Two of a trade can ne'er agree. Each hates his neighbour for encroaching; 'Squire stigmatizes 'squire for poaching; Beauties with beauties are in arms. And scandal pelts each other's charms; Kings too their neighbour kings dethrone, In hope to make the world their own. But let us limit our desires; Not war like beauties, kings, and 'squires! For though we both one prey pursue, There's game enough for us and you." JOHN GAY The Farmer's Wife and the Raven Between her swaggering pannier's load A Farmer's Wife to market rode, And jogging on, with thoughtful care, Summed up the profits of her ware; When, starting from her silver dream, Thus far and wide was heard her scream: "That Raven on yon left-hand oak (Curse on his ill-betiding croak) Bodes me no good." No more she said, When poor blind Ball, with stumbling head, Fell prone; o'erturned the panniers lay, And her mashed eggs bestrewed the way. She, sprawling on the yellow road, Railed, cursed, and swore: "Thou croaking toad, A murrain take thy noisy throat! I knew misfortune in the note." "Dame," quoth the Raven, "spare your oaths, Unclench your fist and wipe your clothes. But why on me those curses thrown? Goody, the fault was all your own; For had you laid this brittle ware On Dun, the old sure-footed mare, Though all the Ravens of the hundred With croaking had your tongue out-thundered, Sure-footed Dun had kept her legs, And you, good woman, saved your eggs." JOHN GAY The Council of Horses Upon a time, a neighing steed, Who grazed among a numerous breed, With mutiny had fired the train, And spread dissension through the plain. On matters that concerned the state The Council met in grand debate. A Colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire, Elate with strength and youthful fire, In haste stepped forth before the rest, And thus the listening throng addressed: "Good gods! how abject is our race, Condemned to slavery and disgrace! Shall we our servitude retain Because our sires have borne the chain? Consider, friends, your strength and might; 'Tis conquest to assert your right. How cumb'rous is the gilded coach! The pride of man is our reproach. Were we designed for daily toil; To drag the ploughshare through the soil; To sweat in harness through the road; To groan beneath the carrier's load? How feeble are the two-legged kind! What force is in our nerves combined! Shall, then, our nobler jaws submit To foam, and champ the galling bit? Shall haughty man my back bestride? Shall the sharp spur provoke my side? Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein; Your shame, your infamy, disdain. Let him the lion first control, And still the tiger's famished growl; Let us, like them, our freedom claim, And make him tremble at our name."