The tales of Phædrus would you read, O Eutychus, you must be freed From business, that the mind unbent May take the author’s full intent. You urge that this poetic turn Of mine is not of such concern, As with your time to interfere A moment’s space: ’tis therefore clear For those essays you have no call, Which suit not your affairs at all. A time may come, perhaps you’ll say, That I shall make a holiday, And have my vacant thoughts at large, The student’s office to discharge-- And can you such vile stuff peruse, Rather than serve domestic views, Return the visits of a friend, Or with your wife your leisure spend, Relax your mind, your limbs relieve, And for new toil new strength receive? From worldly cares you must estrange Your thoughts, and feel a perfect change, If to Parnassus you repair, And seek for your admission there, Me--(whom a Grecian mother bore On Hill Pierian, where of yore Mnemosyne in love divine Brought forth to Jove the tuneful Nine. Though sprung where genius reign’d with art, I grubb’d up av’rice from my heart, And rather for applause than pay, Embrace the literary way) Yet as a writer and a wit, With some abatements they admit. What is his case then, do you think, Who toils for wealth nor sleeps a wink, Preferring to the pleasing pain Of composition sordid gain? But hap what will (as Sinon said, When to king Priam he was led), I book the third shall now fulfil, With Æsop for my master still; Which book I dedicate to you, As both to worth and honour due. Pleased, if you read--if not, content As conscious of a sure event, That these my fables shall remain, And after-ages entertain. In a few words I now propose To point from whence the Fable rose. A servitude was all along Exposed to most oppressive wrong, The suff’rer therefore did not dare His heart’s true dictates to declare; But couch’d his meaning in the veil Of many an allegoric tale, And jesting with a moral aim, Eluded all offence and blame. This is the path that I pursue, Inventing more than Æsop knew; And certain topics by-the-by, To my own hindrence did I try. But was there any of mankind, Besides Sejanus, so inclined, Who was alone to work my fall, Informer, witness, judge and all; I would confess the slander true, And own such hardships were my due; Nor would I fly, my grief to ease, To such poor lenitives as these. If any through suspicion errs, And to himself alone refers, What was design’d for thousands more He’ll show too plainly, where he’s sore. Yet ev’n from such I crave excuse, For (far from personal abuse) My verse in gen’ral would put down True life and manners of the town. But here, perhaps, some one will ask Why I, forsooth, embraced this task? If Esop, though a Phrygian, rose, And ev’n derived from Scythian snows; If Anacharsis could devise By wit to gain th’ immortal prize;