Fable: The Fox and the Grapes

A Fox in Forraging did spy
Grapes on a Treille some six foot high:
Th' artractive and the golden sight,
The Thief did to repast invite;
He ogles ev'ry goodly cluster,
Judges its liquor by its lustre,
Which sympathetick liquor draws
Into his ravenous distant Jaws.
But when he saw he should lose time,
Unless he by his craft could climb:
Why gaze I here, he slav'ring cries,
On paultry stff I should despise?
Is such sowre geer for Renard's maw?
Dost take thy self for a Jack Daw?
Or for a chatt'ring greedy Pye?
Foh! leave them for the Mob, say I.

Moral.

WHen men to what they wish, aspire in vain,
To be reveng'd in rage contempt they feign;
But true Contempt to Rage is e're ally'd,
By Rage Esteem is constantly imply'd,
And therefore Rage is oft conceal'd by Pride.
Fantastic Pride! ev'n base whilst it aspires,
Which falsly scorns what ere it most admires.
The Stoic writing in contempt of Fame,
To his vain-glorious Book, prefix'd his Name.
That lofty Sect does Glory most deride,
And yet is grounded on dogmatic Pride.
Declaims against that Vice without whose power,
Its feeble Virtue could not stand an hour.
Whilst Heroes in the Field their Love proclaim,
That rail's t' acquire the common Mistress Fame;
Thus Sparks when other means are try'd, lampoon the Dame.