FABLE XXII.
JUPITER AND THE FARMER.
'Tis said, that Jove had once a farm to let,
And sent down Mercury, his common crier,
To make the most that he could get;
Or sell it to the highest buyer.
To view the premises the people flocked:
And, as 'tis usual in such case,
Began to run them down apace;
The soil was poor, the farm ill stocked:
In short, a barren, miserable place,
Scarce worth th' expense to draw a lease.
One bolder, tho' not wiser than the rest,
Offered to pay in so much rent,
Provided he had Jove's consent
To guide the weather just as he thought best;
Or wet, or dry; or cold, or hot;
Whate'er he asked should be his lot;
To all which Jove gave a consenting nod.
The seasons now obsequious stand,
Quick to obey their lord's command,
And now the Farmer undertakes the god;
Now calls for sunshine, now for rains,
Dispels the clouds, the wind restrains;
But still confined within his farm alone,
He makes a climate all his own;
For when he sheds, or when he pours,
Refreshing dews, or soaking showers,
His neighbours never share a drop;
So much the better for their crop;
Each glebe a plenteous harvest yields;
Whilst our director spoils his fields.
Next year, he tries a different way;
New moulds the seasons, and directs again;
But all in vain:
His neighbour's grounds still thrive while his decay.