I know you lawyers can with ease
Twist words and meanings as you please;
That language, by your skill made pliant,
Will bend to favour every client;
That 'tis the fee directs the sense,
To make out either side's pretence.
When you peruse the clearest case,
You see it with a double face:
For scepticism's your profession;
You hold there's doubt in all expression.
_10
Hence is the bar with fees supplied,
Hence eloquence takes either side.
Your hand would have but paltry gleaning
Could every man express his meaning.
Who dares presume to pen a deed.
Unless you previously are fee'd?
'Tis drawn; and, to augment the cost,
In dull prolixity engrossed.
And now we're well secured by law,
Till the next brother find a flaw.
_20
Read o'er a will. Was't ever known,
But you could make the will your own;
For when you read,'tis with intent
To find out meanings never meant.
Since things are thus, se defendendo,
I bar fallacious innuendo.
Sagacious Porta's[6] skill could trace
Some beast or bird in every face.
The head, the eye, the nose's shape,
Proved this an owl, and that an ape.
_30
When, in the sketches thus designed,
Resemblance brings some friend to mind,
You show the piece, and give the hint,
And find each feature in the print:
So monstrous like the portrait's found,
All know it, and the laugh goes round.
Like him I draw from general nature;
Is't I or you then fix the satire?
So, sir, I beg you spare your pains
In making comments on my strains.
_40
All private slander I detest,
I judge not of my neighbour's breast:
Party and prejudice I hate,
And write no libels on the state.
Shall not my fable censure vice,
Because a knave is over-nice?
And, lest the guilty hear and dread,
Shall not the decalogue be read?
If I lash vice in general fiction,
Is't I apply, or self-conviction?
_50
Brutes are my theme. Am I to blame,
If men in morals are the same?
I no man call an ape or ass:
Tis his own conscience holds the glass;
Thus void of all offence I write;
Who claims the fable, knows his right.
A shepherd's dog unskilled in sports,
Picked up acquaintance of all sorts:
Among the rest, a fox he knew;
By frequent chat their friendship grew.
_60
Says Reynard—' 'Tis a cruel case,
That man should stigmatise our race,
No doubt, among us rogues you find,
As among dogs, and human kind;
And yet (unknown to me and you)
There may be honest men and true.
Thus slander tries, whate'er it can,
To put us on the foot with man,
Let my own actions recommend;
No prejudice can blind a friend:
_70
You know me free from all disguise;
My honour as my life I prize.'
By talk like this, from all mistrust
The dog was cured, and thought him just.
As on a time the fox held forth
On conscience, honesty, and worth,
Sudden he stopp'd; he cocked his ear;
And dropp'd his brushy tail with fear.
'Bless us! the hunters are abroad—
What's all that clatter on the road?'
_80
'Hold,' says the dog, 'we're safe from harm;
'Twas nothing but a false alarm.
At yonder town, 'tis market day;
Some farmer's wife is on the way;
'Tis so, (I know her pyebald mare)
Dame Dobbins, with her poultry ware.'
Reynard grew huff. Says he, 'This sneer
From you I little thought to hear.
Your meaning in your looks I see;
Pray, what's Dame Dobbins, friend, to me?
_90
Did I e'er make her poultry thinner?
Prove that I owe the Dame a dinner.'
'Friend,' quoth the cur, 'I meant no harm;
Then, why so captious? why so warm?
My words in common acceptation,
Could never give this provocation.
No lamb (for ought I ever knew)
May be more innocent than you.'
At this, galled Reynard winced and swore
Such language ne'er was given before:
_100
'What's lamb to me? the saucy hint—
Show me, base knave, which way you squint,
If t'other night your master lost
Three lambs, am I to pay the cost?
Your vile reflections would imply
That I'm the thief. You dog, you lie.'
'Thou knave, thou fool,' the dog replied,
'The name is just, take either side;
Thy guilt these applications speak;
Sirrah,'tis conscience makes you squeak.'
_110
So saying, on the fox he flies,
The self-convicted felon dies.
* * * * *
FABLE II.
THE VULTURE, THE SPARROW, AND OTHER BIRDS.
TO A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY.
Ere I begin, I must premise
Our ministers are good and wise;
So, though malicious tongues apply,
Pray what care they, or what care I?
If I am free with courts; be't known,
I ne'er presume to mean our own.
If general morals seem to joke
On ministers, and such like folk,
A captious fool may take offence;
What then? he knows his own pretence.
_10
I meddle with no state affairs,
But spare my jest to save my ears.
Our present schemes are too profound,
For Machiavel himself to sound:
To censure them I've no pretension;
I own they're past my comprehension.
You say your brother wants a place,
('Tis many a younger brother's case,)
And that he very soon intends
To ply the Court, and tease his friends.
_20
If there his merits chance to find
A patriot of an open mind,
Whose constant actions prove him just
To both a king's and people's trust;
May he with gratitude attend,
And owe his rise to such a friend.
You praise his parts, for business fit,
His learning, probity, and wit;
But those alone will never do,
Unless his patron have them too.
_30
I've heard of times (pray God defend us,
We're not so good but He can mend us)
When wicked ministers have trod
On kings and people, law and God;
With arrogance they girt the throne,
And knew no interest but their own.
Then virtue, from preferment barr'd,
Gets nothing but its own reward.
A gang of petty knaves attend 'em,
With proper parts to recommend 'em.
_40
Then if their patron burn with lust,
The first in favour's pimp the first.
His doors are never closed to spies,
Who cheer his heart with double lies;
They flatter him, his foes defame,
So lull the pangs of guilt and shame.
If schemes of lucre haunt his brain,
Projectors swell his greedy train;
Vile brokers ply his private ear
With jobs of plunder for the year;
_50
All consciences must bend and ply;
You must vote on, and not know why:
Through thick and thin you must go on;
One scruple, and your place is gone.
Since plagues like these have cursed a land,
And favourites cannot always stand;
Good courtiers should for change be ready,
And not have principles too steady:
For should a knave engross the power,
(God shield the realm, from that sad hour,)
_60
He must have rogues, or slavish fools:
For what's a knave without his tools?
Wherever those a people drain,
And strut with infamy and gain,
I envy not their guilt and state,
And scorn to share the public hate.
Let their own servile creatures rise
By screening fraud, and venting lies;
Give me, kind heaven, a private station,[7]
A mind serene for contemplation:
_70
Title and profit I resign;
The post of honour shall be mine.
My fable read, their merits view,
Then herd who will with such a crew.
In days of yore (my cautious rhymes
Always except the present times)
A greedy vulture skilled in game,
Inured to guilt, unawed by shame,
Approached the throne in evil hour,
And step by step intrudes to power;
_80
When at the royal eagle's ear,
He longs to ease the monarch's care.
The monarch grants. With pride elate,
Behold him minister of state!
Around him throng the feathered rout;
Friends must be served, and some must out,
Each thinks his own the best pretension;
This asks a place, and that a pension.
The nightingale was set aside,
A forward daw his room supplied.
_90
'This bird,' says he, 'for business fit,
Hath both sagacity and wit.
With all his turns, and shifts, and tricks,
He's docile, and at nothing sticks.
Then, with his neighbours one so free,
At all times will connive at me.'
The hawk had due distinction shown,
For parts and talents like his own.
Thousands of hireling cocks attends him,
As blustering bullies, to defend him.
_100
At once the ravens were discarded,
And magpies with their posts rewarded.
'Those fowls of omen I detest,
That pry into another's nest,
State-lies must lose all good intent;
For they foresee and croak the event.
My friends ne'er think, but talk by rote,
Speak what they're taught, and so to vote.'
'When rogues like these,' a sparrow cries,
'To honours and employments rise,
_110
I court no favour, ask no place;
For such preferment is disgrace.
Within my thatched retreat I find
(What these ne'er feel) true peace of mind.'
* * * * *