
'Twas hot, he blows it. Says the Satyr,
Whose Palate could bear scalding-water,
Friend, what the Devil are you a doing?
What do you mean by all this blowing?
The Stranger answers, I did blow
At first to warm my hands, and now
I blow again to cool my Broth.
How, says my Landlord, does it both!
Than y'are not like to stay with me,
I hate such juggling Company.
What! Out of the same Mouth to blow
Both hot and cold! Friend, prithee go.
I thank the Gods my Roof contains
None such as you. The Fable means.
The Moral.
None are more like to do us wrong;
Than those that wear a double Tongue.
The Lyon in Love.
Before the Reign of Buxom Dido,
When Beasts could speak as well as I do;
Lyons and we convers'd together,
And marry'd among one another.
Nay, why not? they have more bravery,
And are of the eldest Family.
One of 'em walking in a Grove,
Met with a Wench, and fell in Love.
Says he, dear Girl, upon my Life,
Y'are handsome, and must be my Wife.
Then sees her Home, and asks her Father,
Th' old Gentleman would have had rather
A Son-in-Law of milder Nature,
And not so terrible a Feature;
He could not give her heartily,
And yet 'twas dangerous to deny.
Besides she lov'd a fierce Gallant,
Says he, they have ask'd my Consent;
If now I make a Noise about it,
Who knows but they may do't without it.
Therefore he us'd a Stratagem
With honey-words to wheedle him.
My Daughter thanks you, Sir, for the honour,
Which you are pleas'd to bestow upon her.
To talk of Joyntures would be rude;
I know what's for my Children's good.
She's wholly yours, and from this hour,
Son, I resign her to your power.
I only wish, because your Bride
Has but a foolish tender Hide,
That when you take her in your Arm,
For fear your Claws might do her harm,
You'd suffer somebody to pare 'em;
And then your Spouse need not to fear 'em.
Your Teeth indeed look fine and strong;
But yet th'are somewhat sharp and long;
If y'had 'em filed an Inch or two,
'T would be no prejudice to you,
And she'd respect you ne'er the less,
Admire the softness of your kiss,
And be more free with you a Bed.
So senceless is a Lover's head:
The Lyon yields, and stupidly
Lets 'em disarm him Cap-a-pe.
And so the loving Son-in-Law,
Remaining without Tooth or Claw,
Look'd as defenceless as a Town
With all the Walls and Gates broke down,
With Dogs his complaisance they pay,
To whom he falls an easy Prey.