This is not the only apologue in which the rhyming moralist exposes at once the inconsistency and the injustice of the human animal who, himself choosing to live by slaughter, yet hypocritically stigmatises with the epithets “cruel” and “bloodthirsty” those animals whom Nature has evidently _designed_ to be predaceous. In _The Shepherd’s Dog and the Wolf_ he represents the former upbraiding the ravisher of the sheepfolds for attacking “a weak, defenceless kind”:-- “‘Friend,’ says the Wolf, ‘the matter weigh: Nature designed _us_ beasts of prey. As such, when hunger finds a treat, ’Tis necessary wolves should eat. If, mindful of the bleating weal, Thy bosom burn with real zeal, Hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech-- To _him_ repeat thy moving speech. A wolf eats sheep but now and then-- _Ten thousands are devoured by men_! An open foe may prove a curse, But a pretended friend is worse.’” In _The Philosopher and the Pheasants_ the same truth is conveyed with equal force:-- “Drawn by the music of the groves, Along the winding gloom he roves. From tree to tree the warbling throats Prolong the sweet, alternate notes. But where he passed he terror threw; The song broke short--the warblers flew: The thrushes chattered with affright, And nightingales abhorred his sight. All animals before him ran, To shun the hateful sight of man. ‘Whence is this dread of every creature? Fly they our figure or our nature?’ As thus he walked, in musing thought, His ear imperfect accents caught. With cautious step, he nearer drew, By the thick shade concealed from view. High on the branch a Pheasant stood, Around her all her listening brood: Proud of the blessings of her nest, She thus a mother’s care expressed:-- ‘No dangers here shall circumvent; Within the woods enjoy content. Sooner the hawk or vulture trust Than man, of animals the worst. In him ingratitude you find-- A vice peculiar to the kind. The Sheep, whose annual fleece is dyed To guard his health and serve his pride, Forced from his fold and native plain, Is in the cruel shambles slain. The swarms who, with industrious skill, His hives with wax and honey fill, In vain whole summer days employed-- Their stores are sold, their race destroyed. What tribute from the Goose is paid? Does not her wing all science aid? Does it not lovers’ hearts explain, And drudge to raise the merchant’s gain? What now rewards this general use? He takes the quills and eats the Goose!’” * * * * * In another parable Gay, in some sort, gives the victims of the Shambles their revenge:--