As others do, in solitude. 
  Pray, let your kind attentions cease,
  Till death my spirit shall release.” 
  But comforters are not so sent: 
  On duty sad full long intent,
  When Heaven pleased, they went: 
  But not without a friendly glass;
  That is to say, they cropp’d the grass
  And leaves which in that quarter grew,
  From which the sick his pittance drew. 
  By kindness thus compell’d to fast,
  He died for want of food at last.

The men take off no trifling dole Who heal the body, or the soul.  Alas the times! do what we will, They have their payment, cure or kill.

  The Wolf and the Fox

  “Dear Wolf,” complain’d a hungry Fox,
  “A lean chick’s meat, or veteran cock’s,
    Is all I get by toil or trick: 
    Of such a living I am sick. 
    With far less risk, you’ve better cheer;
    A house you need not venture near,
    But I must do it, spite of fear. 
    Pray, make me master of your trade. 
    And let me by that means be made
    The first of all my race that took
    Fat mutton to his larder’s hook: 
    Your kindness shall not be repented.” 
    The Wolf quite readily consented. 
    “I have a brother, lately dead: 
    Go fit his skin to yours,” he said. 
  ’Twas done; and then the wolf proceeded: 
    “Now mark you well what must be done
    The dogs that guard the flock to shun.” 
  The Fox the lessons strictly heeded. 
    At first he boggled in his dress;
    But awkwardness grew less and less,
    Till perseverance gave success. 
    His education scarce complete,
    A flock, his scholarship to greet,
      Came rambling out that way. 
    The new-made Wolf his work began,
    Amidst the heedless nibblers ran,
      And spread a sore dismay. 
    The bleating host now surely thought
    That fifty wolves were on the spot: 
      Dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled,
    And left a single sheep in pawn,
    Which Reynard seized when they were gone. 
      But, ere upon his prize he fed,
    There crow’d a cock near by, and down
    The scholar threw his prey and gown,
  That he might run that way the faster—­
  Forgetting lessons, prize and master.

      Reality, in every station,
      Will burst out on the first occasion.

  The Woods and the Woodman

  A certain Wood-chopper lost or broke
  From his axe’s eye a bit of oak. 
  The forest must needs be somewhat spared
  While such a loss was being repair’d. 
  Came the man at last, and humbly pray’d
    That the Woods would kindly lend to him—­
    A moderate loan—­a single limb,
  Whereof might another helve be made,
  And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade. 
  Oh, the oaks and firs that then might stand,
  A pride and a joy throughout the land,