my prayer,
And guard my life from guilt and care. 
My soul abhors that wretch’s fate. 
O keep me in my humble state! 
But see, amidst a gaudy crowd,
Yon minister, so gay and proud,
100
On him what happiness attends,
Who thus rewards his grateful friends!’
‘First take the glass,’ the god replies: 
‘Man views the world with partial eyes.’ 
‘Good gods!’ exclaims the startled wight,
’Defend me from this hideous sight! 
Corruption, with corrosive smart,
Lies cankering on his guilty heart: 
I see him, with polluted hand,
Spread the contagion o’er the land,
110
Now avarice with insatiate jaws,
Now rapine with her harpy claws
His bosom tears.  His conscious breast
Groans, with a load of crimes oppress’d. 
See him, mad and drunk with power,
Stand tottering on ambition’s tower. 
Sometimes, in speeches vain and proud,
His boasts insult the nether crowd;
Now, seized with giddiness and fear,
He trembles lest his fall is near.
120
‘Was ever wretch like this?’ he cries;
’Such misery in such disguise! 
The change, O Jove, I disavow;
Still be my lot the spade and plough.’ 
He next, confirmed by speculation,
Rejects the lawyer’s occupation;
For he the statesman seemed in part,
And bore similitude of heart. 
Nor did the soldier’s trade inflame
His hopes with thirst of spoil and fame,
130
The miseries of war he mourned;
Whole nations into deserts turned. 
By these have laws and rights been braved;
By these were free-born men enslaved: 
When battles and invasion cease,
Why swarm they in a land of peace? 
‘Such change,’ says he, ’may I decline;
The scythe and civil arms be mine!’
Thus, weighing life in each condition,
The clown withdrew his rash petition.
140
When thus the god:  ’How mortals err! 
If you true happiness prefer,
’Tis to no rank of life confined,
But dwells in every honest mind. 
Be justice then your sole pursuit: 
Plant virtue, and content’s the fruit.’ 
So Jove, to gratify the clown,
Where first he found him set him down.

* * * * *

  FABLE VIII.

  THE MAN, THE CAT, THE DOG, AND THE FLY.

  TO MY NATIVE COUNTRY.

  Hail, happy land, whose fertile grounds
  The liquid fence of Neptune bounds;
  By bounteous Nature set apart,
  The seat of industry and art! 
  O Britain! chosen port of trade,
  May luxury ne’er thy sons invade;
  May never minister (intent
  His private treasures to augment)
  Corrupt thy state.  If jealous foes
  Thy rights of commerce dare oppose,
10
  Shall not thy fleets their rapine awe? 
  Who is’t prescribes the ocean law? 
     Whenever neighbouring states contend,
  ’Tis thine to be the general friend. 
  What is’t, who rules in other lands?