The Fopling and the Ewe: A Fable

A fopling dress'd in all his tinsill'd pride,
With knot, and rapier dangling by his side,
With foppish gate he tripp'd along the street,
And fear'd each clumsy mortal that he met,
Lest his silk hose might some rude splash receive,
Or filthy sweeper, brush his crimson sleeve:
An Ewe, hard drove, and panting for her life,
To 'scape the savage butcher and his knife,
Hopeless and faint, she cou'd no farther fly,
And tho' all innocent, was loth to die;
The Fopling she beheld, to him she flew,
And thought she might be safe, if once he drew
His sword, in pity to her wretched state,
And at his feet, she 'gan to supplicate;
"Take pity, Sir, the Ewe in anguish cry'd,
"O, pluck the rapier from your noble side,
"Oh! let your gracious mercy interpose,
"And stop the bloody purpose of my foes;
"Life, Sir, is sweet, when I alas, am dead,
"My lambs will perish in the frozen mead,
"They yet are young, and want a mother's care,
"To shield 'em from the sharp inclement air."

The Fop, enrag'd to think a brute shou'd meet,
And interrupt his passage in the street,
He was too proud the gross affront to brook,
And with an haughty, but unmanly look,
Drew forth his sword, and plung'd it in her side,
The hapless victim fell; but ere she died,
In mournful accents she address'd my Lord,
Her tears gush'd briefly forth, at ev'ry word:
"If't be your reason that provok'd the deed,
"If't be your justice, that I guiltless bleed,
"My fellow brutes more mercy wou'd have shown,
"E'en tygers might, had they my story known;
"Had they my lambkins heard, in yonder plain,
"Bleating, in hopes to see their dam again;
"Helpless and young, they'll stray the barren moor,
"But ne'er must see their tender mother more,
"Ungrateful Lord; no beast was e'er so rude,
"For savages will shew some gratitude;
"The coat that makes your Lordship now so fine,
"Grew on my back, was once a coat of mine;
"The tender meal to-day, on which you fed,
"Sprang from my womb, and for your pleasure bled,
"But I'm too bold, by far, I fear, too rude,
"To charge a courtier with ingratitude;
"Forgive me, Sir, tho' bold the truth I say,
"Courtiers receive, but seldom will repay,
"Their hearts ungrateful, no compunction feel,
"I sought thy aid, but met thy fatal steel."