Fable XI. the Birth Day

The morn was come, the brilliant morn, On which Fame said, my LORD was born; The courtly SUN—who more polite, Contributed unusual light— The vegetable world was seen Exhibiting more vivid green; The feather'd songsters tun'd their throats, To louder and more jocund notes; All Nature smil'd, and look'd more gay, To honour the auspicious day; Nor could she, reason must confess, Do for a TITLED mortal, less— Whom twenty-one indulgent years Had ripen'd for the HOUSE of PEERS.

At such an aera, custom pays A world of compliments, and praise; Mere phantoms of external show, Which from the lip of int'rest flow; For let the self-same wond'rous man, So worshipp'd by a servile clan, Be stripp'd of titles and estate, He's then no longer good, nor great.

The BIRTH DAY levee now were come, And marshall'd in the drawing room; A medly of most curious creatures, As diff'rent in designs as features.

Here fawning Priests, with looks demure, In hopes to get a better cure, Appear'd to grace the friendly croud; And very low—for livings bow'd—

On t' other side, the sons of law, Their rev'rence make with distant awe; No counsel, sure, wou'd ever grudge A scrape or two—to be a Judge.

Ev'n thy disciples, MARS, beset The youthful rising coronet.

But where is he the race can shun When thou, Preferment, bid'st him run? Thy magic spur can quicken all, To circle round this earthly ball; To combat dangers, cares, and strife, Nay, some to hazard fame with life.

Amongst the rest, one suitor came, A stranger scarcely known by name, Who acting on a diff'rent plan, Declar'd himself, the HONEST MAN.

This rustic blade approach'd the peer— I've reach'd, he said, my ninetieth year; Three score of which, young Lord, have I Been tenant to your family— Then, let me first with kindness prove Your patronage, and noble love; Tho' plain my coat, my heart, I trust, Hath ever been in action just; I boldly ask, what these conceal, And hope to win, what they would steal, Your favour—not for selfish end— But more to show myself your friend.

I ask not wealth, for common sense Hath made me rich in competence; I ask not titles, they must shame My humble parts, and humble name; But ask a boon which you may grant, Nor for another suit or want; Age bows my body to the grave, Remaining time I wish to save, Thus hasting off this stage of strife, Will you bestow some years of life?

The youthful Peer, whose heart was good, And full as noble, as his blood; In sentiments, as rank sublime; Perhaps the CARLISLE of his time— Replied, I understand thee not— What pow'r have I to change thy lot Of life or death?—yet what is mine I promise freely shall be thine; I've heard thy worth, and dare afford To bind it with my solemn word.

Oh noble youth, return'd the fire, May heav'n thy virtuous mind inspire; Each worthy deed of thine will be A year of added life to me— Thus I may ask, without a crime, To lengthen out with joy my time.

His Lordship hear'd with smiling face, Then rush'd into a kind embrace; And cried, Good father, thy request Shall live for ever in this breast; And far as mortal frailty reaches, I'll practise what thy wisdom teaches; Nor will I specious show regard, But worth in honest men reward; And keep my favours there confin'd, Where virtues ornament the mind.

He said—the levee shrunk away— Like night before the rising day.