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.

[illustration] the crow drops a pebble into the pitcher next to a well. In the background, the crow perches on the lamb's back, while a large bird flies away with the lamb in its talons.

FAB. XXVII. Of the Lamb and the Crow.

A Petulant Crow with Carrion Banquets gorg'd, And noysom Offals, to Bears College Barg'd, Look'd round, a soft and steadier Seat to find, Than a rough Branch, that danc'd with every Wind:

Spying a Lamb, said she, No further search, On yon soft Couch, that Silken Fleece, I'll perch: Her short Result put streight in Act, she came, And Quarters settles on the harmless Lamb; Who when he felt a Burthen on his Back, And hovering saw one lighted, all in Black, Supposing some great Lady there had been, That onely Rested, not took up her Inn, He patiently endur'd: but when she staid As in her Lodgings, thus the Sutl'rer said.

Madam, whate're you are, I not inquire, But wish to Privacy you would retire; Though soft the Palat, yet you Curtains want, Unfit to Duel with a Brisk Gallant: Need you a moving Brother? Call a Coach, There's all Conveniency, and less Reproach: Be what you will, Court-Dame, Goddess, or Nymph, I would not bear your Bed, and be your Pimp.

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Then said the Crow, Why how now sawcie Jack! Thinkst thou a Strumpet sits upon thy Back? Were I a Pleasure-Lady, here I'd sleep, And this Place as my own Apartment keep.

The Lamb reply'd, Lady, I am content, If you will pay my Master Chamber-Rent; He hath a thousand Tricks, a thousand ways, To lose you in Laws intricating Maze; A Lawyer, who his Neighbors keeps in awe, Will Sue them for the turning of a Straw; A heinous Trespass o're his Hedge to peep: Lady, agree with him before you sleep.

Then she reply'd, Your Master I will match; E're he proceed, he first must me attach: But e're Dog-Sergeants come, I'll take my Flight Where never Under-Shrieve shall on me light: Disturb no more, nor keep me from Repose, Lest I in stead of Parlying, fall to Blows.

MORAL.

Proud and Poor Tenants hard are off to claw, Possession being Eleven Points of the Law: Are we not able Tyrants to Supplant? Better with Patience Suffer, than to Rant.