This has been the constant progress for at least thirty years past,
only allowing for the change of breed and fashion.
The poem is grounded upon the universal folly in mankind of mistaking
their talents; by which the author does a great honour to his
own species, almost equalling them with certain brutes; wherein, indeed,
he is too partial, as he freely confesses: and yet he has gone as
low as he well could, by specifying four animals; the wolf, the ass, the
swine, and the ape; all equally mischievous, except the last, who outdoes
them in the article of cunning: so great is the pride of man!
When beasts could speak, (the learned say
They still can do so every day,)
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happen'd, when a plague broke out,
(Which therefore made them more devout,)
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean)
By proclamation gave command,
That every subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious Wolf begins:
Good father, I must own with shame,
That often I have been to blame:
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was! I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food,
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.
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