John Ogilby (1)

lJohn Ogilby's fables in verse is one of the major Aesopic projects of the 17th century. You can read more about Ogilby's life and career at Wikipedia. The first edition of Ogilby's fables featured engravings by Francis Cleyn; the later 1668 edition (which you can find online at the Internet Archive) features engravings by Wenceslaus Hollar, which you will see below.

Here are five of Ogilby's verse fables:

Of the Bear and the Bees

Bruine the Bear receiving a slight Wound

From a too waspish Bee,

Joyful to raise a War on any ground,

(It was their Wealth had done the injury)

Did now propound,

And to himself decree,

Ne'r to return, till he had overthrown

Twelve Waxen Cities of that Nation,

And seiz'd their Honey-Treasure as his own.

This being resolv'd, he to the Garden goes,

Where stood the stately Hives,

One, after one, the Barbarous overthrows,

And many Citizens of Life deprives:

A few survives,

Who in a Body close;

For your everted Towr's, your slaughter'd Race,

For your great Losses, and your high Disgrace,

Fix all your venom'd Weapons in his Face.

This said, the Trumpet sounds, the Vulgar rage,

And all at once in mighty War ingage.

Now Bruine's ugly Visage did not freeze,

Nor his foul hands want Groves;

The monstrous Bear you could not see for Bees,

No Bacon Gamon was so stuck with Cloves:

Who Honey loves

Not with Sharp Sawce agrees.

Ore-power'd by multitude, and almost slain,

He draws his shatter'd Forces off again;

Then said; I better had endur'd the pain

Of one sharp Sting, than thus to suffer all;

Making a Private Quarrel National.

MORAL.

Great Kings, that petty Princes did despise,

Have oft by War's Experience grown Wise:

Who whip'd the Sea, and threatned Floods to Chain,

Brought back for Millions but a slender Train.

Of the Hawk and the Cuckow

Unworthy Bird, base Cuckow, thou that art

Large as my self in every part,

Strength, length, and colour of thy Wing,

Mine much resembling;

Whose narrow Soul, whose no or little Heart,

Will to thy board

Afford

Nothing but Worms of Putrefaction bred;

Which of the Noblest Mortals are abhorr'd,

Since they must turn to such when they are dead;

Mount, gorge thy self with some delicious Bird;

Be wise,

Such Banquets leave for Daws, and silly Pies.

Thus the bold Hawk the Cuckow did advise.

Who not long after taken in the Field,

Having a harmless Pidgeon kill'd.

Was in a most unlucky hour

Hung from a lofty Tow'r;

To teach all those, who blood of Innocents spill'd.

The Cuckow saw,

by Law

The Murtheress suffer'd; when these Notes she sung;

Better with Worms to fill my hungry Maw,

Then betwixt Heaven and Earth by th' heels be Hung,

And a Cold Bird ly in my Stomach Raw.

Had I Thy Counsel took, and forrag'd through the Sky,

There had I hang'd with thee for Company.

MORAL.

Some without Conscience plunger, spoyl, and kill,

As if for Bloody Banquest were no Bill:

But Vengeance Spring-tides hath, as well as Neap,

When Malefactors short from Ladders leap.

Of the Rustick and Hercules

O Thou that didst so many Monsters kill,

And of twelve labours didst none ill,

Help, if it be thy will.

O thou that forc'd fire-spitting Cacus Den,

And got'st' thy Cattel then,

Though mine I ne'r could have agen.

Alcides, thou that art the strongest God,

Help with thy long Arms out, and Shoulders broad,

My Wheels, which stick up to the Nave in Mire:

Ah! 'tis a mighty Load,

Help, I desire,

Or here I will expire.

In a deep Tract his Cart being lodg'd thus prayd

A lazy Swan to Hercules for Aid.

When thus the Deity in a mighty Crack

Of Thunder to the Rustick spake,

Then lying on his back;

Fool, whip thy pamper'd Horses up the Hill,

Thy Shoulder lay to th' Wheel,

And there use all thy Strength and Skill:

Not only me whom now thou dost Invoke,

But then expect a God at every Spoke

To thy assistance, who offended be,

When they implor'd shall look

From Heaven, and see

 A heavy Clown like thee.

MORAL.

Under the Tropicks more refined Souls

Cherish old Piety: but neer the Poles

Men follow War, Sail, Bargain, Sow, and Reap,

And no Religion love, but what is Cheap.

Of the Fox and Ape

The French Ape gives the Fox of Spain Bon jour

Three Congees, and Tres humble Serviture:

Then thus begins; In France we not indure

To see long Cloaks, all there

Go in the shortest Wear,

But your large Fashion is the Statelier sure.

Pardonne moy, as we are all too short,

In Curtail'd Garments, A la modes o' th' Court,

So with th' other Extreme, yours sir, doth sort.

Be pleas'd to wear your Fur

A little shorter, Sir;

'T will be as grave, and suit well with your Port.

Seignour, I know your Taylor is not here,

My Apeship's Workman, quickly with his Share

Shall cut you shorter, and my Self will wear

The remnant of your Train,

Comfortable to Spain:

And then Don Diegoes both we shall appear.

Si Sennor, said the Fox, we Dons of Spain

Are constant to our Fashion, such a Train

My Father's Father wore; and to be plain,

This Long Wear I will keep,

Though it the Kennel sweep:

Rather than Give an Inch to Monsieur Vain.

MORAL.

Heaven to each nation several Genius gave;

The French too Airy, Spaniards seem too Grave:

City, the Country; Courtiers both despise;

Civil, and Rude, most their own Manners prise.

Of the Fox and the Lion

Oh! all you Gods and Goddesses that dwell

In Heaven and Earth, in Heaven, Earth, Sea, and Hell.

If all your Power Conjoyn'd can one Protect,

Save the poor Fox,

Nor Prayer reject.

What is it I behold?

His shaggy Locks,

Are prest with shining Gold.

It is the Lion; See! his spreading Robe

Covers at least half the Terrestrial Globe:

Terror of Beasts and Man,

Whose hard Teeth can

Crack Brazen bones of the Leviathan.

Help, help, if me he not in pieces tears,

I shall in sunder Shake with my own Fears.

At first the Fox thus Trembled to behold

the Scepter'd Lion, Arm'd and Crown'd with Gold.

But when the King the second time he saw

Hunting in green,

Not so much Awe

Did in his Looks appear,

Less Majesty in's Mein,

Then Reynard drew more neer;

But the third day the bold Beast had the Face

To come up close, and cry'd, Jove save your Grace.

At last so need did stand,

He kist his Hand,

Soon after did the Royal Ear Command,

In which he said; Custome makes Mortals Bold,

To Play with that they durst not once behold.

MORAL.

Who Hate to Draw a Sword, and Guns abhor,

Custome hath made most Valiant Men of War.

Love's Novice so, trembling, fresh Beauty storms,

Which soon lies ruffled in his Conquering Arms.