Begin, my lord, in early youth,
To suffer, nay, encourage truth:
And blame me not for disrespect,
If I the flatterer's style reject;
With that, by menial tongues supplied,
You're daily cocker'd up in pride.
The tree's distinguished by the fruit,
Be virtue then your sole pursuit;
Set your great ancestors in view,
Like them deserve the title too;
_10
Like them ignoble actions scorn:
Let virtue prove you greatly born.
Though with less plate their sideboard shone,
Their conscience always was their own;
They ne'er at levees meanly fawned,
Nor was their honour yearly pawned;
Their hands, by no corruption stained,
The ministerial bribe disdained;
They served the crown with loyal zeal;
Yet, jealous of the public weal,
_20
They stood the bulwark of our laws,
And wore at heart their country's cause;
By neither place or pension bought,
They spoke and voted as they thought.
Thus did your sires adorn their seat;
And such alone are truly great.
If you the paths of learning slight,
You're but a dunce in stronger light;
In foremost rank the coward placed,
Is more conspicuously disgraced.
_30
If you to serve a paltry end,
To knavish jobs can condescend,
We pay you the contempt that's due;
In that you have precedence too.
Whence had you this illustrious name?
From virtue and unblemished fame.
By birth the name alone descends;
Your honour on yourself depends:
Think not your coronet can hide
Assuming ignorance and pride.
_40
Learning by study must be won,
'Twas ne'er entailed from son to son.
Superior worth your rank requires;
For that mankind reveres your sires;
If you degenerate from your race,
Their merits heighten your disgrace.
A carrier, every night and morn,
Would see his horses eat their corn:
This sunk the hostler's vails, 'tis true;
But then his horses had their due.
_50
Were we so cautious in all cases,
Small gain would rise from greater places.
The manger now had all its measure;
He heard the grinding teeth with pleasure;
When all at once confusion rung;
They snorted, jostled, bit, and flung:
A pack-horse turned his head aside,
Foaming, his eye-balls swelled with pride.
'Good gods!' says he, 'how hard's my lot!
Is then my high descent forgot?
_60
Reduced to drudgery and disgrace,
(A life unworthy of my race,)
Must I too bear the vile attacks
Of rugged scrubs, and vulgar hacks?
See scurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred,
Dares from the manger thrust my head!
Shall I, who boast a noble line,
On offals of these creatures dine?
Kicked by old Ball! so mean a foe!
My honour suffers by the blow.
_70
Newmarket speaks my grandsire's fame,
All jockies still revere his name:
There yearly are his triumphs told,
There all his massy plates enrolled.
Whene'er led forth upon the plain,
You saw him with a livery train;
Returning too with laurels crowned,
You heard the drums and trumpets sound.
Let it then, sir, be understood,
Respect's my due; for I have blood.'
_80
'Vain-glorious fool!' the carrier cried,
'Respect was never paid to pride.
Know, 'twas thy giddy wilful heart
Reduced thee to this slavish part.
Did not thy headstrong youth disdain
To learn the conduct of the rein?
Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
In vicious frolics fancy spirit.
What is't to me by whom begot?
Thou restive, pert, conceited sot.
_90
Your sires I reverence; 'tis their due:
But, worthless fool, what's that to you?
Ask all the carriers on the road,
They'll say thy keeping's ill bestowed.
Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
That neither mends thy strength or pace.
What profits me thy boast of blood?
An ass hath more intrinsic good.
By outward show let's not be cheated;
An ass should like an ass be treated.'
_100
* * * * *
FABLE XII.
PAN AND FORTUNE.
TO A YOUNG HEIR.
Soon as your father's death was known,
(As if the estate had been their own)
The gamesters outwardly express'd
The decent joy within your breast.
So lavish in your praise they grew,
As spoke their certain hopes in you.
One counts your income of the year,
How much in ready money clear.
'No house,' says he, 'is more complete;
The garden's elegant and great.
_10
How fine the park around it lies!
The timber's of a noble size!
Then count his jewels and his plate.
Besides, 'tis no entailed estate.
If cash run low, his lands in fee
Are, or for sale, or mortgage free.'
Thus they, before you threw the main,
Seem to anticipate their gain.
Would you, when thieves were known abroad,
Bring forth your treasures in the road?
_20
Would not the fool abet the stealth,
Who rashly thus exposed his wealth?
Yet this you do, whene'er you play
Among the gentlemen of prey.
Could fools to keep their own contrive,
On what, on whom could gamesters thrive?
Is it in charity you game,
To save your worthy gang from shame?
Unless you furnished daily bread,
Which way could idleness be fed?
_30
Could these professors of deceit
Within the law no longer cheat,
They must run bolder risks for prey,
And strip the traveller on the way.
Thus in your annual rents they share,
And 'scape the noose from year to year.
Consider, ere you make the bet,
That sum might cross your tailor's debt.
When you the pilfering rattle shake,
Is not your honour too at stake?
_40
Must you not by mean lies evade
To-morrow's duns from every trade?
By promises so often paid,
Is yet your tailor's bill defrayed?
Must you not pitifully fawn,
To have your butcher's writ withdrawn?
This must be done. In debts of play
Your honour suffers no delay:
And not this year's and next year's rent
The sons of rapine can content.
_50
Look round. The wrecks of play behold,
Estates dismembered, mortgaged, sold!
Their owners, not to jails confined,
Show equal poverty of mind.
Some, who the spoil of knaves were made,
Too late attempt to learn their trade.
Some, for the folly of one hour,
Become the dirty tools of power,
And, with the mercenary list,
Upon court-charity subsist.
_60
You'll find at last this maxim true,
Fools are the game which knaves pursue.
The forest (a whole century's shade)
Must be one wasteful ruin made.
No mercy's shewn to age or kind;
The general massacre is signed.
The park too shares the dreadful fate,
For duns grow louder at the gate,
Stern clowns, obedient to the squire,
(What will not barbarous hands for hire?)
_70
With brawny arms repeat the stroke.
Fallen are the elm and reverend oak.
Through the long wood loud axes sound,
And echo groans with every wound.
To see the desolation spread,
Pan drops a tear, and hangs his head:
His bosom now with fury burns:
Beneath his hoof the dice he spurns.
Cards, too, in peevish passion torn,
The sport of whirling winds are borne.
_80
'To snails inveterate hate I bear,
Who spoil the verdure of the year;
The caterpillar I detest,
The blooming spring's voracious pest;
The locust too, whose ravenous band
Spreads sudden famine o'er the land.
But what are these? The dice's throw
At once hath laid a forest low.
The cards are dealt, the bet is made,
And the wide park hath lost its shade.
_90
Thus is my kingdom's pride defaced,
And all its ancient glories waste.
All this,' he cries, 'is Fortune's doing:
'Tis thus she meditates my ruin.
By Fortune, that false, fickle jade,
More havoc in one hour is made,
Than all the hungry insect race,
Combined, can in an age deface.'
Fortune, by chance, who near him pass'd,
O'erheard the vile aspersion cast.
_100
'Why, Pan,' says she, 'what's all this rant?
'Tis every country-bubble's cant;
Am I the patroness of vice?
Is't I who cog or palm the dice?
Did I the shuffling art reveal, 105
To mark the cards, or range the deal?
In all the employments men pursue,
I mind the least what gamesters do.
There may (if computation's just)
One now and then my conduct trust:
_110
I blame the fool, for what can I,
When ninety-nine my power defy?
These trust alone their fingers' ends,
And not one stake on me depends.
Whene'er the gaming board is set,
Two classes of mankind are met:
But if we count the greedy race,
The knaves fill up the greater space.
'Tis a gross error, held in schools,
That Fortune always favours fools.
_120
In play it never bears dispute;
That doctrine these felled oaks confute.
Then why to me such rancour show?
'Tis folly, Pan, that is thy foe.
By me his late estate he won,
But he by folly was undone.'
* * * * *
FABLE XIII.
PLUTUS, CUPID, AND TIME.
Of all the burdens man must bear,
Time seems most galling and severe:
Beneath this grievous load oppressed,
We daily meet some friend distressed.
'What can one do? I rose at nine.
'Tis full six hours before we dine:
Six hours! no earthly thing to do!
Would I had dozed in bed till two.'
A pamphlet is before him spread,
And almost half a page is read;
_10
Tired with the study of the day,
The fluttering sheets are tossed away.
He opes his snuff-box, hums an air,
Then yawns, and stretches in his chair.
'Not twenty, by the minute hand!
Good gods:' says he, 'my watch must stand!
How muddling 'tis on books to pore!
I thought I'd read an hour or more,
The morning, of all hours, I hate.
One can't contrive to rise too late.'
_20
To make the minutes faster run,
Then too his tiresome self to shun,
To the next coffee-house he speeds,
Takes up the news, some scraps he reads.
Sauntering, from chair to chair he trails;
Now drinks his tea, now bites his nails.
He spies a partner of his woe;
By chat afflictions lighter grow;
Each other's grievances they share,
And thus their dreadful hours compare.
_30
Says Tom, 'Since all men must confess,
That time lies heavy more or less;
Why should it be so hard to get
Till two, a party at piquet?
Play might relieve the lagging morn:
By cards long wintry nights are borne:
Does not quadrille amuse the fair,
Night after night, throughout the year?
Vapours and spleen forgot, at play
They cheat uncounted hours away.'
_40
'My case,' says Will, 'then must be hard
By want of skill from play debarred.
Courtiers kill time by various ways;
Dependence wears out half their days.
How happy these, whose time ne'er stands!
Attendance takes it off their hands.
Were it not for this cursed shower
The park had whiled away an hour.
At Court, without or place or view,
I daily lose an hour or two;
_50
It fully answers my design,
When I have picked up friends to dine,
The tavern makes our burden light;
Wine puts our time and care to flight.
At six (hard case!) they call to pay.
Where can one go? I hate the play.
From six till ten! Unless in sleep,
One cannot spend the hours so cheap.
The comedy's no sooner done,
But some assembly is begun;
_60
Loit'ring from room to room I stray;
Converse, but nothing hear or say:
Quite tired, from fair to fair I roam.
So soon: I dread the thoughts of home.
From thence, to quicken slow-paced night,
Again my tavern-friends invite:
Here too our early mornings pass,
Till drowsy sleep retards the glass.'
Thus they their wretched life bemoan,
And make each other's case their own.
_70
Consider, friends, no hour rolls on,
But something of your grief is gone.
Were you to schemes of business bred,
Did you the paths of learning tread.
Your hours, your days, would fly too fast;
You'd then regret the minute past,
Time's fugitive and light as wind!
'Tis indolence that clogs your mind!
That load from off your spirits shake;
You'll own and grieve for your mistake;
_80
A while your thoughtless spleen suspend,
Then read, and (if you can) attend.
As Plutus, to divert his care,
Walked forth one morn to take the air,
Cupid o'ertook his strutting pace,
Each stared upon the stranger's face,
Till recollection set them right;
For each knew t'other but by sight.
After some complimental talk,
Time met them, bowed, and joined their walk.
_90
Their chat on various subjects ran,
But most, what each had done for man.
Plutus assumes a haughty air,
Just like our purse-proud fellows here.
'Let kings,' says he, 'let cobblers tell,
Whose gifts among mankind excel.
Consider Courts: what draws their train?
Think you 'tis loyalty or gain?
That statesman hath the strongest hold,
Whose tool of politics is gold.
_100
By that, in former reigns, 'tis said,
The knave in power hath senates led.
By that alone he swayed debates,
Enriched himself and beggared states.
Forego your boast. You must conclude,
That's most esteemed that's most pursued.
Think too, in what a woful plight
That wretch must live whose pocket's light.
Are not his hours by want depress'd?
Penurious care corrodes his breast.
_110
Without respect, or love, or friends,
His solitary day descends.'
'You might,' says Cupid, 'doubt my parts,
My knowledge too in human hearts,
Should I the power of gold dispute,
Which great examples might confute.
I know, when nothing else prevails,
Persuasive money seldom fails;
That beauty too (like other wares)
Its price, as well as conscience, bears.
_120
Then marriage (as of late profess'd)
Is but a money-job at best.
Consent, compliance may be sold:
But love's beyond the price of gold.
Smugglers there are, who by retail,
Expose what they call love, to sale,
Such bargains are an arrant cheat:
You purchase flattery and deceit.
Those who true love have ever tried,
(The common cares of life supplied,)
_130
No wants endure, no wishes make,
But every real joy partake,
All comfort on themselves depends;
They want nor power, nor wealth, nor friends.
Love then hath every bliss in store:
'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more.
Each other every wish they give,
Not to know love, is not to live.'
'Or love, or money,' Time replied,
'Were men the question to decide,
_140
Would bear the prize: on both intent,
My boon's neglected or misspent.
'Tis I who measure vital space,
And deal out years to human race.
Though little prized, and seldom sought,
Without me love and gold are nought.
How does the miser time employ?
Did I e'er see him life enjoy?
By me forsook, the hoards he won,
Are scattered by his lavish son.
_150
By me all useful arts are gained;
Wealth, learning, wisdom is attained.
Who then would think (since such, my power)
That e'er I knew an idle hour?
So subtle and so swift I fly,
Love's not more fugitive than I.
Who hath not heard coquettes complain
Of days, months, years, misspent in vain?
For time misused they pine and waste,
And love's sweet pleasures never taste.
_160
Those who direct their time aright,
If love or wealth their hopes excite,
In each pursuit fit hours employed,
And both by Time have been enjoyed.
How heedless then are mortals grown!
How little is their interest known?
In every view they ought to mind me;
For when once lost they never find me.'
He spoke. The gods no more contest,
And his superior gift confess'd;
_170
That time when (truly understood)
Is the most precious earthly good.