Fable X. the Swallow and Pike

'Tis common amongst human kind, All errors, but our own, to find; Nay, oft we lay severest blame, When guilty of the very same; What magic pow'r can dim our sight, Or make us look thro' partial light? SELF-APPROBATION, thee I call, The dear delusive source of all.

The HYPOCRITE, with sainted face, Will still hypocrisy disgrace; Lifts up in pray'r his hands and eyes, Unblushing to th' insulted skies; While earth-incumber'd thought remains Fast bound below, in worldly chains; Yet calls devotion impious art, Which flows not pure, and from the heart.

The GAMESTER cries, that shame should fix Her brand upon dishonest tricks; To slip a card, or cog a die, He calls the blackest infamy; Yet stake with him, he's nothing loth, When-e'er he can, to practise both.

The ENVIOUS man affects surprize, To hear of grudging hearts, or eyes; Tho' all he sees another gain, Infects his worthless mind with pain.

NARCISSA'S husband six weeks dead, E'en widow like she chose to wed; AMELIA heard, cried Fie for shame! And, in a fortnight, did the same.

LIBERIA, whose abandon'd life, With modesty holds constant strife, Exclaims, What shame do those deserve Who cannot keep a just reserve?

Thus CENSURE, like a shuttle-cock, Is bandied round the human flock; And always takes its boldest wing, From those who best deserve its sting.

The setting SUN, with Eastward beams, Now lightly sparkled o'er the streams; When eager in pursuit of food, An hungry Swallow skim'd the flood; Myriads of Flies must death endure, To gorge the feather'd Epicure; Who, rather sated with his prey, Turn'd serious work, to wanton play, And in his gambols needs must try, How near the water he could fly.

So near the rash advent'rer went, To that precarious element, That from his rush-encircled bed, A greedy PIKE rais'd up his head; And darting as the SWALLOW pass'd, Catch'd his unthinking victim fast; A pinion broke, then let him float Within the compass of his throat; While thousands and ten thousand flies, Buzz'd loud thanksgiving to the skies; That such an hungry monster's doom Should be to find a living tomb.

The wounded bird made his defence, By thus pretending innocence—

What have I done, good lordly PIKE, To merit thus your dread dislike? It was beneath your rank to follow, A poor and inoffensive SWALLOW; So mild and tender in his nature, As ne'er to hurt a mortal creature.

Audacious wretch, the PIKE replied, Of guilt convicted, soon as tried; How dares thy coward cunning try To shelter life, with sophistry?

Why o'er this river didst thou skim, Was it for profit, slave! or whim? Didst thou not dare, before these eyes, To gorge innumerable Flies? Insects, whose right to life, tho' small, Equals the greatest of us all; Whose tender fibres crush'd retain As quick and deep a sense of pain; Besides my darling Fish must be, Depriv'd of these, unfit for me; Like me, thou hast no other right, But greater strength, and appetite; If I'm a murd'rer in thy view, The Flies may call thee murd'rer too; Yet still we only follow Man, To prey on what, and whom we can.

Thus pleading Nature's gen'ral law, He gave the morsel to his maw.