The Bear, the Monkey, and the Pig

  A Bear with whom a Piedmontese
  Had voyaged from the Polar seas,
  And by whose strange unwieldy gambols
  He earned a living in his rambles,
  One day, upon his hind legs set,
  Began to dance a minuet. 
  At length, being tired, as well he might,
  Of standing such a time upright,
  He to a Monkey near advancing,
  Exclaimed:  “What think you of my dancing?”
  “Really,” he said, “ahem!” (I’m sure
  This Monkey was a connoisseur)
  “To praise it, I’d indeed be glad,
  Only it is so very bad!”
  “How!” said the Bear, not over pleased,
  “Surely, your judgment is diseased,
  Or else you cannot well have seen
  My elegance of step and mien;
  Just look again, and say what graces
  You think are wanting in my paces.” 
  “Indeed, his taste is quite amazing,”
  Replied a Pig with rapture gazing;
  “Bravo! encore! well done!  Sir Bear,
  By heaven, you trip as light as air;
  I vow that Paris never knew
  A dancer half so fine as you.”

  With some confusion, Bruin heard
  Such praises by a Pig conferred;
  He communed with himself a while,
  And muttered thus, in altered style: 
  “I must confess the Monkey’s blame
  Made me feel doubtful of my fame;
  But since the Pigs their praise concede,
  My dancing must be bad, indeed!”

  The Muff, the Fan, and the Parasol

  “It sounds presumptuous and ill
  To boast of universal skill,
  But ’tis a scarce less fault, I own,
  To serve one sort of use alone.” 
  An idle Parasol, one day,
  Within a lady’s chamber lay,
  And having nothing else to do,
  Addressing his companions two,
  Reclining near, a Muff and Fan,
  He thus insultingly began,
  Using a form of dialect,
  In which, if Aesop is correct,
  The Brass and Earthern Jars, of old,
  Conversed as down the stream they rolled. 
  “Oh! sirs, ye merit mighty praise! 
  Yon Muff may do for wintry days,
  A corner is your lot in spring;
  While you, Fan, are a useless thing
  When cold succeeds to heat; for neither
  Can change yourself to suit the weather
  Learn, if you’re able to possess,
  Like me a double usefulness,
  From winter’s rain I help to shun
  And guard in summer from the sun.”

  The Duck and the Serpent

  A self-conceited Duck, one day,
  Was waddling from her pond away: 
  “What other race can boast,” she cried,
  “The many gifts to ours allied? 
  Earth—­water—­air—­are all for us. 
  When I am tired of walking thus,
  I fly, if so I take the whim,
  Or if it pleases me I swim.” 
  A cunning Serpent overheard
  The boasting of the clumsy bird,
  And, with contempt and scorn inflamed,
  Came hissing up, and thus exclaimed: 
  “It strikes me, ma’am, there’s small occasion