1:02. OF THE DOG AND SHADOW.
This Dog away with a whole Shoulder ran,
Let thanks be to careless Larder-man,
Which made the Proverb true: both large and good
The Mutton was, no way but take the Flood;
His fellow-Spaniels waiting in the Hall,
Nay Hounds, and Curs, in for a share would fall;
Those Beggars, that like Plague and Famine sit
Guarding the Gate, would eat both him and it;
Shrewd were his doubts lest Serving-Men might put
In for their part, and strive for the first cut.
A thousand real Dangers thus persuade,
As many more his nimble fancy made;
Faces about, straight at a Postern-Gate
He takes the Stream, and leaves the rest to Fate.
'Twas in the Dog-daies too, the Skies were cleer,
Not one black-patch did in Heaven's face appear:
Breathless the Sun left two and thirty Winds,
And such the Calm as that the Halcyon finds.
When a refracted Ray, a golden Beam
Into the gross Medium of the darker Stream
Pencil'd another Shoulder like to that
The Dog has purchas'd, but more large, and fat.
To him who oft had fed from Beggers Caps,
Shar'd in the Dole, and quarrell'd for faln Scraps,
With twenty more a gnawn bone would fight,
A greedy Worm, a dogged Appetite
Gave sad advice, to seize one Shoulder more.
(Some Mortals till they'r Rich, are never Poor.)
Too rash he bites: down to the deepest Stream
The Shadow and the Substance, like a Dream
Vanish'd together; thrice he dives in vain;
For the swift Current bore it to the Main,
To furnish Triton's Banquet, who that day
Married the famous Mermaid Galate.
The Virgin smil'd, but yet the easie Nymph
Return'd not, for the Present, one poor Shrimp.
Thrice round he looks, raising his woful head,
To see which way the Feather'd Joynt was fled;
But finding none, he is resolv'd to die,
And with his Love dear Lady Mutton lie.
Yet hating a wet Death, he swam to shore,
Then set a Throat up made the Welking rore,
To hang himself in his own Collar he
Is next resolv'd, could he but find a Tree.
Full of despair, there down himself he flung,
Then thus his howling Recantation sung.
Here I the Emblem of fond Mortals sit,
That lose the substance for an empty bit:
Whom fair pretences, and a hollow shade
Of future Happiness, unhappy made:
Nay States, and mighty Realms, with plenty proud
Thus for Rich Juno oft imbrace a Cloud.
He is too blest that his own Happiness knows,
And Mortals to themselves are greatest Foes.
Moral.
Foul Avarice is of pregnant Mony bred;
He that loves Gold, starves more, the more he's fed:
Doubling of thousands Usurers to their cost
Know, when both Use and Principal is lost.
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