Fable: The Fox and the Crow

THE Crow sat perch'd upon a Tree,
With Cheese in's Beak, and who but He?
Renard the wind of him had got,
And after he had smelt the Sot;
Thus he accosts him, Noble Sir,
You do, or may I never stir,
Excell each two and four Legg'd Creature,
Both in Complexion and in Feature;
And sure to such a Shape as thine,
The Gods have giv'n a voice Divine.
Oh! could I hear that charming voice,
How should I, Noble Sir, Rejoyce.
Thus like the Dog, that's ly and pickled,
Renard the Crow cajol'd and tickled.
Behold the issue, whilst the Crow,
That he his Charming Voice might show,
Gave two or three obstreperous Caws,
His Cheese dropt into Renard Jaws.
Sir Crow, says Renard, ev'ry Flatterr
Uses his Cully for his Caterer.
This lessen, or I'm much deceiv'd
Deserves the Cheese; then be not griev'd.
The Crow, tho late, with shame and trouble,
Swore he'd no more be found a Bubble.

Moral.

GRoss Flattery only can by Fools be born:
For it implies at once Design and Scorn.
Now tho self-love as vain by praise is won,
Self-love contempt and injury must shun.
Well manag'd praise may still expect success;
Praise shows esteem, when er'e it shows address.
But only Fools gross flattery can brook,
They love the bait, and can't suspect the Hook.
Renard knew whom he prais'd, when he made choice,
Of that egregious Topick of his Voice.
To ape the Fox our Parasites think fit,
To blind their fools, still more they praise their Wit.