His wisdom and his honest fame
Through all the country rais'd his name.
A deep Philosopher (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage sought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.

Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consum'd the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey'd,
And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd?
And hast thou fathom'd. Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses, thrown
By various fates on realms unknown,
Hast thou through many cities stray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd?
The Shepherd modestly replied:

I ne'er the paths of learning tried:
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practis'd in disguise,
He cheats the most discerning eyes;
Who by that search shall wiser grow,
When we ourselves can never know?
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from simple nature drain'd;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
Hence grew my settled hate to vice.
The daily labors of the bee
Awake my soul to industry.
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:

I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
In constancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air
With pious wings protects her care,
And ev'ry fowl that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.

From nature too I take my rule,
To shun contempt and ridicule;
I never, with important air,
In conversation overbear.

Can grave and formal pass for wise,
When men the solemn hour despise?
My tongue within my lips I rein,
For who talks much must talk in vain :
We from the wordy torrent fly;

Who listens to the chatt'ring pye?

Nor would I, with felonious flight,
By stealth invade my neighbour's right;
Rapacious animals we hate;

Kites, hawks, and wolves, deserve their fate.

Do not we just abhorrence find

Against the toad and serpent kind?

But envy, calumny, and spite
Bear stronger venom in their bite.
Thus ev'ry object of creation

Can furnish hints to contemplation.
And from the most minute and mean
A virtuous mind can morals glean.

Thy fame is just, the Sage replies;
Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Pride often guides the author's pen;
Books as affected are as men;

But he who studies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws;
And those, without our schools, suffice
To make men, moral, good, and wise.

-GAY.

135. THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.

(A FABLE).

Is there no hope? the Sick Man said;
The silent doctor shook his head,

And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the man, with gasping breath;
I feel the chilling wound of death.
Since I must bid the world adieu,
Let me my former life review.
I grant my bargains were well made,
But all men overreach in trade;
'Tis self-defence in each profession;
Sure self-defence is no transgression.
The little portion in my hands,
By good security on lands,
Is well increas'd. If, unawares,
My justice to myself and heirs
Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
For want of good sufficient bail :
If I by writ, or bond or deed,
Reduc'd a family to need,

My will hath made the world amends;

My hope on charity depends.

When I am number'd with the dead,

And all my pious gifts are read,

By heaven and earth 'twill then be known,
My charities were amply shown.

An Angel came. Ah friend he cried,
No more in flatt'ring hope confide.

Can thy good deeds in former times
Outweigh the balance of thy crimes?
What widow or what orphan prays
To crown thy life with length of days?
A pious action 's in thy pow'r,
Embrace with joy, the happy hour.
Now, while you draw the vital air,
Prove your intention is sincere.
This instant give a hundred pound:
Your neighbours want, and you abound.

But why such haste? the sick man whines; Who knows as yet what heaven designs? Perhaps I may recover still;

That sum and more are in my will.

Fool! says the vision, now 'tis plain,
Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain.
From ev'ry side, with all your might,
You scrap'd, and scrap'd beyond your right;
And after death would fain atone,

By giving what is not your own.

While there is life, there's hope, he cried; Then why such haste? so groan'd and died.

-GAY.