That every subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious Wolf begins: 
Good father, I must own with shame,
That often I have been to blame: 
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was!  I broke my fast: 
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food,
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood. 
  The Ass approaching next, confess’d,
That in his heart he loved a jest: 
A wag he was, he needs must own,
And could not let a dunce alone: 
Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
And might perhaps be too severe: 
But yet the worst that could be said,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a sin and shame,
Nature alone must bear the blame: 
One fault he has, is sorry for’t,
His ears are half a foot too short;
Which could he to the standard bring,
He’d show his face before the king: 
Then for his voice, there’s none disputes
That he’s the nightingale of brutes. 
  The Swine with contrite heart allow’d,
His shape and beauty made him proud: 
In diet was perhaps too nice,
But gluttony was ne’er his vice: 
In every turn of life content,
And meekly took what fortune sent: 
Inquire through all the parish round,
A better neighbour ne’er was found;
His vigilance might some displease;
’Tis true, he hated sloth like pease. 
  The mimic Ape began his chatter,
How evil tongues his life bespatter;
Much of the censuring world complain’d,
Who said, his gravity was feign’d: 
Indeed, the strictness of his morals
Engaged him in a hundred quarrels: 
He saw, and he was grieved to see’t,
His zeal was sometimes indiscreet: 
He found his virtues too severe
For our corrupted times to bear;
Yet such a lewd licentious age
Might well excuse a stoic’s rage. 
  The Goat advanced with decent pace,
And first excused his youthful face;
Forgiveness begg’d that he appear’d
(’Twas Nature’s fault) without a beard. 
’Tis true, he was not much inclined
To fondness for the female kind: 
Not, as his enemies object,
From chance, or natural defect;
Not by his frigid constitution;
But through a pious resolution: 
For he had made a holy vow
Of Chastity, as monks do now: 
Which he resolved to keep for ever hence
And strictly too, as doth his reverence.[2]
  Apply the tale, and you shall find,
How just it suits with human kind. 
Some faults we own; but can you guess? 
—­Why, virtue’s 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,