How do I hate the tide of vulgar thought! Profane, unjust, with childish folly fraught; It breaks and bends the rays of truth divine, And by its own conceptions measures mine. Famed Epicurus’ master tried The power of this unstable tide.
Lapluck and Caesar brothers were, descended From dogs by Fame the most commended, Who falling, in their puppyhood, To different masters anciently, One dwelt and hunted in the boundless wood; From thieves the other kept a kitchen free.
You often hear a sweet seductive call: If wise, you haste towards it not at all;— And, if you heed my apologue, You act like John de Nivelle’s dog. A capon, citizen of Mans, Was summoned from a throng To answer to the village squire,