Like Antony, he sought his ruin. For now the squire, unvexed with noise, An honest neighbour's chat enjoys. 'Be free,' says he, 'your mind impart; I love a friendly open heart. Methinks my tenants shun my gate; Why such a stranger grown of late? _160 Pray tell me what offence they find: 'Tis plain they're not so well inclined.' 'Turn off your cur,' the farmer cries, 'Who feeds your ear with daily lies. His snarling insolence offends; 165 'Tis he that keeps you from your friends. Were but that saucy puppy check'd, You'd find again the same respect. Hear only him, he'll swear it too, That all our hatred is to you. _170 But learn from us your true estate; 'Tis that cursed cur alone we hate.' The squire heard truth. Now Yap rushed in; The wide hall echoes with his din: Yet truth prevailed; and with disgrace, The dog was cudgelled out of place. * * * * * FABLE VII. THE COUNTRYMAN AND JUPITER. TO MYSELF. Have you a friend (look round and spy) So fond, so prepossessed as I? Your faults, so obvious to mankind, My partial eyes could never find. When by the breath of fortune blown, Your airy castles were o'erthrown; Have I been over-prone to blame, Or mortified your hours with shame? Was I e'er known to damp your spirit, Or twit you with the want of merit? _10 'Tis not so strange, that Fortune's frown Still perseveres to keep you down. Look round, and see what others do. Would you be rich and honest too? Have you (like those she raised to place) Been opportunely mean and base? Have you (as times required) resigned Truth, honour, virtue, peace of mind? If these are scruples, give her o'er; Write, practise morals, and be poor. _20 The gifts of fortune truly rate; Then tell me what would mend your state. If happiness on wealth were built, Rich rogues might comfort find in guilt; As grows the miser's hoarded store, His fears, his wants, increase the more. Think, Gay, (what ne'er may be the case,) Should fortune take you into grace, Would that your happiness augment? What can she give beyond content? _30 Suppose yourself a wealthy heir, With a vast annual income clear! In all the affluence you possess, You might not feel one care the less. Might you not then (like others) find With change of fortune, change of mind? Perhaps, profuse beyond all rule, You might start out a glaring fool; Your luxury might break all bounds; Plate, table, horses, stewards, hounds, _40 Might swell your debts: then, lust of play No regal income can defray. Sunk is all credit, writs assail, And doom your future life to jail. Or were you dignified with power, Would that avert one pensive hour? You might give avarice its swing, Defraud a nation, blind a king: Then, from the hirelings in your cause, Though daily fed with false applause, _50 Could it a real joy impart?