Just ent'ring on his savage reign,
To grace his coronation feast,
Sent and invited every beast;
And soon the royal cave beheid
With all his various subjects fill'd:
For leagues of peace were lately made,
And lambs and wolves together play'd;
Foxes and tim'rous hares agree
With dogs, their common enemy:
And now a sumptuous table spread,
Friendly they altogether fed;
And having din'd, sit still and prate
Familiarly of this and that:
Till with a kind, yet serious look,
The King, desiring audience, spoke.
"My friends, and loving subjects all,
Who've kindly thus obey'd my call,
I give you thanks, and now I crave
Your further kindness to receive:
I'm seated on the throne, you see,
In peaceable tranquillity;
No cares of war disturb my breast;
With taxes you are not opprest;
This life I'll therefore spend in joy ;
None shall be happier than I.
But lest I should pursue false bliss,
What I would ask of you is this,
To tell me what true pleasure is?"
The beasts seem'd pleas'd with this request; Each thought he could advise him best, And striving who should silence break, They all at once rose up to speak: Till by his majesty's command, Their forward zeal was soon restrain'd; Who calmly bidding them sit down, And let him hear them one by one,
Th' impatient Monkey thus began:
"Pleasure, my liege, is free from strife,
To lead a thoughtless, easy life;
Airy, and wild, and brisk, and gay,
To sing, and dance, and laugh, and play;
Now following this, now that, and that,
And so't be new, no matter what ;
Free from all rules of just and fit,
Do mischief first, then laugh at it:
This is diversion, pleasure, wit."
The Ass was here provok'd to rise,
And gravely thus bray'd his advice:
"If," said he, "real pleasure is
In such buffoonery as this,
Then beaux and smarts, amongst mankind,
Are in their notions most refin'd;
But well we know, by men of sense,
They 're tax'd with vain impertinence.
I therefore think true pleasure lies
(If I may be thought fit t' advise)
In careless indolence and ease,
Not suff'ring anything to tease,
Regardless what th' ambitious fly at,
So we're but undisturb'd and quiet;
Well knowing 'tis but to attain
More ease, that they're at so much pain.
And he's more happy, none can doubt it,
Who's easy without taking pains about it."
Now rose the Hog, and with a grunt,
"Pleasure," cry'd he, "they know nought on't.
A life trail'd on in laziness
Can only suit a stupid Ass,
And fool'd away in Monkey mirth,
It's really full as little worth;
For doing nothing worthy fame
And doing nothing's much the same.
But if you'd real pleasure know,
Let generous liquor smiling flow;
In jovial crews spend every hour,
And drink, and sing, and rant, and roar :
Thus every care will sink and drown,
Whilst mirth and joy run laughing round.
I seem a monarch while I drink so,
And you'll be a god do you but think so."
Here bursts the Goat into a laugh,
And thus beginning with a scoff:
"Doubtless," said he, "it must be fine.
T'exalt a nasty, dirty swine,
To such a height in fancying,
As to believe himself a King.
But that which thus perverts our senses
Can have, I think, but small pretences
To recommend it to our favour,
As pleasure of the truest flavour.
Nature, methinks, should guide in this,
Who seems t' have shewn the highest bliss,
In having plac'd the sweetest gust,
In gratifying natural lust.
And that 'tis the sublimest joy,
I think's so plain none can deny.
Witness the mad tormenting pain,
When disappointed, we sustain.
Witness how eagerly we press on,
Witness our raptures in possession."
But here the Leopard, rising slow,
Expos'd his beauteous spots to show,
And with a grave majestic face,
Thus gave his verdict in the case:
"Pleasure consists not in such short
Imperfect transitory sport,
Of which the pains we're at to get it,
O'erpays the bliss when we come at it;
Nor can it e'er be call'd true joy,
With such a mixture of alloy.
No, that must be the most refin'd
Which most exalts and charms the mind;
And nothing sure more charming is,
Than honour, pomp, and dignities,
Than grandeur and magnificence,
Than sumptuous trains and vast expense,
Than place, distinction, and perferment,
And when we die, a grand interment."
At this the Horse, with noble look,
Raising his crested neck, thus spoke :
"That merit should be rais'd on high,
I think 's so just none can deny;
But he who places all his bliss
In the external pomp of this,
Knows not what greatness, nor what pleasure is;
His judgment errs as much at least
As his who thinks that painting best
Which is in gaudiest colours drest.
Of both we may affirm the same,
Their taste lies only in the gilded frame.
I grant preferment, honour, place,
Are rising steps to happiness;
But whilst we're upwards thus aspiring,
We're anxious still, and still desiring.
To act with an unbounded will,
Can only our desires fulfil;
Whence, the highest bliss, in my opinion,
Must be in power and dominion."
Thus all their various sense exprest,
And each advis'd what he thought best;
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