The
SOW
and
the
PEACOCK
.
A
FABLE
.
IN
Days
of
Yore
,
as
Authors
tell
,
When
Beasts
and
Birds
cou'd
read
and
spell
,
(
No
matter
where
,
in
Town
or
City
,
)
There
liv'd
a
Swine
exceeding
witty
,
And
for
the
Beauties
of
her
Mind
,
Excelling
all
her
bristl'd
Kind
:
But
yet
to
mortify
her
Pride
,
She
found
at
last
her
failing
Side
.
Philosophy
she
had
good
Store
,
Had
ponder'd
Seneca
all
o'er
;
Yet
all
Precautions
useless
prove
Against
the
Pow'r
of
mighty
Love
.
It
happen'd
on
a
sultry
Day
,
Upon
her
fav'rite
Couch
she
lay
:
'Twas
a
round
Dunghil
soft
and
warm
,
O'er-shadow'd
by
a
neighb'ring
Barn
,
When
lo
,
her
winking
Eyes
behold
A
Creature
with
a
Neck
of
Gold
,
With
painted
Wings
and
gorgeous
Train
,
That
sparkl'd
like
the
starry
Plain
:
His
Neck
and
Breast
all
brilliant
shine
Against
the
Sun
:
The
dazzl'd
Swine
,
Who
never
saw
the
like
before
,
Began
to
wonder
and
adore
;
But
seeing
him
so
fair
and
nice
,
She
left
her
Dunghil
in
a
trice
,
And
(
fond
to
please
)
the
grunting
Elf
Began
to
wash
and
prune
herself
,
And
from
the
stinking
Wave
she
run
To
dry
her
Carcase
in
the
Sun
:
Then
rubb'd
her
Sides
against
a
Tree
,
And
now
as
clean
as
Hogs
can
be
,
With
cautious
Air
and
doubtful
Breast
,
The
glitt'ring
Peacock
thus
addrest
:
'
Sir
;
I
,
a
homely
rural
Swine
,
'
Can
boast
of
nothing
fair
nor
fine
,
'
No
Dainties
in
our
Troughts
appear
,
'
But
as
you
seem
a
Stranger
here
,
'
Be
pleas'd
to
walk
into
my
Sty
,
'
A
little
Hut
as
plain
as
I
;
'
Pray
venture
through
the
humble
Door
;
'
And
tho'
your
Entertainment's
poor
,
'
With
me
you
shall
be
sure
to
find
'
An
open
Heart
and
honest
Mind
;
'
And
that's
a
Dainty
seldom
found
'
On
Cedar
Flow'rs
and
City
Ground
.
Thus
far
the
Sow
had
preach'd
by
rule
,
She
preach'd
,
alas
!
but
to
a
Fool
;
For
this
same
Peacock
(
you
must
know
)
Had
he
been
Man
,
had
been
a
Beau
:
And
had
(
like
them
)
but
mighty
little
To
say
:
So
squirted
out
his
Spittle
.
And
with
an
Air
that
testified
,
He'd
got
at
least
his
share
of
Pride
,
He
thus
began
:
'
Why
,
truly
now
,
'
You're
very
civil
Mrs.
Sow
:
'
But
I
am
very
clean
,
d'ye
see
?
'
Your
Sty
is
not
a
Place
for
me
.
'
Shou'd
I
go
through
that
narrow
Door
,
'
My
Feathers
might
be
soil'd
or
tore
;
'
Or
scented
with
unsav'ry
Fumes
:
'
And
what
am
I
without
my
Plumes
?
The
much
offended
Sow
replies
,
(
And
turns
a-squint
her
narrow
Eyes
)
'
Sir
,
you're
incorrigibly
vain
,
'
To
value
thus
a
shining
Train
;
'
For
when
the
northern
Wind
shall
blow
,
'
And
send
us
Hail
,
and
Sleet
,
and
Snow
;
'
How
will
you
save
from
such
keen
Weathers
'
Your
Merit
?
—
Sir
,
I
mean
your
Feathers
:
'
As
for
myself
:
—
to
think
that
I
'
Shou'd
lead
an
Idiot
to
my
Sty
,
'
Or
strive
to
make
an
Oaf
my
Friend
,
'
It
makes
my
Bristles
stand
an
end
:
'
But
for
the
future
when
I
see
'
A
Bird
that
much
resembles
thee
,
'
I'll
ever
take
it
as
a
Rule
,
'
The
shining
Case
contains
a
Fool
.