Apply the tale, and you shall find,
  How just it suits with human kind. 
  Some faults we own; but can you guess? 
  —­Why, virtues carried to excess,
  Wherewith our vanity endows us,
  Though neither foe nor friend allows us.

  The Lawyer swears (you may rely on’t)
  He never squeezed a needy client;
  And this he makes his constant rule,
  For which his brethren call him fool;
  His conscience always was so nice,
  He freely gave the poor advice;
  By which he lost, he may affirm,
  A hundred fees last Easter term;
  While others of the learned robe,
  Would break the patience of a Job. 
  No pleader at the bar could match
  His diligence and quick dispatch;
  Ne’er kept a cause, he well may boast,
  Above a term or two at most.

  The cringing Knave, who seeks a place
  Without success, thus tells his case: 
  Why should he longer mince the matter? 
  He failed, because he could not flatter;
  He had not learned to turn his coat,
  Nor for a party give his vote: 
  His crime he quickly understood;
  Too zealous for the nation’s good: 
  He found the ministers resent it,
  Yet could not for his heart repent it.

  The Chaplain vows, he cannot fawn,
  Though it would raise him to the lawn: 
  He passed his hours among his books;
  You find it in his meagre looks: 
  He might, if he were worldly wise,
  Preferment get, and spare his eyes;
  But owns he had a stubborn spirit,
  That made him trust alone to merit;
  Would rise by merit to promotion;
  Alas! a mere chimeric notion.

  The Doctor, if you will believe him,
  Confessed a sin; (and God forgive him!)
  Called up at midnight, ran to save
  A blind old beggar from the grave: 
  But see how Satan spreads his snares;
  He quite forgot to say his prayers. 
  He cannot help it, for his heart,
  Sometimes to act the parson’s part: 
  Quotes from the Bible many a sentence,
  That moves his patients to repentance;
  And, when his medicines do no good,
  Supports their minds with heavenly food: 
  At which, however well intended. 
  He hears the clergy are offended;
  And grown so bold behind his back,
  To call him hypocrite and quack.

* * * * *

  I own the moral not exact,
  Besides, the tale is false, in fact;
  And so absurd, that could I raise up,
  From fields Elysian, fabling. 
  Aesop, I would accuse him to his face,
  For libelling the four-foot race. 
  Creatures of every kind but ours
  Well comprehend their natural powers,
  While we, whom reason ought to sway,
  Mistake our talents every day. 
  The Ass was never known so stupid
  To act the part of Tray or Cupid;
  Nor leaps upon his master’s lap. 
  There to be stroked, and fed with pap,
  As Aesop would the world persuade;
  He better understands his trade: 
  Nor comes whene’er his lady whistles,
  But carries loads, and feeds on thistles. 
  Our author’s meaning, I presume, is
  A creature bipes et implumis;