A FABLE.

TO A YOUNG AUTHOR .

The Bard who'd wish to merit bays,
Should shut his ears when Asses praise,
And from the real Judge alone,
Expect a halter or a throne.

A Monkey who, in leisure hours,
Was wondrous fond of Herbs and Flow'rs,
(For once he'd worn a G ARD'NER'S chain,
But wander'd to his Woods again),
Travers'd the Banks — the Mountain's brow,
The lonely Wilds — the Valley low,
Collecting, as along he hies,
Flow'rs of unnumber'd tint and size,
Till hid beneath the lovely spoil,
He onward stalk'd with chearful toil,
Thus chatting: " Now, I'll shine alone,
I'll have a Garden of my own. "

A Spot he plans, to shew his parts,
Scratches the soil — the blooms inserts.
Here stuck a Rose, there plac'd a Pink;
With various flow'rs stuffs ev'ry chink;
Torn branches form his spreading Shrubs,
O ertopt with stately Shepherds Clubs ;
Long ragged stones roll'd on the border,
All plac'd fans root, or taste, or order.

Around him throng'd the mimic crew,
Amaz'd at the appearance new,
Survey'd the Shrubs — the nodding Flow'rs,
And, struck with wonder at his pow'rs,
Pronounc'd him, with applauding gape,
A most expert, ingenious Ape!
" Knew Man the genius you inherit,
Unbounded fame would crown your merit " .
He proudly bow'd — approv'd their taste,
And for the Town prepares in haste,
When now, amid the ragged ranks,
A B EE appear'd, with searching shanks;
From Bloom to Bloom she rov'd alone,
With hurrying flight, and solemn drone.
P UG saw; and, proud of such a Guest,
Exclaim'd, " Say, Friend, did such a feast
E'er bless thy search? Here welcome stray;
Fresh sweets shall load thee ev'ry day;
'Twas I that rear'd them — all is mine;
I bore the toil, the bliss be thine. "
" Conceited Fool! (the B EE reply'd)
These pilfer'd, rootless Blooms I've try'd,
Nor Bliss, nor Sweets, repaid my pains,
Of these as void as thou'rt of Brains. "
She spoke; the scorching Noontide came,
The Garden with'ring, sunk his fame.