  A spaniel mightily well bred, Ne'er taught to labour for his bread, But to play tricks and bear him smart, To please his lady's eyes and heart, Who never had the whip for mischief, But praises from the damsel—his chief. The wind was soft, the morning fair, They issued forth to take the air. He ranged the meadows, where a green Cameleon—green as grass—was seen. "Halloa! you chap, who change your coat, What do you rowing in this boat? Why have you left the town? I say You're wrong to stroll about this way: Preferment, which your talent crowns, Believe me, friend, is found in towns." "Friend," said the sycophant, "'tis true One time I lived in town like you. I was a courtier born and bred, And kings have bent to me the head. I knew each lord and lady's passion, And fostered every vice in fashion. But Jove was wrath—loves not the liar— He sent me here to cool my fire, Retained my nature—but he shaped My form to suit the thing I aped, And sent me in this shape obscene, To batten in a sylvan scene. How different is your lot and mine! Lo! how you eat, and drink, and dine; Whilst I, condemned to thinnest fare, Like those I flattered, feed on air. Jove punishes what man rewards;— Pray you accept my best regards." |
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