Æsopicks: or, A second collection of fables, paraphras'd in verse, adorn'd with sculpture, and illustrated with annotations. / By John Ogilby, esq; his Majesty's cosmographer, geographick printer, and master of revels in the kingdom of Ireland.

About this Item

Title
Æsopicks: or, A second collection of fables, paraphras'd in verse, adorn'd with sculpture, and illustrated with annotations. / By John Ogilby, esq; his Majesty's cosmographer, geographick printer, and master of revels in the kingdom of Ireland.
Publication
London :: Printed for T. Basset, R. Clavel, and R. Chiswel ...,
1675.
Rights/Permissions

To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.

Subject terms
Fables -- Early works to 1800.
Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/B01490.0001.001
Cite this Item
"Æsopicks: or, A second collection of fables, paraphras'd in verse, adorn'd with sculpture, and illustrated with annotations. / By John Ogilby, esq; his Majesty's cosmographer, geographick printer, and master of revels in the kingdom of Ireland." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/B01490.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 13, 2024.

Pages

Page [unnumbered]

[illustration] a man beats an ox with a cudgel under a tree. In the background, an ox stands with a crowd at an altar in front of a italianate round temple.

Fab 11.

Page 31

FAB. XI. Of the Rustick and his Ox.

OH most despiteful and unworthy Beast! What, wilt thou never work, yet always Feast? There must be Audits, if you'll nothing do; Or Sweat, or Pay: Why, who are you, Sir? you! Go'st thou not daily to the Eyes in Grass? What, must your Dung for Satisfaction pass? Are not your Mangers stuff'd? brim-full your Cribs? Ill fetch my Pen worths from these Larded Ribs. Thus said the Swain to his Rebellious Ox, Who Butts for Blows returns, and Spurns for Knocks.
Then spake the Beast, Art not asham'd to beat Me for not Working, and our Master Cheat? How can they Service do that want their Pay, Fed with Dank Provender and Musty Hay? Whilst I am sterv'd, like one of Pharoh's Kine, What should my Belly fill, your Coffers line. But this not all the Quarrel, though all truth; Thou rob'st me of my Dowcets in my Youth, Which odious Injury so ill I brook, That now stand by, forsooth, and onely look,

Page 32

I could well wish, such my Revenge should be, Day through both Sides thy treach'rous Heart may see▪
Brave are those Flames that kindle in the Male, Viewing a beauteous Heifer in the Vale; Sure 'tis a Heavenly War, delightful Rage, When Bulls, spurr'd on by Rivalship, engage! The Herds amazed stand, the Grove resounds, The bellowing Hectors dealing Wounds for Wounds
By this I might have been the Parson's Bull, And like him round, Choice Beauties pick and cull; Had sweet-breath'd Wives, & black-ey'd Concubine And a fair Issue sprung from my own Loyns, Who now thus live a solitary Life, Barr'd from the dear Enjoyments of a Wife.
Then said the Swain, Fond Beast, is that the Cause How many know I, could they find a Clause To be divorc'd, their whole Estates would spend, Who see now of their Miseries no end! Hadst thou a curst Cow, though her Horns were shor Evening a Morn she'll gore thee to the Heart, Ne're let thee rest, until Commanding All, She Rule at Rack and Manger in thy Stall. Know thou dull Lump, know inconsiderate Ox, I have a Wise, am Married with a Pox; Who never resting, either Ear alarms With sudden Tempests, and assiduous Storms; At Promises and Marriage-Vows she spurns, To Rogue and Rascal, Lord and Master turns;

Page 33

As Law and Gospel her own Will translates: Cold Comforts freeze my Bed, and Frost my Cates; That I believe thee happier in thy Stall, Than I with such a Partner in my Hall.
Once I her Baitings not so well could brook, Long-suffering Patience over-power'd, I struck; My Hand rais'd high, and with a knotty Crab, At once to Humble and Chastise the Drab: Tipsied with Ale, slipp'ry the Floor, I fell, And streight the Devil my Wife mounts Michael: Ne're lay faln Husband so be-Belzebub'd; My Cheeks she Rubrick'd, and my Temples drubb'd My Head new moulding, pummell'd into Pap: Mobbled nine days in my Considering-Cap, Before my Eyes beheld the blessed Day, Mourning in Black and Blue, on Flocks I lay; Thus sighing oft, I better ten to one, Though Arm'd with Ale, had let the Fiend alone: Whilst Skimmington my nearest Neighbor strode A manag'd Coll-staff, and in Penance rode. But one not serves your turn, a single Spouse, One Devil is too little for your House, You for a Legion are. Ah! hadst thou half Of mine, and shar'dst my Miseries, sensless Calf, Thou smarting, worse than bitten by a Gad, Wouldst, bellowing, thy Country fly Horn mad. But since such Paradoxes you dispute, Art such a Rebell, and a Fool to boot, I'll beat new Principles into thy Pate, Shall from course Flesh thy duller Soul translate;

Page 34

Since Decastration will not mend thy Head, Death shall, much better than my Marriage-bed.
MORAL.
Dull are intestine Wars, and Civil Strife, To loud Divisions betwixt Man and Wife; Gentle Usurpers, mild the Tyrants Rod, To a Smock-rampant, and to be Hen-trod.

Page [unnumbered]

Do you have questions about this content? Need to report a problem? Please contact us.