And, ting'd with every gorgeous dye,
Among the rest a Butterfly;
His wings are spread with wanton pride,
And beauty fades from all beside.
The Beau beholds, with envious eyes,
The living radiance as it flies:
"And shall," said he, "this worthless thing, That lives but on a summer's wing,
This flying worm, more gaudy shine,
And wear a dress more gay than mine?
Is this wise Nature's equal care
To deck a Butterfly so fair,
While man, her worthiest, greatest part,
Must wear the homely rags of art?"
Thus reason'd he, as reason beaux,
The subject of their logic clothes;
When thus the Butterfly reply'd,
With deeper tints by anger dy'd:
"Vain, trifling mortal! could'st thou boast
To prize what Nature prizes most
On man bestow'd, thou would'st not see
With envy aught she gives to me.
This painted vestment, all my store,
She gives, and I can claim no more—
But man, for greater ends design'd,
Should boast the beauties of the mind.
More bright than gold with wisdom shine,
And virtue's sacred charms be thine:
To rule the world by reason taught,
On dress disdain to waste a thought;
For he, whom folly bends so low,
Ambitious to be thought a beau,
Is studious only to be gay,
In toilet-arts consumes the day;
And, the long trifling labours o'er,
Takes wing, and bids the world adore;
Looks down with scorn on rival flies,
Himself less splendid and less wise;
With scorn, his scorn return'd again,
Proud insect! impotently vain!
The fool who thus by self is priz'd,
By others justly is despis'd."
She said, and flutter'd round on high,
Nor stay'd to hear the Beau's reply.
S two young Bears in wanton mood,
Forth-issuing from a neighb'ring wood,
Came where th' industrious Bees had stor'd
In artful cells their luscious hoard;
O'erjoy'd they seiz'd with eager haste
Luxurious on the rich repast.
Alarm'd at this, the little crew
About their ears vindictive flew.
The beasts, unable to sustain
Th' unequal combat, quit the plain :
Half blind with rage, and mad with pain,
Their native shelter they regain;
There sit, and now discreeter grown,
Too late their rashness they bemoan;
And this by dear experience gain,
"That pleasure's ever bought with pain."
So when the gilded baits of vice
Are plac'd before our longing eyes,
With greedy haste we snatch our fill,
And swallow down the latent ill;
But when experience opes our eyes,
Away the fancied pleasure flies-
It flies, but oh! too late we find
It leaves a real sting behind.
NCE on a time, when great Sir Oak Held all the trees beneath his yoke, The monarch, anxious to maintain, In peaceful state, his sylvan reign, Saw, to his sorrow and distraction, His subject trees take root in faction, And, though late join'd in union hearty, Now branching into shoots of party, Each sturdy stick of factious wood Stood stiff and stout for public good: For patriots ever, 'tis well known, Seek others welfare, not their own, And all they undertake, you know, Is meant pro bono publico.
To joy she courts, she points the way,
And chides this cold, this dull delay.
Farewell-let hope thy bliss supply,
And count thy gains with fancy's eye;
Be thine the wings that time shall send,
Believing and obliging friend."—
He said, and sneering sly disdain,
The neighb'ring leaf attempts to gain;
He falls-all bruis'd on earth he lies;
Too late repents, and groans, and dies.
His friendly monitor, with care,
Avoids each pleasure-baited snare,
False pleasure, false, and fatal too!
Superior joys he keeps in view;
They come the genial spring supplies The wings he hoped, and lo! he flies; Tastes all that summer suns prepare, And all the joys of earth and air!
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