'If,' said he, real pleasure is

In such buffoonery as this,

Then Beaux and smarts, amongst mankind, 'Are in their notions most refin'd;

'But well we know, by men of sense,
'They're tax'd with vain impertinence.
I, therefore, think true pleasure lies
(If I may venture to advise)

In careless indolence and ease,
'Not suff'ring any thing to teaze,

Regardless what th' ambitious fly at, 'So we're but undisturb'd and quiet; < Well knowing 'tis but to attain

⚫ More ease that they're at so much pain. And he's more happy, none can doubt it, Who's easy without pains about it.'

Now rose the Hog, and, with a grunt,

6

< Pleasure!' cried he, they know nought on't. A life trail'd on in laziness

Can only suit a stupid Ass,

' And fool'd away in Monkey mirth,

'It's really full as little worth;

For doing nothing worthy fame,

'And doing nothing's much the same.

But, if you'd real pleasure know,

Let gen'rous liquor smiling flow;
In jovial crews spend ev'ry hour,

And drink, and sing, and rant, and roar;
Thus ev'ry care will sink and drown,

'Whilst mirth and joy run laughing round.'

And next to him arose the Goat
But what he said I shall not quote.
But, here, the Leopard, rising slow,
Expos'd his beauteous spots to shew,
And, with a grave majestic face,
Thus gaye his verdict in the case:
'Pleasure consists not in such short
'Imperfect transitory sport.

Of which the pains we're at to get it,

O'erpays the bliss when we come at it; 'Nor can it e'er be call'd true joy

'With such a mixture of alloy,

No, that must be the most refin'd

'Which most exalts and charms the mind;
'And nothing sure more charming is,
'Than honour, pomp and dignities,

Than grandeur and magnificence,

Than sumptuous trains and vast expence, 'Than place, distinction, and preferment, And, when we die, a grand interment.'

At this the Horse, with noble look,

Raising his crested neck, thus spoke :
'That merit should be rais'd on high,
'I think's so just none can deny ;
But he who places all his bliss
'In the external pomp of this,

'Knows not what greatness, nor what pleasure is;
'His judgment errs as much at least,
'As his who thinks that painting best,

Which is in gaudiest colours drest.

Of both

we may

affirm the same,

Their taste lies but in gilded frame. 'I grant preferment, honour, place, Are rising steps to happiness;

6

But, whilst we're upwards thus aspiring,
We're anxious still, and still desiring.
To act with an unbounded will,

'Can only our desires fulfil;

Whence, highest bliss, in my opinion, 'Must be in power and dominion.' :

Thus all their various sense express'd,
And each advis'd what he thought best;
But, still, what each as best esteem'd,
Was by the next that spoke condemn'd :
Mean while the savage
monarch sate
Attentive to the warm debate;
The nature saw, without disguise,
Of ev'ry beast in his advice.

But soon the disputants grew rude,
Confusion, noise, tumultuous feud
Enrage the jarring multitude;
"Till, wearied out, the royal beast
Thus spoke, and silenc'd all the rest :

'Cease, cease your vain contention, cease) "Your shallow schemes of happiness; Which only have confirm'd me more, 'Tis what I thought it was before.. 'Greatness is no establishment Of real bliss, or true content;

• Luxurious banquets quickly pall,
Sensual pleasures turn to gall:
Virtue alone can give true joy;
'The sweets of virtue never cloy.
'To take delight in doing good,

In justice, truth, and gratitude,

In aiding those whom cares oppress, 'Imparting comfort to distress:

These, these are joys which all who prove Anticipate the bliss above.

These are the joys, and these alone, 'We ne'er repent, or wish undone.'

He spoke; the beasts, without delay, Rose from their seats, and sneak'd away.

"Twas in the charming month of May,
(No matter, critics, for the day)
When Phoebus had his noon attain'd,
And in his blaze of glory reign'd;
A Fly, as gay as e'er was seen,
Clad o'er in azure, jet and green;
Gay, for his part, as birth-day beau,
Whose soul is vanish'd into shew;

On Paul's fam'd Temple chanc'd to light,
To ease his long laborious flight.
There, as his optics gaz'd around,
(An inch or two their utmost bound :)

He thus began: 'Men vainly tell

How they in works of skill excel: This edifice they proudly shew what human art can do ;

• To

prove

"Tis all a cheat,-before my eyes 'What infinite disorders rise!

Here hideous cavities appear, 'And broken precipices there: 'They never us'd the plane or line, 'But jumbled heaps without design.'

He ceas'd, contemptuous, and, as flies
Discern with microscopic eyes,

From what he saw he reason'd right,
But how inadequate the sight!

To mark the building from its base,
The pillar'd pomp, the sculptur'd grace,
The dome, the cross, the golden ball,
Much less the grand result of all !

So impious Wits, with proud disdain,
Redemption's hidden ways arraign,
Deem it beneath a Being wise,
And, judging with their insect eyes,
View but a part, and then deny
The Eternal Wisdom of the sky.
But can they ken? Presumptuous man!
Unfold this deep and wond'rous plan!