cs fancy spirit.
What is't to me by whom begot?
Thou restive, pert, conceited sot.
_90
Your sires I reverence; 'tis their due:
But, worthless fool, what's that to you?
Ask all the carriers on the road,
They'll say thy keeping's ill bestowed.
Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
That neither mends thy strength or pace.
What profits me thy boast of blood?
An ass hath more intrinsic good.
By outward show let's not be cheated;
An ass should like an ass be treated.'
_100

* * * * *

FABLE XII.

PAN AND FORTUNE.

TO A YOUNG HEIR.

Soon as your father's death was known,
(As if the estate had been their own)
The gamesters outwardly express'd
The decent joy within your breast.
So lavish in your praise they grew,
As spoke their certain hopes in you.
One counts your income of the year,
How much in ready money clear.
'No house,' says he, 'is more complete;
The garden's elegant and great.
_10
How fine the park around it lies!
The timber's of a noble size!
Then count his jewels and his plate.
Besides, 'tis no entailed estate.
If cash run low, his lands in fee
Are, or for sale, or mortgage free.'
Thus they, before you threw the main,
Seem to anticipate their gain.
Would you, when thieves were known abroad,
Bring forth your treasures in the road?
_20
Would not the fool abet the stealth,
Who rashly thus exposed his wealth?
Yet this you do, whene'er you play
Among the gentlemen of prey.
Could fools to keep their own contrive,
On what, on whom could gamesters thrive?
Is it in charity you game,
To save your worthy gang from shame?
Unless you furnished daily bread,
Which way could idleness be fed?
_30
Could these professors of deceit
Within the law no longer cheat,
They must run bolder risks for prey,
And strip the traveller on the way.
Thus in your annual rents they share,
And 'scape the noose from year to year.
Consider, ere you make the bet,
That sum might cross your tailor's debt.
When you the pilfering rattle shake,
Is not your honour too at stake?
_40
Must you not by mean lies evade
To-morrow's duns from every trade?
By promises so often paid,
Is yet your tailor's bill defrayed?
Must you not pitifully fawn,
To have your butcher's writ withdrawn?
This must be done. In debts of play
Your honour suffers no delay:
And not this