'Tis not for a Wiſe and an Honeſt Man, to ſtand Expoſtulating with the Nature of Things. As for Inſtance, Why ſhould not I be This or That, or be ſo or ſo, as well as He or T'other? But I ſhould rather ſay to my ſelf after This manner. Am not I the Creature of an Almighty Power; and is it not the Same Power and Wiſdom that Made and Order'd The World, that has Aſſign’d me this Place, Rank or Station in’t? This Body, This Soul, This every Thing? What I am, I muſt be, and there’s no Contending with Invincible Neceſſity; No Diſputing with an Incomprehenſible Wiſdom: To ſay Nothing of the Impiety of Appealing from an Inexplicable Goodneſs. If I can Mend my Condition by any Warrantable Induſtry and Vertue, the Way is Fair and Open; And That's a Priviledge that Every Reaſonable Creature has in his Commiſſion: But without Fixing upon ſome Certain Scope, and Preſcribing Juſt and Honourable Ways to't, there’s Nothing to be done. 'Tis a Wicked Thing to Repine; and 'tis as Bootleſs, and Uneaſy too; for One Reſtleſs Thought, Begets, and Puniſhes Another. We are not ſo Miſerable in our Own Wants, as in what Others Enjoy: And then our Levity is as Great a Plague to us as our Envy, ſo that we need Nothing more then we have, but Thankfulneſs, and Submiſſion, to make us Happy. It was not the Ground of the Aſſes Complaint, that it was Worſe with Him then with Other Aſſes; but becauſe he was an Aſs: And he was not ſo Sick of his Maſter, as of his Work. His Fortune was well enough for ſuch an Animal, ſo long as he kept himſelf within his Proper Sphere and Bus‘neſs: But if the Stones in the Wall will be taking upon them to Reproach the Builder; and if Nothing will pleaſe People unleſs they be Greater then Nature ever Intended them; What can they Expect, but the Aſſes Round of Vexatious Changes, and Experiments; and at laſt, when they have made Themſelves Weary and Ridiculous, e'en glad to ſet up their Reſt upon the very Spot were they Started.
Fab. CCIX.
A Woman and her Maids.
IT was the Way of a Good Houſewiſely Old Woman, to call up her Maids Every Morning juſt at the Cock-Crowing. The Wenches were loth to Riſe ſo ſoon, and ſo they laid their Heads together, and Kill'd the Poor Cock: for, ſay they, if it were not for his Waking our Dame, ſhe would not Wake us: But when the Good Womans Clock was gone, ſhe’d Miſtake the Hour many times, and call ’em up at Midnight: So that inſtead of Mending the Matter, they found themſelyes in a Worſe Condition Now then Before.
The
