Æsop in select fables ... with A dialogue between Bow-steeple dragon and the Exchange grashoper.

FAB. V. The Ass and Spaniel.

A Weary Ass under his Pack, Stood ty'd up to an empty Rack, And spy'd a Spaniel brisk, and gay, As in his Master's lap he lay, That frisk'd about, and had the grace To climb his Shoulders, lick his Face, was always plentifully fed, And from his hand receiv'd his Bread. Hard difference betwixt, quoth he. That happy, idle Cur, and Me. He daily is with Dainties serv'd, While I, that drudge for all, am starved. But since he thrives so well by Play, I'le try my Fortune the same way. Thus having form'd his Resolution, He waits a time for Execution. Which found, erecting Tail, and Ears, On Hinder-Feet himself he rears, His Fore-Feet on his Master lays, And with his Tongue besmears his Face. The Man, who guess'd not his intent. Nor dreamt of such a Compliment, Surpriz'd, and vext, and half afraid, To Servants calls aloud for aid,

To help him to correct th' Offence, And sore chastise this Insolence. And since Ass was so rampant grown He bids 'em take his Commons down; And henceforth bare Subsistance pay Of half Allowance e're day.

The Ass thus mortify'd, and sore, Vext for his Bones, but Belly more, Cry'd, What a stupid Sor am I, My Talent thus to misapply? Who only for a Drudge am fit, And yet must set up for a Wit. Art may refine, and finish Nature's Fool, But no Buffoon succeeds, that goes by Rule; For Fooling prettily's a Gift of Nature's, That sits but aukwardly on Imitators. The lively, airy Marmouset, as soon May be out-frolickt by the grave Baboon, As Nature by dull Mimicks of the Town. If Squirrel D—y frisk on his Beholders, Must the Ass Gild—n ramp upon their Shoulders, If Congreve flatter'd M —nt—gue before, Must be by Gild—n too be slaver'd o're? No wonder Sots, when we this Clod caress, Presume to claim the Dues of neat Address. Such Poets shou'd at Westminster untruss, And there receive the meed of Chaerilus; Yet I cou'd spare the Sot, whoe're repines. Cou'd he like him produce but seven good Lines. But he expects Rewards, to blaze our Shame, For daring to buffoon a mighty Name. Let others judge, if he deserves the Rod, Who treats his Patron worse eve'n than his God. What other Names will this vile Wretch blaspheme? For 'tis a Libel to be prais'd by him. But he now feels the Fate he does deserve, And knows already what it is to starve.

Henceforth, ye Great, tender your Reputations, Your Honours suffer by such Dedications With Justice we may pay for Kneller's hand, But who at Charges wou'd on Sign-posts stand? If then the Author's dull to such degree, How stupid must the Sol that pays him be?