FABLE
[
41
]
XLI.
The
Owl
and
the
Farmer
.
An
Owl
of
grave
deport
and
mien
,
Who
(
like
the
Turk
)
was
seldom
seen
,
Within
a
barn
had
chose
his
station
,
As
fit
for
prey
and
contemplation
:
Upon
a
beam
aloft
he
sits
,
And
nods
,
and
seems
to
think
,
by
fits
.
So
have
I
seen
a
man
of
news
Or
Post-boy
,
or
Gazette
peruse
,
Smoak
,
nod
,
and
talk
with
voice
profound
,
And
fix
the
fate
of
Europe
round
.
Sheaves
pil'd
on
sheaves
hid
all
the
floor
:
At
dawn
of
morn
to
view
his
store
The
Farmer
came
.
The
hooting
guest
His
self-importance
thus
exprest
.
Reason
in
man
is
meer
pretence
:
How
weak
,
how
shallow
is
his
sense
!
To
treat
with
scorn
the
bird
of
night
,
Declares
his
folly
or
his
spite
;
Then
too
,
how
partial
is
his
praise
!
The
lark's
,
the
linnet's
chirping
lays
To
his
ill-judging
ears
are
fine
;
And
nightingales
are
all
divine
.
But
the
more
knowing
feather'd
race
See
wisdom
stampt
upon
my
face
.
Whene'er
to
visit
light
I
deign
,
What
flocks
of
fowl
compose
my
train
!
Like
slaves
,
they
croud
my
flight
behind
,
And
own
me
of
superior
kind
.
The
Farmer
laugh'd
,
and
thus
reply'd
.
Thou
dull
important
lump
of
pride
,
Dar'st
thou
with
that
harsh
grating
tongue
Depreciate
birds
of
warbling
song
?
Indulge
thy
spleen
.
Know
,
men
and
fowl
Regard
thee
,
as
thou
art
,
an
owl
.
Besides
,
proud
blockhead
,
be
not
vain
Of
what
thou
call'st
thy
slaves
and
train
.
Few
follow
wisdom
or
her
rules
,
Fools
in
derision
follow
fools
.