Without respect, or love, or friends,

His solitary day descends.'

'You might,' says Cupid,' doubt my parts,
My knowledge too in human hearts,
Should I the pow'r of gold dispute,
Which great examples might confute.
I know, when nothing else prevails,
Persuasive money seldom fails;
That beauty too (like other wares)
Its price, as well as conscience, bears.
Then marriage (as of late profess'd)
Is but a money job at best.

Consent, compliance may be sold:
But love's beyond the price of gold.
Smugglers there are, who, by retail,
Expose what they call love, to sale;
Such bargains are an arrant cheat;
You purchase flatt'ry and deceit.
Those who true love have ever try'd
(The common cares of life supply'd),
No wants endure, no wishes make,
But ev'ry real joy partake.

All comfort on themselves depends;

They want nor pow'r, nor wealth, nor friends.

Love then hath ev'ry bliss in store:

'Tis friendship, and 'tis something more. Each other ev'ry wish they give,

Not to know love, is not to live.

'Or love, or money,' Time reply'd,

'Were men the question to decide,
Would bear the prize: on both intent,
My boon 's neglected or mispent.
'Tis I who measure vital space,
And deal out years to human race.
Though little priz'd, and seldom sought,
Without me love and gold are nought.
How does the miser Time employ?
Did I e'er see him life enjoy?
By me forsook, the hoards he won,
Are scatter'd by his lavish son.
By me all useful arts are gain'd;
Wealth, learning, wisdom, is attain'd.

Who then would think (since such my pow'r) That e'er I knew an idle hour?

So subtle and so swift I fly,

Love's not more fugitive than I.

Who hath not heard coquettes complain
Of days, months, years, mispent in vain?
For Time misus'd they pine and waste,
And love's sweet pleasures never taste.
Those who direct their time aright,
If love or wealth their hopes excite,
In each pursuit fit hours employ'd,
And both by time have been enjoy'd.
How heedless then are mortals grown!
How little is their int❜rest known!

In ev'ry view they ought to mind me!
For, when once lost, they never find me.'
He spoke. The gods no more contest,
And his superior gift confess'd;
That time (when truly understood),
Is the most precious earthly good.

FABLE XIV.

The Owl, the Swan, the Cock, the Spider, the Ass, and the Farmer.

To a Mother.

CONVERSING with your sprightly boys,
Your eyes have spoke the mother's joys.
With what delight I've heard you quote
Their sayings in imperfect note!

I grant, in body and in mind,
Nature appears profusely kind.
Trust not to that. Act you your part;
Imprint just morals on their heart;
Impartially their talents scan:
Just education forms the man.

Perhaps (their genius yet unknown)
Each lot of life 's already thrown;
That this shall plead, the next shall fight,
The last assert the church's right.

I censure not the fond intent;
But how precarious is th' event!
By talents misapply'd and cross'd,
Consider, all your sons are lost.

One day (the tale 's by Martial penn'd)
A father thus address'd his friend:

'To train my boy, and call forth sense, You know I've stuck at no expense; I've try'd him in th' several arts (The lad, no doubt, hath latent parts), Yet trying all, he nothing knows; But, crab-like, rather backward goes. Teach me what yet remains undone; 'Tis your advice shall fix my son.'

'Sir,' says the friend, 'I've weigh'd the matter; Excuse me, for I scorn to flatter;

Make him (nor think his genius check'd)
A herald, or an architect.'

Perhaps (as commonly 'tis known)
He heard th' advice, and took his own.
The boy wants wit; he's sent to school,
Where learning but improves the fool:
The college next must give him parts,
And cram him with the lib'ral arts.
Whether he blunders at the bar,
Or owes his infamy to war;
Or if by licence or degree

The sexton share the doctor's fee;
Or from the pulpit by the hour
He weekly floods of nonsense pour;
We find (th' intent of Nature foil'd)
A tailor or a butcher spoil'd.

Thus ministers have royal boons
Conferr'd on blockheads and buffoons:
In spite of nature, merit, wit,
Their friends for ev'ry post were fit.

But now let ev'ry muse confess

That merit finds its due success.
Th' examples of our days regard;
Where 's virtue seen without reward?
Distinguish'd and in place you find
Desert and worth of ev'ry kind.

Survey the rev'rend bench, and see
Religion, learning, piety:

The patron, e'er he recommends,
Sees his own image in his friend's.
Is honesty disgrac'd and poor,
What is 't to us what was before?

We all of times corrupt have heard,
When paltry minions were preferr'd:
When all great offices, by dozens,

Were fill'd by brothers, sons, and cousins.
What matter ignorance and pride?
The man was happily ally'd.
Provided that his clerk was good,
What though he nothing understood?
In church and state, the sorry race
Grew more conspicuous fools in place.
Such heads, as then a treaty made,
Had bungled in the cobbler's trade.

Consider, patrons, that such elves
Expose your folly with themselves.
'Tis yours, as 'tis the parent's care,
To fix each genius in its sphere.
Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
But never give a blockhead sense.
An Owl of magisterial air,
Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
Assum'd the pride of human race,
And bore his wisdom in his face.
Not to depreciate learned eyes,
I've seen a pedant look as wise.

Within a barn from noise retir'd,
He scorn'd the world, himself admir'd;
And, like an ancient sage, conceal'd
The follies public life reveal'd.
Philosophers of old he read,

Their country's youth to science bred,
Their manners form'd for ev'ry station,
And destin'd each his occupation.
When Xenophon, by numbers brav❜d,
Retreated, and a people sav'd,
That laurel was not all his own,

The plant by Socrates was sown,

To Aristotle's greater name

The Macedonian ow'd his fame.

Th' Athenian bird, with pride replete,
Their talents equall'd in conceit;
And, copying the Socratic rule,
Set up for master of a school.
Dogmatic jargon, learn'd by heart,
Trite sentences, hard terms of art,
To vulgar ears seem'd so profound,
They fancy'd learning in the sound.
The school had fame: the crowded place
With pupils swarm'd of ev'ry race.
With these the Swan's maternal care
Had sent her scarce-fiedg'd cygnet heir;
The Hen, though fond and loth to part,
Here lodg'd the darling of her heart:
The Spider, of mechanic kind,
Aspir'd to science more refin'd:
The Ass learn'd metaphors and tropes,
But most on music fix'd his hopes.

The pupils now, advanc'd in age,
Were call'd to tread life's busy stage;
And to the master 'twas submitted,
That each might to his part be fitted.

'The Swan,' says he,' in arms shall shine: The soldier's glorious toil be thine.

'The Cock shall mighty wealth attain :

Go seek it on the stormy main.

'The court shall be the Spider's sphere; Pow'r, fortune, shall reward him there. 'In music's art the Ass's fame Shall emulate Corelli's name.'

Each took the part that he advis'd,

And all were equally despis'd.

A Farmer, at his folly mov'd,

The dull preceptor thus reprov'd;

'Blockhead,' says he, by what you've done, One would have thought 'em each your son; For parents, to their offspring blind,

Consult nor parts, nor turn of mind;
But ev'n in infancy decree

What this, what t'other son shall be.