Fable XIV The Beau and Butterfly
When summer deckt each sylvan scene,
And sunshine smil’d along the green,
When groves allur’d with noon-tide shade,
And purling brooks refresh’d the glade;
An empty form of empty show,
A flutt’ring insect, call’d a Beau,
In gaudy colours rich and gay,
A mere papilio of the day,
Was seen around the fields to rove,
And haunt, by turns, the stream and grove:
A silver zone entwin’d his head,
His belly shone with lively red,
His wings were green, but studded o’er
With gold-embroider’d spots before.
Around him various insects came,
Of diff’rent colour, different name;
And, ting’d with every gorgeous dye,
Among the rest a Butterfly;
His wings are spread with wanton pride,
And beauty fades from all beside.
The Beau beholds, with envious eyes,
The living radiance as it flies:
“And shall,” said he, “this worthless thing.
That lives but on a summer’s wing,
This flying worm, more gaudy shine,
And wear a dress more gay than mine?
Is this wise Nature’s equal care
To deck a Butterfly so fair,
While man, her worthiest, greatest part,
Must wear the homely rags of art?”
Thus reason’d he, as reason beaux,
The subject of their logic clothes;
When thus the Butterfly reply’d,
With deeper tints by anger dy’d:
“Vain, trifling mortal! could’st thou boast
To prize what Nature prizes most
On man bestow’d, thou would’st not see
With envy aught she gives to me.
This painted vestment, all my store,
She gives, and I can claim no more—
But man, for greater ends design’d,
Should boast the beauties of the mind.
More bright than gold with wisdom shine,
And virtue’s sacred charms be thine:
To rule the world by reason taught,
On dress disdain to waste a thought;
For he, whom folly bends so low,
Ambitious to be thought a beau.
Is studious only to be gay,
In toilet-arts consumes the day;
And, the long trifling labours o’er,
Takes wing, and bids the world adore;
Looks down with scorn on rival flies,
Himself less splendid and less wise;
With scorn, his scorn return’d again,
Proud insect! impotently vain!
The fool who thus by self is priz’d,
By others justly is despis’d.”
She said, and flutter’d round on high,
Nor stay’d to hear the Beau’s reply.