The Poetical Works of Addison; Gay's Fables; and Somerville's Chase · Chapter 59Fable XI
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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
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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.'
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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.
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Conversing with your sprightly boys, Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys. With what delight I've heard you quote Their sayings in imperfect note! I grant, in body and in mind, Nature appears profusely kind. Trust not to that. Act you your part; Imprint just morals on their heart, Impartially their talents scan: Just education forms the man. _10 Perhaps (their genius yet unknown) Each lot of life's already thrown; That this shall plead, the next shall fight, The last assert the church's right. I censure not the fond intent; But how precarious is the event! By talents misapplied and cross'd, Consider, all your sons are lost. One day (the tale's by Martial penned) A father thus addressed his friend: _20 'To train my boy, and call forth sense, You know I've stuck at no expense; I've tried him in the several arts, (The lad no doubt hath latent parts,) Yet trying all, he nothing knows; But, crab-like, rather backward goes. Teach me what yet remains undone; 'Tis your advice shall fix my son.' 'Sir,' says the friend, 'I've weighed the matter; Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter: _30 Make him (nor think his genius checked) A herald or an architect.' Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known) He heard the advice, and took his own. The boy wants wit; he's sent to school, Where learning but improves the fool: The college next must give him parts, And cram him with the liberal arts. Whether he blunders at the bar, Or owes his infamy to war; _40 Or if by licence or degree The sexton shares the doctor's fee: Or from the pulpit by the hour He weekly floods of nonsense pour; We find (the intent of nature foiled) A tailor or a butcher spoiled. Thus ministers have royal boons Conferred on blockheads and buffoons: In spite of nature, merit, wit, Their friends for every post were fit. _50 But now let every Muse confess That merit finds its due success. The examples of our days regard; Where's virtue seen without reward? Distinguished and in place you find Desert and worth of every kind. Survey the reverend bench, and see, Religion, learning, piety: The patron, ere he recommends, Sees his own image in his friends. _60 Is honesty disgraced and poor? What is't to us what was before? We all of times corrupt have heard, When paltry minions were preferred; When all great offices by dozens, Were filled by brothers, sons, and cousins. What matter ignorance and pride? The man was happily allied. Provided that his clerk was good, What though he nothing understood? _70 In church and state, the sorry race Grew more conspicuous fools in place. Such heads, as then a treaty made, Had bungled in the cobbler's trade. Consider, patrons, that such elves, Expose your folly with themselves. 'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care, To fix each genius in its sphere. Your partial hand can wealth dispense, But never give a blockhead sense. _80 An owl of magisterial air, Of solemn voice, of brow austere, Assumed the pride of human race, And bore his wisdom in his face; Not to depreciate learned eyes, I've seen a pedant look as wise. Within a barn, from noise retired, He scorned the world, himself admired; And, like an ancient sage, concealed The follies public life revealed. _90 Philosophers of old, he read, Their country's youth to science bred, Their manners formed for every station, And destined each his occupation. When Xenophon, by numbers braved, Retreated, and a people saved, That laurel was not all his own; The plant by Socrates was sown; To Aristotle's greater name The Macedonian[10] owed his fame. _100 The Athenian bird, with pride replete, Their talents equalled in conceit; And, copying the Socratic rule, Set up for master of a school. Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart, Trite sentences, hard terms of art, To vulgar ears seemed so profound, They fancied learning in the sound. The school had fame: the crowded place With pupils swarmed of every race. _110 With these the swan's maternal care Had sent her scarce-fledged cygnet heir: The hen (though fond and loath to part) Here lodged the darling of her heart: The spider, of mechanic kind, Aspired to science more refined: The ass learnt metaphors and tropes, But most on music fixed his hopes. The pupils now advanced in age, Were called to tread life's busy stage. _120 And to the master 'twas submitted, That each might to his part be fitted. 'The swan,' says he, 'in arms shall shine: The soldier's glorious toil be thine. The cock shall mighty wealth attain: Go, seek it on the stormy main. The Court shall be the spider's sphere: Power, fortune, shall reward him there. In music's art the ass's fame Shall emulate Corelli's[1] name. _130 Each took the part that he advised, And all were equally despised; A farmer, at his folly moved, The dull preceptor thus reproved: 'Blockhead,' says he, 'by what you've done, One would have thought 'em each your son: For parents, to their offspring blind, Consult, nor parts, nor turn of mind; But even in infancy decree What this, what t'other son should be. _140 Had you with judgment weighed the case, Their genius thus had fixed their place: The swan had learnt the sailor's art; The cock had played the soldier's part; The spider in the weaver's trade With credit had a fortune made; But for the fool, in every class The blockhead had appeared an ass.'
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Consider man in every sphere, Then tell me is your lot severe? 'Tis murmur, discontent, distrust, That makes you wretched. God is just. I grant, that hunger must be fed, That toil too earns thy daily bread. What then? Thy wants are seen and known, But every mortal feels his own. We're born a restless, needy crew: Show me the happier man than you. _10 Adam, though blest above his kind, For want of social woman pined, Eve's wants the subtle serpent saw, Her fickle taste transgressed the law: Thus fell our sires; and their disgrace The curse entailed on human race. When Philip's son, by glory led, Had o'er the globe his empire spread; When altars to his name were dressed, That he was man, his tears confessed. _20 The hopes of avarice are check'd: The proud man always wants respect. What various wants on power attend! Ambition never gains its end. Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits and corporeal pain? He, barred from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health. Another in a beauteous wife Finds all the miseries of life: _30 Domestic jars and jealous fear Embitter all his days with care. This wants an heir, the line is lost: Why was that vain entail engross'd? Canst thou discern another's mind? Why is't you envy? Envy's blind. Tell Envy, when she would annoy, That thousands want what you enjoy. 'The dinner must be dished at one. Where's this vexatious turnspit gone? _40 Unless the skulking cur is caught, The sirloin's spoiled, and I'm in fault.' Thus said: (for sure you'll think it fit That I the cook-maid's oaths omit) With all the fury of a cook, Her cooler kitchen Nan forsook. The broomstick o'er her head she waves; She sweats, she stamps, she puffs, she raves. The sneaking cur before her flies: She whistles, calls; fair speech she tries. _50 These nought avail. Her choler burns; The fist and cudgel threat by turns; With hasty stride she presses near; He slinks aloof, and howls with fear. 'Was ever cur so cursed!' he cried, 'What star did at my birth preside? Am I for life by compact bound To tread the wheel's eternal round? Inglorious task! Of all our race No slave is half so mean and base. _60 Had fate a kinder lot assigned, And formed me of the lap-dog kind, I then, in higher life employed, Had indolence and ease enjoyed; And, like a gentleman, caress'd, Had been the lady's favourite guest. Or were I sprung from spaniel line, Was his sagacious nostril mine, By me, their never-erring guide, From wood and plain their feasts supplied _70 Knights, squires, attendant on my pace, Had shared the pleasures of the chase. Endued with native strength and fire, Why called I not the lion sire? A lion! such mean views I scorn. Why was I not of woman born? Who dares with reason's power contend? On man we brutal slaves depend: To him all creatures tribute pays, And luxury employs his days.' _80 An ox by chance o'erheard his moan, And thus rebuked the lazy drone: 'Dare you at partial fate repine? How kind's your lot compared with mine! Decreed to toil, the barbarous knife Hath severed me from social life; Urged by the stimulating goad, I drag the cumbrous waggon's load: 'Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain, Break the stiff soil, and house the grain; _90 Yet I without a murmur bear The various labours of the year. But then consider, that one day, (Perhaps the hour's not far away,) You, by the duties of your post, Shall turn the spit when I'm the roast: And for reward shall share the feast; I mean, shall pick my bones at least.' ''Till now,' the astonished cur replies, 'I looked on all with envious eyes. _100 How false we judge by what appears! All creatures feel their several cares. If thus yon mighty beast complains, Perhaps man knows superior pains. Let envy then no more torment: Think on the ox, and learn content.' Thus said: close following at her heel, With cheerful heart he mounts the wheel.