_Thus would I have all Judges give Their Judgment. With the_ Turks _I believe, That common Sence to end a Cause, Is worth a hundred Common Laws. They lead us such a way about, Raise new Disputes, make such a Rout. Between the Plaintiff and Defendant; That by the time they make an end on't, The Suit looks like an Oyster, where The Fish falls to the Lawyer's Share; And if the Cause be manag'd well, Each of the Clients gets a Shell._
Away base Insect, that took Birth From th' Exhalations of the Earth. Thus spoke the Lyon to the Gnat; Who answer'd, Bully, Think ye that I'll bear Affronts? No: And declar'd A War against him to his Beard; And told the Hector, void of fear, You'll find Sir King, how much I care For all your Titles, Tooth and Claw, Of which great Loobies stand in awe: I'll quickly curb your haughtiness, Damn'd Brute; and hardly utter'd this, But sounds the Charge (he serv'd for all For Trumpet and for General.) He nimbly shifts from Place to Place, And plays before the Lyon's Face; The other snaps and strikes the Air; The Gnat avoids him every where; He watch'd his time, then seiz'd his Neck, From thence he mov'd, and stung his Back, There fasten'd, made his Kingship mad, His Eyes sparkle in his Head; He foams and roars, and all what's near Trembles, and hides itself for fear, Yet, of this general Hurrican, And dire Alarm th' Occasion Is, what one would suspect the least, So small an Atom of a Beast. With hundred rambling flights he teases The Brute, and leads him where he pleases; Gets up his Nostrils, laughs to see With how much Rage his Enemy Tore his own Flesh, and all in Blood Ran raving through the affrighted Wood. He still pursues, till out of Breath The Lyon dropp'd, and bled to Death. The merry buzzing Conqueror Flies from the dismal Seat of War, And as he sounded chearfully The Charge, so sounds the Victory. But going to proclaim his Story, Puffed up and blinded with his Glory, He met a Cobweb in his way, And fell a silly Spider's Prey.
_So one that cross'd the Ocean o'er, May smother in a Common Shore._
In Ancient times, when _Jupiter_ Was pretty free, a Labourer, That earn'd his Bread with cleaving Wood, Lost with his Ax his Livelyhood. 'T would grieve ones Heart to hear what sad And pitious moan the Fellow made: He had no Tools to sell again, And buy another Ax, poor Man! It was his All, and what to do, Or how to live he does not know, And as the Tears stood in his Eyes, My Ax! O my dear Ax! he cries: Sweet loving _Jupiter_! restore My Ax. _Olympus_ hear his roar; And _Mercury_ the Post-Boy, or The Flying Post (his Character Suits either for he's God of Lying Beardless, and fam'd for News and Flying.) Came to the Labourer, and said, Your Ax in't lost, cheer up, my Lad: I've got it here; but can you tell Which is your own? I very well, Quoth he. Says _Mercury_ take hold, And gives him one of Massy Gold; To this, quoth th' other, I've no claim; To a Silver one he said the same. But when his Iron one was shewn, He cries, I Faix this is mine own; God bless you, Sir. And _Mercury_ } Said, to reward his Honesty, } Th' are all your own, I give 'em ye. } The Story's quickly nois'd about; The way to Riches is found out: 'Tis but to lose one's Ax; the Fools, That had none, sold their Cloaths and Tools To get one; and whate'er they cost, They're bought in order to be lost. The God of Thieves and Merchants, who By chance had nothing else to do, Came as they call'd; his Deity Gave every one the choice of three: The lying Rogues deny'd their own, And swore they lost a Golden one: But as they stoop for't, _Mercury_ Chops off their Heads, and there they lie.