The Beggar's Cur and The Spaniel

VALLIES the painter sketches fair;
Draws rocks still rougher than they are;
Making the contrast thereby strong,
To captivate the wond'ring throng.
So venal authors rarely fail
To gild a plain unvarnish'd tale,
And, to raise a childish wonder,
Try to roll terrific thunder.
What is observ'd in our short view,
Must universally be true:
Whereas the half we hear and see
Is false, in a supreme degree.

        A Dog, most wretched of his kind,
Led an old beggar, who was blind.
Misery and famine blended,
Made him wish his days were ended.
        Another Dog, devoid of spleen,
With visage open and serene,
Well fed, caress'd, and seldom teaz'd,
Who freely rov'd where'er he pleas'd,
Trembling, observ'd the starv'd Cur's fate:
And wishing to emancipate
A fellow brute with care oppress'd,
Forlornly wretched and distress'd--
        "What meaneth, friend, that string?" said he;
"Leave the old man, and follow me.
"Our race is surely greatly blest,
"Short our fatigues, and long our rest."
        The Dog of sorrow, by a sigh,
Proffer'd a short, but full reply.

        The advocate for pleasure cry'd--
"I homage neither wealth nor pride.
"Friend, yours can be no common case;
"Distress and grief are in your face:
"By long experience, well I know
"What I assert is truly so.
"Nor would I change my race and birth
"With any creature on the earth.
"Men, who promised joys await,
"Oft prove the patient dupes of Fate;
"Look forward with a doubtful eye,
"And give a retrospective sigh
"On many scenes that's past and o'er,
"Which fancy fed on, pleas'd before.
"Man faileth in his fav'rite scheme;
"Those seeming happy, only seem.
"Then, o'ercome by such disaster
"As inherits your old master,
"What misery, what grief has he;
"Famish'd, poor, and cannot see.

"Dogs may be happy when they please;
"Men only when their hearts' at ease."
        The Beggar's Cur, with freedom, said--
"Mistaken notions fill your head;
"Your argument is very new,
"I cannot say 'tis quite so true.
"I from my natal hour have been
"As poor a brute as can be seen,
"Condemn'd to pace the flinty street,
"With scarce a morsel for to eat.
"My master, whom you wretched deem,
"Breakfasts on rolls, with tea and cream,
"Dineth on mutton, beef, or veal;
"While I that lead him starve or steal.
"You're pamper'd; what you want, you get;
"But quite unknowing are you yet--
"I hang my tail, 'tho' yours is curl'd;
"But, Dog, I better know the world.

"Your master, whom you deem unblest,
"Perhaps finds joy in his own breast.
"Tho' retrospection gives men pain,
"Hope yet enlivens them again:
"And disappointment may produce
"Something not quite devoid of use.
"Good luck, or bad, may be the theme,
"But things are seldom what they seem.
"The man I lead, 'tis true, is blind,
"But he can peace and comfort find;
"Fears he has none, and cares but few.
"Thus, promiscuously we view,
"In ev'ry race, in ev'ry state,
"One part depress'd, and one elate.
"Remember, tho' our turn we take,
"My heart may leap, while yours may ach;
"At least, the adage old doth say,
"That ev'ry Dog must have his day."

MORAL.

The ways of Providence are such,
That when man speculates too much,
Like ramb'ling in a tangled maze,
He knows not when, nor where he strays.
Judgment pass not, on case unknown,
'Tis wond'rous if we trace our own.

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.