DRYDEN. This pious cheat, that never sucked the biood, Nor chewed the flesh of lambs, but when he could; Had passed three summers in the neighboring wood: An musing long, whom next to circumvent, On Chanticleer his wicked fancy And in his high imagination cast, Saint Reynard through the hedge had The pale was next, but proudly with a bound He leapt the fence of the forbidden ground: within a bed Yet fearing to be seen, Of coleworts he concealed his wily head; Then skulked till afternoon, and watched his time, (As murderers use) to perpetrate his crime. I hope, my lord, said he, I not offend; I were a beast indeed to do you I, who have loved and honored you so Stay, gentle sir, nor take a false For on my soul I never meant you I come no spy, nor as a traitor press, A peer deserving such a son as you: Has often graced my house, and been To view his living features does me good, For I am your poor neighbor in the wood; And in my cottage should be proud to see The worthy heir of my friend's family. But since I speak of singing, let me say, As with an upright heart I safely may, That, save yourself, there breathes One like your father for a silver- And thought they heard the merry And he to raise his voice with artful bad intent GAY. This, since you take it ill, I must repent, Though Heaven can witness, with no [cheer I practised it, to make you taste your With double pleasure, first prepared by fear. Descend! so help me Jove! as you shall find That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind. Nay, quoth the cock; but I beshrew us both, If I believe a saint upon his oath: An honest man may take a knave's advice, Shall soothe me more to sing with winking eyes, And open mouth, for fear of catching flies. Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim, When he should see, has he deserved to swim ? Better, Sir Cock, let all contentions cease, Come down, said Reynard, let us treat of peace. A peace with all my soul, said Chanticleer; But, with your favor, I will treat it here: And lest the truce with treason should be mix'd, But idiots only may be cozened twice: Once warned is well bewared. Not 'Tis my concern to have the tree beflattering lies twixt. JOHN GAY. THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name, Unless to one you stint the flame. A hare, who, in a civil way, Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain; Her care was never to offend; As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies. She starts, she stops, she pants for breath, She hears the near advance of death; What transport in her bosom grew When first the horse appeared in view! "Let me," says she, "your back ascend, And owe my safety to a friend. Her languid head, her heavy eye: My back," says he, "may do you harm; The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." "Sure, some disaster has befell; Speak, nurse, I hope the boy is well." "Dear madam, think not me to blame; Invisible the fairy came: Your precious babe is hence conveyed, And in the place a changeling laid. Where are the father's mouth and nose? The mother's eyes, as black as sloes? See, here, a shocking awkward creature, That speaks a fool in every feature." "The woman's blind," the mother cries, "I see wit sparkle in his eyes." 66 Lord, madam, what a squinting leer! No doubt the fairy hath been here." Just as she spoke, a prying sprite Pops through the keyhole swift as light; THE MOTHER, the nurse, AND Perched on the cradle's top he stands, And thus her folly reprimands: THE FAIRY. "Whence sprung the vain, conceited lie, That we with fools the world supply? What! give our sprightly race away For the dull, helpless sons of clay! Besides, by partial fondness shown, Like you, we dote upon our own. When yet was ever found a mother Who'd give her booby for another? And should we change with human breed, Well might we pass for fools indeed." |