Moral and political fables, ancient and modern done into measured prose intermixed with ryme by Dr. Walter Pope.

An Excellent Parafrase of the same by Mr. Abraham Cowley.

AT the large foot of a fair hollow Tree, Close to plowd ground, seated commodiously, His antient and Hereditary House, There dwelt a good substantial Country Mouse. Frugal, and Grave, and careful of the main, Yet one, who once did Nobly entertain A City Mouse, well Coated, sleek and gay, A Mouse of high Degree, who lost his way,

And arrivd early, and belighted there, For a days Lodging; the good hearty Host Did all the stores produce that might excite, With various tast the Courtiers appetite, Fetches, and Beans, Peasen and Oats, and Wheat, And a large Chesnut, the delicious meat, Which Iove himself, were he a Mouse, would eat. And for a Haut-goust, there was mixt with these, The Sword of Bacon, and the Coat of Cheese, The precious reliques of the Harvest, he Had gatherd from the Reapers Luxury. Freely, said he, fall on, and never spare, The bounteous Gods will for to morrow care: And thus at ease on Beds of Straw they lay, And to their Genius sacrificd the day; Yet the nice Guests Epicurean mind, Though Breeding made him Civil seem and Kind, Despisd this Country Feast, and still his thought Upon the Cakes, and Pies of London wrought. Your Bounty and Civility, said he, Which I'm surprisd in these rude Parts to see, Shews that the Gods have given you a Mind Too Noble for the Fate which here you find. Why should a Soul so vertuous, and so great, Lose it self thus in an obscure retreat? Let savage Beasts lodge in a Country Den, You should see Town, and Manners know, & Men, And tast the generous Luxury of the Court, Where all th•• Mice of Quality resort; Where thousand beauteous She's about you move, And by high fare, are plyant made to Love,

We all, ere long, must render up our breath, No Cave or Hole can shelter us from Death. Since Life is so uncertain, and so short. Let's spend it all, in Feasting, and in Sport. Come, worthy Sir, come and with me partake All the great things that Mortals happy make; Alas, what Vertue hath sufficient Arms T' oppose bright Honor, and soft Pleasures Charms? What Wisdom can their Magick force expel? It draws this Reverend Father from his Cell. It was the time, that witty Poets tell, That Febus into Thetis Bosom fell; She blusht at first, and then put out the light, And drew the modest Curtains of the Night. Plainly the truth to tell, the Sun was set, When to the Town our wearied Travellers get To a Lords House, as Lordly as can be, Made for the use of Pride and Luxury, They come, the Genteel Courtier at the Door Stops, and will hardly enter in before, But 'tis Sir your Command, and being so, I'm sworn t'Obedience, and so in they go. Behind a Hanging in a spacious Room, The richest work of Mortlaks Noble Loom, They wait a while their wearied Limbs to rest, Till Silence should invite them to the Feast; About the hour, that Cynthias silver light Had toucht the pale Meridian of Night: At last the various Supper being done, It happened, that the Company being gone Into a Room remote, Servants and all, To please their noble Fancies with a Ball,

Our Host leads forth his Stranger, and does find All suited to the bounties of his mind; Still on the Table half-filld Dishes stood, And with delicious Fare the floor was strowd; The courteous Mouse presents him with the best, And both with fat Varieties are blest: The industrious Peasant every where does range▪ And thanks the Gods for his lifes happy change; Lo, in the midst of a well-fruited Pie, They both at last glutted and wanton lie; When see the sad reverse of prosperous Fate, And what fierce Storms on mortal Glories wait. With hideous noise, down the rude Servants come, Six Dogs before run barking into th' Room; The wretched Gluttons fly with wild affright, And hate the fulness which retards their flight; Our trembling Peasant wishes now in vain, The Rocks and Mountains coverd him again; O how the change of his poor life he cursd, This▪ of all lives, said he, is sure the worst, Give me again, ye Gods, my Cave and Wood, With Peace, let Tares and Acorns be my Food.