Plures aluit Aristoteles quam Alexander

THe Great Grecian Robber of his Household was careless,
Compar'd to his bountiful Tutor old Arles,
Whose Barns, 'tis no wonder, grow fatter and faster
Than his, since their Diet was Meat for his Master.
An hungry starv'd Army o're Desarts and Stones,
This lead till he fought 'em to nothing but Bones.
But far more are the Slaves whom his Tutor does fetter;
And you 'll see by and by how he feeds 'em far better.
Like Tantalus, One his poor Souldiers did mock,
And fed 'em with nothing but a Bit and a Knock:
Sure they leapt at a Crust, since to frighten poor Strangers,
He built up their Cupboards as high as their Mangers.
Thô 'tis true, they as well as their Captain did fare;
He forsooth was a God, and could live upon Air!
When his Army's all mortal, and poor hungry Sinners,
Must eat up their Foes if they 'll get any Dinners.
A hunting lean Glory thro' the World he does roam,
While the subtle Phylosopher batters at home;
Nor had all his Souldiers, tho' they scap'd from the Faggot,
One Mouthful of Flesh to oblige a poor Maggot.
But Learning, tho' Envy unjustly does charge her,
Crams all her coop Houshold, tho' a thousand times larger:
He could not afford all his Army one Suttler,
She makes the fat Stagyrite both her Cook, and her Butler.
See what a large Drove, which his Power confesses,
Humbly gae at his Hatch for Commons and Messes!
He kindly provides gaudy-dayes all the year,
And this is a Bill of their prodigal Chear.
A Scholar's light Egg pickt as clean as a bone,
Or a worse than a Scholar's, a Logical one:
Chymerical Pullets, digested too soon,
Dress'd at his ownFire by the Man in the Moon.
Such Dishes as these, 'tis confess'd, are design'd
For Stomachs abstracted, and Palates refin'd.
For your poor duller Mortal other Provenders found,
And Coquu, if he's able, will please 'em all round.
Broath which for meer Element one may mistake,
'Tis smaller than Tiff, and as lean as a Rake;
So pure, and so clear, that 'twould Christal disgrace,
If you heave't to your Nose, you may see all your Face.
When at last the whole Hogs-head of Porridge is o're,
And Colon still swears and grumbles for more,
Sometimes you've a Commons, and sometimes you've none,
The fat greafie Flap, o the Prentice's bone.
When they've serv'd out their time, and at last are got free,
Their Table advances, as does their Degree:
There's Pudding, and Pudding, and Pudding, and then
Like Aesop's Tongues, Pudding, and Pudding agen.
Let no man then envy the Schollar's renown,
Since ewer are fed by the Sword, than the Gown;
Since the more They 're the merrier, as ever they were,
(Tho' the less there be of 'em, the better (they fare.