FABLE XXII

FABLE XXII.

JUPITER AND THE FARMER.

'Tis said, that Jove had once a farm to let,

And sent down Mercury, his common crier,

To make the most that he could get;

Or sell it to the highest buyer.

To view the premises the people flocked:

And, as 'tis usual in such case,

Began to run them down apace;

The soil was poor, the farm ill stocked:

In short, a barren, miserable place,

Scarce worth th' expense to draw a lease.

One bolder, tho' not wiser than the rest,

Offered to pay in so much rent,

Provided he had Jove's consent

To guide the weather just as he thought best;

Or wet, or dry; or cold, or hot;

Whate'er he asked should be his lot;

To all which Jove gave a consenting nod.

The seasons now obsequious stand,

Quick to obey their lord's command,

And now the Farmer undertakes the god;

Now calls for sunshine, now for rains,

Dispels the clouds, the wind restrains;

But still confined within his farm alone,

He makes a climate all his own;

For when he sheds, or when he pours,

Refreshing dews, or soaking showers,

His neighbours never share a drop;

So much the better for their crop;

Each glebe a plenteous harvest yields;

Whilst our director spoils his fields.

Next year, he tries a different way;

New moulds the seasons, and directs again;

But all in vain:

His neighbour's grounds still thrive while his decay.

What does he do in this sad plight?

For once he acted right:

He to the god his fate bemoaned,

Asked pardon, and his folly owned.

Jove, like a tender master, fond to save,

His weakness pityed, and his fault forgave.

MORAL.

He, who presumes the ways of heaven to scan,

Is not a wise, nor yet a happy man:

In this firm truth securely we may rest,—

Whatever Providence ordains is best;

Had man the power, he'd work his own undoing;

To grant his will would be to cause his ruin.