Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/83

 The Crow, on carrion wont to feast, The Carrion Crow condemn'd his taste: The Rook in earnest too, not joking, Swore all his singing was but croaking. Some thought they meant to show their wit, Might think so still — "but that they writ" — Could it be spite or envy; — "No — Who did no ill, could have no foe." — So Wise Simplicity esteem'd, Quite otherwise True Wisdom deem'd; This question rightly understood, "What more provokes than doing good? A soul ennobled and refin'd Reproaches every baser mind: As strains exalted and melodious Make every meaner musick odious." — At length the Nightingale was heard, For voice and wisdom long rever'd, Esteem'd of all the wise and good, The Guardian Genius of the wood: He long in discontent retir'd, Yet not obscur'd, but more admir'd; His brethren's servile souls disdaining, He liv'd indignant and complaining: They now afresh provoke his choler, (It seems the Lark had been his scholar, A favourite scholar always near him, And oft had wak'd whole nights to hear him) Enrag'd he canvasses the matter, Exposes all their senseless chatter, Shows him and them in such a light, As more enflames, yet quells their spite. They