A spider cried, from its darksome nook—
"Look at my web, sweet sister, look!
I began it at dawn—'tis hardly noon,
And yet my task will be ended soon;
For while thou spinnest thy life away,
I weave a web in a single day.
Examine it well—each airy line
Is as fine and fair as the best of thine."—
"True," said the silkworm, with a smile,
"But will they endure for half the while?"
III. THE BEAR, THE APE, AND THE PIG.
A bear, whose dancing help'd to gain
His own and owner's livelihood,
And whose success had made him vain
As any petit-maitre, stood
Upon his hinder legs to try
The figure of a new quadrille,
When, seeing that an ape was nigh,
He stump'd about with all his skill;
And "Tell me how you like," he cried,
"My dancing, for I'm always glad
To hear the truth." The ape replied,
"I really think it very bad."
"'Tis plain enough," rejoin'd the bear,
"That envy makes you censure so;
For have I not a graceful air,
A slender shape and limber toe?"
But here a tasteless pig began
To grunt applause, and said, "I vow
I never met, in brute or man,
With one who danced so well as thou."
The bear, on hearing this, became
Sedate and pensive for a while;
And then, as if abash'd with shame,
He answer'd in submissive style;
The agile ape's rebuke might be,
Perhaps, imputed to his spleen,
But, since the pig commends, I see
How bad my dancing must have been."
Let every author think on this,
And hold the maxim for a rule
The worst that can befall him is,
The approbation of a fool.
IV. THE APE AND THE JUGGLER.
Good father Joltered, who lost his brains
By overstudying of natural history—
For authors often take the greatest pains'
To turn the plainest matter to a mystery—
Who wrote a score of volumes to describe
Some score of beasts that Adam never saw,
Of phoenix, unicorn, or griffin tribe,
And gave their very likeness to a claw;
In short, who rummaged continent and cape
For creatures of the strangest size and shape:
This reverend writer tells, in pond'rous prose,
A certain story, which I'll re-compose
In light and careless verse, about an ape.
According to his kind, this ape possess'd
The faculty of imitation strongly,
(A faculty that's dangerous at the best,
For apes are very apt to use it wrongly,)
And being bound apprentice—by a chain—
Unto a juggler, had contrived to gain
A smattering of a trick or two, which made
The creature think himself beyond all doubt
A perfect master of the mystic trade;
So one day, when his master had gone out,
He seized the opportunity with glee
To get up a performance of his own,
And ask'd the neighbouring beasts to come and see
How great a conjurer he had really grown.
They came—and, first a chequer'd harlequin
He moved his magic wand; and then a clown
