THE COURT OF DEATH.
Death, on a solemn night of state,
In all his pomp of terror sate:
The attendants of his gloomy reign,
Diseases dire, a ghastly train!
Crowd the vast court. With hollow tone,
A voice thus thundered from the throne:
'This night our minister we name,
Let every servant speak his claim;
Merit shall bear this ebon wand;'
All, at the word, stretch'd forth their hand.
_10
Fever, with burning heat possess'd,
Advanced, and for the wand address'd:
'I to the weekly bills appeal,
Let those express my fervent zeal;
On every slight occasion near,
With violence I persevere.'
Next Gout appears with limping pace,
Pleads how he shifts from place to place,
From head to foot how swift he flies, 19
And every joint and sinew plies;
_20
Still working when he seems suppress'd,
A most tenacious stubborn guest.
A haggard spectre from the crew
Crawls forth, and thus asserts his due:
'Tis I who taint the sweetest joy,
And in the shape of love destroy:
My shanks, sunk eyes, and noseless face,
Prove my pretension to the place.'
Stone urged his ever-growing force.
And, next, Consumption's meagre corse,
_30
With feeble voice, that scarce was heard,
Broke with short coughs, his suit preferred:
'Let none object my ling'ring way,
I gain, like Fabius, by delay;
Fatigue and weaken every foe
By long attack, secure, though slow.'
Plague represents his rapid power,
Who thinned a nation in an hour.
All spoke their claim, and hoped the wand.
Now expectation hushed the band,
_40
When thus the monarch from the throne:
'Merit was ever modest known,
What, no physician speak his right!
None here! but fees their toils requite.
Let then Intemperance take the wand,
Who fills with gold their zealous hand.
You, Fever, Gout, and all the rest,
(Whom wary men, as foes, detest,)
Forego your claim; no more pretend:
Intemperance is esteemed a friend;
_50
He shares their mirth, their social joys,
And, as a courted guest, destroys.
The charge on him must justly fall,
Who finds employment for you all.'
* * * * *
FABLE XLVIII.
THE GARDENER AND THE HOG.
A gard'ner, of peculiar taste,
On a young hog his favour placed;
Who fed not with the common herd;
His tray was to the hall preferred.
He wallowed underneath the board,
Or in his master's chamber snored;
Who fondly stroked him every day,
And taught him all the puppy's play;
Where'er he went, the grunting friend
Ne'er failed his pleasure to attend.
_10
As on a time, the loving pair
Walked forth to tend the garden's care,
The master thus address'd the swine:
'My house, my garden, all is thine.
On turnips feast whene'er you please,
And riot in my beans and peas;
If the potato's taste delights,
Or the red carrot's sweet invites,
Indulge thy morn and evening hours,
But let due care regard my flowers:
_20
My tulips are my garden's pride,
What vast expense those beds supplied!'
The hog by chance one morning roamed,
Where with new ale the vessels foamed.
He munches now the steaming grains,
Now with full swill the liquor drains.
Intoxicating fumes arise; 27
He reels, he rolls his winking eyes;
Then stagg'ring through the garden scours,
And treads down painted ranks of flowers.
_30
With delving snout he turns the soil,
And cools his palate with the spoil.
The master came, the ruin spied,
'Villain, suspend thy rage,' he cried.
'Hast thou, thou most ungrateful sot,
My charge, my only charge forgot?
What, all my flowers!' No more he said,
But gazed, and sighed, and hung his head.
The hog with stutt'ring speech returns:
'Explain, sir, why your anger burns.
_40
See there, untouched, your tulips strown,
For I devoured the roots alone.'
At this the gard'ner's passion grows;
From oaths and threats he fell to blows.
The stubborn brute the blow sustains;
Assaults his leg, and tears the veins.
Ah! foolish swain, too late you find
That sties were for such friends designed!
Homeward he limps with painful pace,
Reflecting thus on past disgrace:
_50
Who cherishes a brutal mate
Shall mourn the folly soon or late.
* * * * *
FABLE XLIX.
THE MAN AND THE FLEA.
Whether on earth, in air, or main,
Sure everything alive is vain!
Does not the hawk all fowls survey,
As destined only for his prey?
And do not tyrants, prouder things,
Think men were born for slaves to kings?
When the crab views the pearly strands,
Or Tagus, bright with golden sands;
Or crawls beside the coral grove,
And hears the ocean roll above;
_10
'Nature is too profuse,' says he,
'Who gave all these to pleasure me!'
When bordering pinks and roses bloom,
And every garden breathes perfume;
When peaches glow with sunny dyes,
Like Laura's cheek, when blushes rise;
When with huge figs the branches bend,
When clusters from the vine depend;
The snail looks round on flower and tree,
And cries, 'All these were made for me!'
_20
'What dignity's in human nature!'
Says man, the most conceited creature,
As from a cliff he cast his eye,
And viewed the sea and arched sky;
The sun was sunk beneath the main,
The moon and all the starry train
Hung the vast vault of heaven. The man
His contemplation thus began:
'When I behold this glorious show,
And the wide watery world below,
_30
The scaly people of the main,
The beasts that range the wood or plain,
The winged inhabitants of air,
The day, the night, the various year,
And know all these by heaven design'd
As gifts to pleasure human kind;
I cannot raise my worth too high;
Of what vast consequence am I!'
'Not of the importance you suppose,'
Replies a flea upon his nose.
_40
'Be humble, learn thyself to scan;
Know, pride was never made for man.
'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.
What, heaven and earth for thee designed!
For thee, made only for our need,
That more important fleas might feed.'