An Eagle built upon an oak A Cat and kittens had bespoke A hole about the middle bough; And underneath a woodland Sow Had placed her pigs upon the ground. Then treach’rous Puss a method found To overthrow, for her own good, The peace of this chance neighbourhood First to the Eagle she ascends-- “Perdition on your head impends, And, far too probable, on mine; For you observe that grubbing Swine Still works the tree to overset, Us and our young with ease to get.” Thus having filled the Eagle’s pate With consternation very great, Down creeps she to the Sow below; “The Eagle is your deadly foe, And is determined not to spare Your pigs, when you shall take the air.” Here too a terror being spread, By what this tattling gossip said, She slily to her kittens stole, And rested snug within her hole. Sneaking from thence with silent tread By night her family she fed, But look’d out sharply all the day, Affecting terror and dismay. The Eagle lest the tree should fall, Keeps to the boughs, nor stirs at all; And anxious for her grunting race, The Sow is loth to quit her place. In short, they and their young ones starve, And leave a prey for Puss to carve. Hence warn’d ye credulous and young, Be cautious of a double tongue. V. CÆSAR AND HIS SLAVE. There is in town a certain set Of mortals, ever in a sweat, Who idly bustling here and there, Have never any time to spare, While upon nothing they discuss With heat, and most outrageous fuss, Plague to themselves, and to the rest A most intolerable pest. I will correct this stupid clan Of busy-bodies, if I can, By a true story; lend an ear, ’Tis worth a trifler’s time to hear. Tiberius Cæsar, in his way To Naples, on a certain day Came to his own Misenian seat, (Of old Lucullus’s retreat,) Which from the mountain top surveys Two seas, by looking different ways. Here a shrewd slave began to cringe With dapper coat and sash of fringe, And, as his master walk’d between The trees upon the tufted green, Finding the weather very hot, Officiates with his wat’ring-pot; And still attending through the glade, Is ostentatious of his aid. Cæsar turns to another row, Where neither sun nor rain could go; He, for the nearest cut he knows, Is still before with pot and rose. Cæsar observes him twist and shift, And understands the fellow’s drift; “Here, you sir,” says th’ imperial lord. The bustler, hoping a reward, Runs skipping up. The chief in jest Thus the poor jackanapes address’d “As here is no great matter done, Small is the premium you have won: The cuffs that make a servant free, Are for a better man than thee.” VI. THE EAGLE, CARRION CROW, AND TORTOISE.