Classic Poem

FABLE VIII.

To my Native C OUNTRY .

H AIL happy land, whose fertile grounds
The liquid fence of Neptune bounds;
By bounteous nature set apart,
The seat of industry and art.
O Britain , chosen port of trade,
May lux'ry ne'er thy sons invade;
May never minister (intent
His private treasures to augment)
Corrupt thy state. If jealous foes
Thy rights of commerce dare oppose,
Shall not thy fleets their rapine awe?
Who is't prescribes the ocean law?
Whenever neighb'ring states contend.
'Tis thine to be the general friend.
What is 't, who rules in other lands?
On trade alone thy glory stands.
That benefit is unconfin'd,
Diffusing good among mankind:
That first gave lustre to thy reigns,
And scatter'd plenty o'er thy plains:
'Tis that alone thy wealth supplies,
And draws all Europe 's envious eyes
Be commerce then thy sole design;
Keep that, and all the world is thine.
When naval traffick ploughs the main,
Who shares not in the merchant's gain?
'Tis that supports the regal state,
And makes the farmer's heart elate;
The num'rous flocks, that cloath the land,
Can scarce supply the loom's demand;
Prolifick culture glads the fields,
And the bare heath a harvest yields.
Nature expects mankind should share
The duties of the publick care.
Who 's born for sloth? To some we find
The plough-share's annual toil assign'd;
Some at the sounding anvil glow;
Some the swift-sliding shuttle throw:
Some, studious of the wind and tide,
From pole to pole our commerce guide;
Some (taught by industry) impart
With hands and feet the works of art;
While some, of genius more refin'd,
With head and tongue assist mankind;
Each, aiming at one common end,
Proves to the whole a needful friend,
Thus, born each other's useful aid,
By turns are obligations paid.
The monarch, when his table 's spread,
Is to the clown oblig'd for bread;
And, when in all his glory drest,
Owes to the loom his royal vest:
Do not the mason's toil and care
Protect him from th' inclement air?
Does not the cutler's art supply
The ornament that guards his thigh?
All there, in duty, to the throne
Their common obligations own.
'Tis he (his own and people's cause)
Protect their properties and laws:
Thus they their honest toil employ,
And with content the fruits enjoy.
In ev'ry rank, or great or small,
'Tis industry supports us all.

The animals, by want opprest,
To Man their services addrest:
While each pursu'd their selfish good,
They hunger'd for precarious food;
Their hours with anxious cares were vext;
One day they fed, and starv'd the next.
They saw that plenty, sure and rife,
Was found alone in social life;
That mutual industry profest
The various wants of Man redrest.
The Cat, half-famish'd, lean and weak,
Demands the privilege to speak.
Well, Puss, (says Man) and what can you
To benefit the publick do?
The Cat replies; these teeth, these claws,
With vigilance shall serve the cause.
The mouse, destroy'd by my pursuit,
No longer shall your feasts pollute;
Nor rats, from nightly ambuscade,
With wasteful teeth your stores invade.
I grant, says Man, to general use
Your parts and talents may conduce;
For rats and mice purloin our grain,
And threshers whirl the flail in vain:
Thus shall the Cat, a foe to spoil,
Protect the farmer's honest toil.
Then turning to the Dog, he cry'd,
Well, Sir; be next your merits try'd.
Sir. says the Dog, by self-applause
We seem to own a friendless cause.
Ask those who know me, if distrust
E'er found me treach'rous or unjust.
Did I e'er faith or friendship break?
Ask all those creatures; let them speak.
My vigilance and trusty zeal
Perhaps might serve the publick weal.
Might not your flocks in safety feed,
Were I to guard the fleecy breed?
Did I the nightly watches keep,
Could thieves invade you while you sleep?
The Man replies, 'Tis just and right,
Rewards such service should requite.
So rare, in property, we find
Trust uncorrupt among mankind,
That, taken in a publick view,
The first distinction is your due.
Such merits all reward transcend;
Be then my comrade and my friend.
Addressing now the Fly. From you
What publick service can accrue?
From me! the flutt'ring insect said;
I thought you knew me better bred.
Sir, I'm a gentleman. Is't fit.
That I to industry submit?
Let mean mechanicks, to be fed,
By bus'ness earn ignoble bread:
Lost in excess of daily joys,
No thought, no care my life annoys,
At noon (the lady's matin hour)
I sip the tea's delicious flower:
On cates luxuriously I dine,
And drink the fragrance of the vine.
Studious of elegance and ease,
Myself alone I seek to please.
The Man his pert conceit derides,
And thus the useless coxcomb chides.
Hence, from that peach, that downy seat:
No idle fool deserves to eat.
Could you have sapp'd the blushing rind,
And on that pulp ambrosial din'd,
Had not some hand, with skill and toil,
To raise the tree, prepar'd the soil?
Consider, sot, what would ensue,
Were all such worthless things as you:
You'd soon be forc'd (by hunger stung)
To make your dirty meals on dung,
On which such despicable need,
Unpitied, is reduc'd to feed.
Besides, vain selfish insect, learn,
(If you can right and wrong discern,)
That he who with industrious zeal
Contributes to the publick weal,
By adding to the common good,
His own hath rightly understood.
So saying, with a sudden blow
He laid the noxious vagrant low:
Crush'd in his luxury and pride,
The spunger on the publick died.