FABLE
[
36
]
XXXVI.
Pythagoras
and
the
Countryman
.
Pythag'ras
rose
at
early
dawn
.
By
soaring
meditation
drawn
,
To
breathe
the
fragrance
of
the
day
,
Through
flow'ry
fields
he
took
his
way
;
In
musing
contemplation
warm
,
His
steps
mis-led
him
to
a
farm
,
Where
,
on
the
ladder's
topmost
round
A
Peasant
stood
;
the
hammer's
sound
Shook
the
weak
barn
.
Say
,
friend
,
what
care
Calls
for
thy
honest
labour
there
?
The
Clown
with
surly
voice
replies
.
Vengeance
aloud
for
justice
cries
:
This
kite
,
by
daily
rapine
fed
,
My
hen's
annoy
,
my
turkey's
dread
,
At
length
his
forfeit
life
hath
paid
;
See
,
on
the
wall
his
wings
display'd
,
Here
nail'd
,
a
terror
to
his
kind
,
My
fowls
shall
future
safety
find
,
My
yard
the
thriving
poultry
feed
,
And
my
barn's
refuse
fat
the
breed
.
Friend
,
says
the
Sage
,
the
doom
is
wise
,
For
publick
good
the
murd'rer
dies
;
But
if
these
tyrants
of
the
air
Demand
a
sentence
so
severe
,
Think
how
the
glutton
man
devours
;
What
bloody
feasts
regale
his
hours
!
O
impudence
of
power
and
might
,
Thus
to
condemn
a
hawk
or
kite
,
When
thou
perhaps
,
carniv'rous
sinner
,
Hadst
pullets
yesterday
for
dinner
!
Hold
,
cry'd
the
Clown
,
with
passion
heated
,
Shall
kites
and
men
alike
be
treated
?
When
Heav'n
the
world
with
creatures
stor'd
,
Man
was
ordain'd
their
sov'raign
lord
.
Thus
tyrants
boast
,
the
Sage
reply'd
,
Whose
murders
spring
from
power
and
pride
.
Own
then
this
manlike
kite
is
slain
Thy
greater
lux'ry
to
sustain
;
For
Garth's
Dispensary
.
petty
rogues
submit
to
fate
That
great
ones
may
enjoy
their
state
.