I know the mufick of my tongue

Long fince the pack with envy ftung;

What will not spite? These bitter smarts
I owe to my fuperior parts.

When puppies prate, the Huntsman cry'd,
They show both ignorance and pride,

Fools may our fcorn, not envy raise,

For envy is a kind of praise..

Had not thy forward noisy tongue
Proclaim'd thee always in the wrong,

Thou might'ft have mingled with the reft,
And ne'er thy foolish nofe confeft;

But fools, to talking ever prone,

Are fure to make their follies known.

FABLE

P.Four drinier cul.

FABLE

XLV.

The POET and the RosE..

HATE the man who builds his name

I HATE the man who buil

On ruins of another's fame.

Thus prudes by characters o'erthrown
Imagine that they raise their own:

Thus fcriblers, covetous of praise, Think flander can tranfplant the bays. Beauties and bards have equal pride, With both all rivals are decry'd.

Who praifes Lesbia's eyes and feature, Muft call her fifter, aukward creature; For the kind flatt'ry's fure to charm, When we some other nymph disarm.

As in the cool of early day A Poet fought the sweets of May, The garden's fragrant breath ascends, And ev'ry stalk with odour bends. A rofe he pluck'd, he gaz'd, admir'd, Thus finging as the Muse inspir'd.

Go, Rofe, my Chloe's bofom grace;
How happy fhould I prove,

Might I fupply that envy'd place

With never-fading love!

There, Phenix like, beneath her eye,

Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die!

Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find
More fragrant roses there;

I fee thy with'ring head reclin'd
With envy and despair!

One common fate we both must

You die with envy, I with love.

prove;

Spare your comparisons, reply'd

An angry Rofe, who

grew befide;

Of all mankind fhould not flout us;

you

What can a poet do without us!

In ev'ry love-fong roses bloom;

We lend

you colour and perfume.

N 2

Does

Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,

To found her praise on our abuse?

Muft we, to flatter her, be made
To wither, envy, pine and fade?

FABLE