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Jonathan Swift - The Beasts` Confession
Work rating: Medium

To the Priest, on Observing how most Men mistake their own Talents

    When beasts could speak (the learned say, 
    They still can do so ev`ry 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 ev`ry 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."

       The ass, approaching next, confess`d
   That in his heart he lov`d a jest:
   A wag he was, he needs must own,
   And could not let a dunce alone:
   Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
   And might perhaps be too severe:
   But yet, the worst that could be said,
   He was a wit both born and bred;
   And, if it be a sin or shame,
   Nature alone must bear the blame:
   One fault he hath, is sorry for`t,
   His ears are half a foot too short;
   Which could he to the standard bring,
   He`d show his face before the King:
   Then for his voice, there`s none disputes
   That he`s the nightingale of brutes.

       The swine with contrite heart allow`d,
   His shape and beauty made him proud:
   In diet was perhaps too nice,
   But gluttony was ne`er his vice:
   In ev`ry turn of life content,
   And meekly took what fortune sent:
   Inquire through all the parish round,
   A better neighbour ne`er was found:
   His vigilance might some displease;
   `Tis true he hated sloth like peas.

       The mimic ape began his chatter,
   How evil tongues his life bespatter:
   Much of the cens`ring world complain`d,
   Who said, his gravity was feign`d:
   Indeed, the strictness of his morals
   Engag`d him in a hundred quarrels:
   He saw, and he was griev`d to see`t,
   His zeal was sometimes indiscreet:
   He found his virtues too severe
   For our corrupted times to bear:
   Yet, such a lewd licentious age
   Might well excuse a Stoic`s rage.

       The goat advanc`d with decent pace;
    And first excus`d his youthful face;
   Forgiveness begg`d that he appear`d
   (`Twas nature`s fault) without a beard.
   `Tis true, he was not much inclin`d
   To fondness for the female kind;
   Not, as his enemies object,
   From chance, or natural defect;
   Not by his frigid constitution,
   But through a pious resolution;
   For he had made a holy vow
   Of chastity as monks do now;
   Which he resolv`d to keep for ever hence,
   As strictly too, as doth his Reverence.

       Apply the tale, and you shall find,
   How just it suits with human kind.
   Some faults we own: but, can you guess?
   Why?—virtues carried to excess,
   Wherewith our vanity endows us,
   Though neither foe nor friend allows us.

       The lawyer swears, you may rely on`t,
   He never squeez`d a needy client;
   And this he makes his constant rule,
   For which his brethren call him fool:
   His conscience always was so nice,
   He freely gave the poor advice;
   By which he lost, he may affirm,
   A hundred fees last Easter term.
   While others of the learned robe
   Would break the patience of a Job;
   No pleader at the bar could match
   His diligence and quick dispatch;
   Ne`er kept a cause, he well may boast,
   Above a term or two at most.

       The cringing knave, who seeks a place
   Without success, thus tells his case:
   Why should he longer mince the matter?
   He fail`d because he could not flatter;
   He had not learn`d to turn his coat,
   Nor for a party give his vote:
   His crime he quickly understood;
  Too zealous for the nation`s good:
  He found the ministers resent it,
  Yet could not for his heart repent it.

     The chaplain vows he cannot fawn,
  Though it would raise him to the lawn:
  He pass`d his hours among his books;
  You find it in his meagre looks:
  He might, if he were worldly wise,
  Preferment get and spare his eyes:
  But own`d he had a stubborn spirit,
  That made him trust alone in merit:
  Would rise by merit to promotion;
  Alas! a mere chimeric notion.

     The doctor, if you will believe him,
  Confess`d a sin; and God forgive him!
  Call`d up at midnight, ran to save
  A blind old beggar from the grave:
  But see how Satan spreads his snares;
  He quite forgot to say his prayers.
  He cannot help it for his heart
  Sometimes to act the parson`s part:
  Quotes from the Bible many a sentence,
  That moves his patients to repentance:
  And, when his med`cines do no good,
  Supports their minds with heav`nly food,
  At which, however well intended,
  He hears the clergy are offended;
  And grown so bold behind his back,
  To call him hypocrite and quack.
  In his own church he keeps a seat;
  Says grace before and after meat;
  And calls, without affecting airs,
  His household twice a day to prayers.
  He shuns apothecaries` shops;
  And hates to cram the sick with slops:
  He scorns to make his art a trade;
  Nor bribes my lady`s fav`rite maid.
  Old nurse-keepers would never hire
  To recommend him to the squire;
  Which others, whom he will not name,
  Have often practis`d to their shame.

     The statesman tells you with a sneer,
  His fault is to be too sincere;
  And, having no sinister ends,
  Is apt to disoblige his friends.
  The nation`s good, his master`s glory,
  Without regard to Whig or Tory,
  Were all the schemes he had in view;
  Yet he was seconded by few:
  Though some had spread a hundred lies,
  `Twas  he defeated the Excise.
  `Twas known, though he had borne aspersion,
  That standing troops were his aversion:
  His practice was, in ev`ry station,
  To serve the King, and please the nation.
  Though hard to find in ev`ry case
  The fittest man to fill a place:
  His promises he ne`er forgot,
  But took memorials on the spot:
  His enemies, for want of charity,
  Said he affected popularity:
  `Tis true, the people understood,
  That all he did was for their good;
  Their kind affections he has tried;
  No love is lost on either side.
  He came to Court with fortune clear,
  Which now he runs out ev`ry year:
  Must, at the rate that he goes on,
  Inevitably be undone:
  Oh! if his Majesty would please
  To give him but a writ of ease,
  Would grant him licence to retire,
  As it hath long been his desire,
  By fair accounts it would be found,
  He`s poorer by ten thousand pound.
  He owns, and hopes it is no sin,
  He ne`er was partial to his kin;
  He thought it base for men in stations
  To crowd the Court with their relations;
  His country was his dearest mother,
  And ev`ry virtuous man his brother;
  Through modesty or awkward shame
  (For which he owns himself to blame),
  He found the wisest man he could,
  Without respect to friends or blood;
  Nor ever acts on private views,
  When he hath liberty to choose.

     The sharper swore he hated play,
  Except to pass an hour away:
  And well he might; for, to his cost,
  By want of skill he always lost;
  He heard there was a club of cheats,
  Who had contriv`d a thousand feats;
  Could change the stock, or cog a die,
  And thus deceive the sharpest eye:
  Nor wonder how his fortune sunk,
  His brothers fleece him when he`s drunk.

     I own the moral not exact;
  Besides, the tale is false in fact;
  And so absurd, that could I raise up
  From fields Elysian fabling Aesop;
  I would accuse him to his face
  For libelling the four-foot race.
  Creatures of ev`ry kind but ours
  Well comprehend their natural pow`rs;
  While we, whom reason ought to sway,
  Mistake our talents ev`ry day.
  The ass was never known so stupid
  To act the part of Tray or Cupid;
  Nor leaps upon his master`s lap,
  There to be strok`d, and fed with pap,
  As Aesop would the world persuade;
  He better understands his trade:
  Nor comes, whene`er his lady whistles;
  But carries loads, and feeds on thistles.
  Our author`s meaning, I presume, is
 A creature bipes et implumis;
  Wherein the moralist design`d
  A compliment on human kind:
  For here he owns, that now and then
  Beasts may degenerate into men.
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