Swiftly he made his way, the mischief done,
Of all unheeded, and pursu'd by none.
Alas, what stay is there in human state,
Or who can fhun inevitable fate?
The doom was written, the decree was past,
Ere the foundations of the world were cast!
In Aries though the fun exalted stood,
His patron-planet to procure his good;
Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he,
In Libra rais'd, oppos'd the same degree:
The rays both good and bad, of equal pow'r,
Each thwarting other made a mingled hour.
On friday-morn he dreamt this direful dream,
Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme!
Ah blissful Venus, Goddess of delight,
How cou'dst thou fuffer thy devoted knight,
On thy own day to fall by foe oppress'd,
The wight of all the world who serv'd thee best?
Who true to love, was all for recreation,
And minded not the work of propagation.
Gaufride, who cou'dst so well in rhime complain
The death of Richard with an arrow flain,
Why had not I thy muse, or thou my heart,
To sing this heavy dirge with equal art!
That I like thee on Friday might complain;
For on that day was Cœur de Lion slain.
Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames,
Were sent to heav'n by woeful Trojan dames,
When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade,
And offer'd Priam to his father's shade,
Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made.
Fair Partlet first, when he was born from fight,
With fovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive knight:
Far louder than the Carthaginian wife,
When Afdrubal her husband lost his life,
When she beheld the smouldring flames afcend,
And all the Punic glories at an end:
Willing into the fires she plung'd her head,
With greater ease than others seek their bed.
Not more aghast the matrons of renown,
When tyrant Nero burn'd th' imperial town,
Shriek'd for the downfal in a doleful cry,
For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die.
Now to my story I return again:
The trembling widow, and her daughters twain,
This woful cackling cry with horror heard,
Of those distracted damsels in the yard;
And starting up beheld the heavy fight,
How Reynard to the forest took his flight,
And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn,
The hope and pillar of the house was borne.
The fox, the wicked fox, was all the cry;
Out from his house ran ev'ry neighbour nigh:
The vicar first, and after him the crew,
With forks and staves the felon to pursue.
Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band,
And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand:
Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs,
In panic horror of pursuing dogs;
With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak,
Poor swine, as if their pretty hearts would break.
The shouts of men, the women in dismay,
With shrieks augment the terror of the day.
The ducks that heard the proclamation cry'd,
And fear'd a perfecution might betide,
Full twenty mile from town their voyage take,
Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake.
The geese fly o'er the barn; the bees in arms
Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms.
Jack Straw at London-stone, with all his rout,
Struck not the city with so loud a shout;
Not when with English hate they did pursue
A French man, or an unbelieving Jew :
Not when the welkin rung with one and all;
And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall:
Earth seem'd to fink beneath, and heaven above to fall.
With might and main they chac'd the murd'rous fox,
With brazen trumpets, and inflated box,
To kindle Mars with military founds,
Nor wanted horns t'inspire sagacious hounds.
But see how Fortune can confound the wife,
And when they least expect it, turn the dice.
The captive-cock, who scarce cou'd draw his breath,
And lay within the very jaws of death;
Yet in this agony his fancy wrought,
And fear fupply'd him with this happy thought:
Yours is the prize, victorious prince, said he,
The vicar my defeat, and all the village fee.
Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may,
And bid the churls that envy you the prey
Call back their mungril curs, and cease their cry,
See fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh,
And Chanticleer in your despite shall die,
He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone.
"Tis well advis'd, in faith it shall be done;
This Reynard said: but as the word he spoke,
The pris'ner with a spring from prison broke:
Then stretch'd his feather'd fans with all his might,
And to the neighb'ring maple wing'd his flight;
Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld,
He curs'd the Gods, with shame and forrow fill'd;
Shame for his folly, forrow out of time,
For plotting an unprofitable crime;
Yet mast'ring both, th' artificer of lies
Renews th' afsault, and his last batt'ry tries.
Tho' I, said he, did ne'er in thought offend,
How justly may my lord suspect his friend?
Th' appearance is against me, I confefs,
Who feemingly have put you in distress:
You, if your goodness does not plead my cause,
May think I broke all hospitable laws,
To bear you from your palace-yard by might,
And put your noble person in a fright:
This, since you take it ill, I must repent,
Tho' Heav'n can witness with no bad intent:
I practis'd it, to make you taste your cheer
With double pleasure, first prepar'd by fear.
So loyal subjects often seize their prince,
Forc'd (for his good) to seeming violence,
Yet mean his facred person not the least offence.
Descend; so help me Jove as you shall find
That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind.
Nay quoth the cock; but I beshrew us both,
If I believe a faint upon his oath:
An honest man may take a knave's advice,
But idiots only may be cozen'd twice:
Once warn'd is well bewar'd; not flatt'ring lies
Shall footh me more to sing with winking eyes,
And open mouth, for fear of catching flies.
Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim,
When he should fee, has he deserv'd to swim?
Better, Sir cock, let all contention cease,
Come down, said Reynard, let us treat of peace.
A peace with all my soul, said Chanticleer;
But, with your favour, I will treat it here:
And left the truce with treason should be mixt,
"Tis my concern to have the tree betwixt.
In this plain fable you th' effect may see
Of negligence, and fond credulity :
And learn besides of flatt'rers to beware,
Then most pernicious when they speak too fair.
The cock and fox, the fool and knave imply;
The truth is moral, tho' the tale a lye.
Who spoke in parables, I dare not say;
But sure he knew it was a pleasing way,
Sound sense, by plain example, to convey.
And in a heathen author we may find,
That pleasure with instruction shou'd be join'd;
So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind.
|