The Lion and His Cub

GIVE not your son the reins to guide,
Who's led by mad ambitious pride;
Howe'er impatient, let him wait,
Nor be spectator of his fate.
While on your faithless prop you bend,
Your silver hairs shall lack a friend;
Your sight, tho' weak, you'll wish was gone,
Rather than see a guilty son.
        A LION , of demeanor grave,
Watch'd at the mouth of his lone cave.
A full grown Cub, bold, ill inclin'd,
Of manners rough, imperious mind,

Filled with wrath, address'd his Sire,
His eyes half flashing flames of fire:
"Ne'er," he cry'd, "shall cease my wonder,
"While your roar exceeds the thunder,
"And ruling all, in might so great,
"That you assume not proper state.
"Believe me, when I fill your place,
"I'll shew a very diff'rent face;
"For lenity, I'll not be fam'd,
"But all shall tremble when I'm nam'd."
        The Lion said--"Consider, Son,
"Power is given, seldom won;
"There's other beasts, are no less strong,
"To whom such power does not belong.
"Stirring up foes, we gain no ends,
"But lose our steady truest friends.
"Crowns are granted by permission,
"And the people's tame submission.
"Look round, you'll see all those in place
"Shrink at dishonour and disgrace.

"So, Son, your wanton rage restrain,
" 'Twill spare an age of grief and pain."
        The Cub, impatient, made reply--
"Then let me practice ere you die;
"Give me experience, so I'll learn
"Knowledge, and shall the truth discern;
"Shall see my errors, change my schemes,
"Which you regard as airy dreams:
"But I'll exalt still more my name,
"And on those dreams I'll build my fame."
        "Well, Son," the Lion said, "I doubt--
"But my best wish you're not without;
"So take the government, and prove
"Yourself right worthy of my love."
        The liberated heir sat out:
He rang'd, he roved, he tore about;
All his commands must be obey'd.
Some brutes seem'd angry, some afraid;
Many he slaughter'd to devour,
And many fell to prove his power.

A Tyger came, the carnage found
As it lay welt'ring on the ground;
Hunger forbade him to explore
The truth, till he could eat no more;
Which done, he cry'd--"A wanton treat!
"Wretch, destroy more than thou canst eat!
"Commences thus thy tyrant reign?
"Thou shall ne'er do the like again;
"I'll free the forest from a knave,
"Who has no wish but to enslave."
        Thus, fiercely leaping on his side,
He tore him down, and quick he dy'd,

MORAL.

From envy and impatience, learn
That each must wait to take his turn:
Then, even then, of pride beware,
For insolence all will not bear.
To be superior, gain your ends
By making, not by losing friends.

Original fables by a Lady

Printed by W. Calvert, Shire Lane, Lincoln's Inn, for B. Crosby and Co. London, 1810

To your Royal Highness the following Fables are dedicated, with a wish that in an interval of leisure some transient amusement may be obtained.