FABLE XXXVIII.

  THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.

  In other men we faults can spy,
  And blame the mote that dims their eye,
  Each little speck and blemish find,
  To our own stronger errors blind. 
     A turkey, tired of common food,
  Forsook the barn, and sought the wood;
  Behind her ran her infant train,
  Collecting here and there a grain. 
     ‘Draw near, my birds,’ the mother cries,
  ’This hill delicious fare supplies;
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  Behold, the busy negro race,
  See, millions blacken all the place! 
  Fear not.  Like me with freedom eat;
  An ant is most delightful meat. 
  How bless’d, how envied were our life,
  Could we but ’scape the poulterer’s knife! 
  But man, cursed man, on turkeys preys,
  And Christmas shortens all our days: 
  Sometimes with oysters we combine,
  Sometimes assist the savoury chine.
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  From the low peasant to the lord,
  The turkey smokes on every board. 
  Sure men for gluttony are cursed,
  Of the seven deadly sins the worst.’ 
     An ant, who climbed beyond his reach,
  Thus answered from the neighbouring beech: 
     ’Ere you remark another’s sin, 27
  Bid thy own conscience look within;
  Control thy more voracious bill,
  Nor for a breakfast nations kill.’
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* * * * *

  FABLE XXXIX.

  THE FATHER AND JUPITER.

  The man to Jove his suit preferred;
  He begged a wife.  His prayer was heard,
  Jove wondered at his bold addressing: 
  For how precarious is the blessing! 
  A wife he takes.  And now for heirs
  Again he worries heaven with prayers. 
  Jove nods assent.  Two hopeful boys
  And a fine girl reward his joys. 
  Now, more solicitous he grew,
  And set their future lives in view;
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  He saw that all respect and duty
  Were paid to wealth, to power, and beauty. 
  ‘Once more,’ he cries, ’accept my prayer;
  Make my loved progeny thy care. 
  Let my first hope, my favourite boy,
  All fortune’s richest gifts enjoy. 
  My next with strong ambition fire: 
  May favour teach him to aspire;
  Till he the step of power ascend,
  And courtiers to their idol bend.
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  With every grace, with every charm,
  My daughter’s perfect features arm. 
  If heaven approve, a father’s bless’d.’ 
  Jove smiles, and grants his full request. 
     The first, a miser at the heart,
  Studious of every griping art,
  Heaps hoards on hoards with anxious pain;
  And all his life devotes to gain. 
  He feels no joy, his cares increase,
  He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace;
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  In fancied want (a wretch complete)
  He starves, and yet he dares not eat. 
     The next to sudden honours grew: 
  The thriving art of Courts he knew: 
  He reached the height of power and place;