That none to trust, or profit, should succeed, } Who would not swallow first a poisonous wicked weed;} Or that, to which old Socrates was cursed,[245] Or henbane juice to swell them till they burst. The patron, as in reason, thought it hard } To see this inquisition in his yard, } By which the sovereign was of subjects' use debarred.} All gentle means he tried, which might withdraw The effects of so unnatural a law; But still the dove-house obstinately stood Deaf to their own, and to their neighbours' good; And which was worse, if any worse could be, Repented of their boasted loyalty; Now made the champions of a cruel cause, And drunk with fumes of popular applause: For those whom God to ruin has designed, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.[246] New doubts indeed they daily strove to raise, Suggested dangers, interposed delays, And emissary Pigeons had in store, Such as the Meccan prophet used of yore,[247] To whisper counsels in their patron's ear, And veiled their false advice with zealous fear. The master smiled to see them work in vain, To wear him out, and make an idle reign: He saw, but suffered their protractive arts, And strove by mildness to reduce their hearts; But they abused that grace to make allies, } And fondly closed with former enemies; } For fools are doubly fools, endeavouring to be wise.} After a grave consult what course were best, One, more mature in folly than the rest, Stood up, and told them, with his head aside, That desperate cures must be to desperate ills applied: And therefore, since their main impending fear Was from the increasing race of Chanticleer, Some potent bird of prey they ought to find, A foe professed to him, and all his kind: Some hagard Hawk, who had her eyry nigh, Well pounced to fasten, and well winged to fly; One they might trust, their common wrongs to wreak. The Musquet and the Coystrel were too weak, Too fierce the Falcon; but, above the rest, The noble Buzzard[248] ever pleased me best: Of small renown, 'tis true; for, not to lie, We call him but a Hawk by courtesy. I know he hates the Pigeon-house and Farm, And more, in time of war, has done us harm: But all his hate on trivial points depends; Give up our forms, and we shall soon be friends. For Pigeons' flesh he seems not much to care; Cram'd Chickens are a more delicious fare. On this high potentate, without delay, I wish you would confer the sovereign sway; Petition him to accept the government, And let a splendid embassy be sent. This pithy speech prevailed, and all agreed, Old enmities forgot, the Buzzard should succeed. Their welcome suit was granted, soon as heard, } His lodgings furnished, and a train prepared, }