FABLE
The wise men of Egypt were secret as dummies;
And even when they most condescended to teach,
They packt up their meaning, as they did their mummies,
In so many wrappers, 'twas out of one's reach.
They were also, good people, much given to Kings—
Fond of craft and of crocodiles, monkeys and mystery;
But blue-bottle flies were their best beloved things—
As will partly appear in this very short history.
A Scythian philosopher (nephew, they say,
To that other great traveller, young Anacharsis,)
Stept into a temple at Memphis one day,
To have a short peep at their mystical farces.
He saw a brisk blue-bottle Fly on an altar,
Made much of, and worshipt, as something divine;
While a large, handsome Bullock, led there in a halter,
Before it lay stabbed at the foot of the shrine.
Surprised at such doings, he whispered his teacher—
"If 'tisn't impertinent, may I ask why
"Should a Bullock, that useful and powerful creature,
"Be thus offered up to a bluebottle Fly?"
"No wonder"—said t'other—"you stare at the sight,
"But we as a Symbol of Monarchy view it—
"That Fly on the shrine is Legitimate Right,
"And that Bullock, the People that's sacrificed to it."