AESOP AT AMSTERDAM, Balancing the AESOP'S AT Tunbridg, , Whitehal, etc.  
BY LUDLOW REDIVIVUS.  
AMSTERDAM, Printed for Mine Heer Vanden Flounder, Boekverkooper, 1698.  
And Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster.   

Epistle Dedicatory, TO Old AESOP at Whitehal, etc.  
FATHER,  
WHERE the Devil have you been all this while? It is now ever since the fifty fourth Olympiad you died at Delphos, and to arise again at Whitehall is very remarkable. I am now apt to believe the Doctrine of Transmigration, and that your Soul having past the Habitations of the Bodies of the Horse, the Ass, and other Beasts, you're now informing the Body of a Courtier. Good Dad! done't come too near me, you stink most damnably of Sulphur, I'm almost suffocated. You have been lamentably paid off in t'other Country; your Clothes are horridly bedaubed with liquid Bitumen, Links, Flambeaux and Card-matches; you make a very indifferent Figure indeed Father. What Country you have been in I can't tell, but by your new Fables I find you have lived under a Monarchical Government, and are mightily in love with it, as are my two elder Brothers of Tunbridg and ; but your youngest Son, my Right Worshipful self, begs your Pardon if he don't jump with you and the rest of his Brethren in their notions of Government. You can't tell, Father, what a lamentable spot of work you have made with the Fables you wrote the first time you lived; the sour Pedagogues have made the blind Cheeks of many a Boy as raw as a piece of Beef, because they could not understand 'em; nay I have been persecuted myself upon the same account. Besides, Sir, your Fables have been the foundation of abundance of Lies; your Book serves instead of a Charter to the Mythologists of all Ages; you stand in competition even with the Devil himself, which shall be the reputed Father of Liars. And one would think after you had slept so many years, your Consulatation with your Pillow might have afforded you better Thoughts. 'Tis pity, Father, you and I should fall out after so long absence; but you ought to allow us that live upon the surface of the Terrestrial Globe, to see farther than you, who have been so many Years embowelled in the Caverns of the Earth: Indeed, Father, I would advise you to return home again, unless you had brought better Notions with you from t'other Country; for those possessed with your Notions here, we esteem either Stupid or Mad. Now being in this place, Father, and breathing in a free Air, I can talk of nothing but Freedom, Liberty and Property. I hope, if it does offend the Assertors of Tyranny, they'll consider I am in a common Asylum, and out of their reach.  
AMSTERDAM.   

AESOP AT AMSTERDAM.  

FAB. I. The Summons.  
THE mighty Puss, not long since ruled the State,  
Beneath a lonesom Furzbush purring sat;  
Stroked her long Smellers, and rejoiced to see  
Her awful Picture in her Progeny:  
Mean while her Kitlings dance before her face,  
And toss, like trembling Mice, the Roots of Grass.  
Not one amongst 'em but a Claw does wear,  
Fit a Monarchic Tyrant Rat to tear.  
The Good old Cause informed the Mother's Breast,  
Darts through their Eyes, is by their mein expressed.  
Such, such the ancient Race of Heroes were,  
Who did their Rights before their Lives prefer.  
She calls one to her, of the eldest brood;  
Dost know, said she, how drowned in native Blood  
My Country lies? how the wild Boars invade  
The Land, and desert have my Country laid?  
'Tis true, I once did ease 'em of their Pain;  
But they, like Fools, embraced again the Chain;  
Wear those dull Fetters I so kindly broke,  
And halt, like Slaves, beneath the servile Yoke.  
Once more I'll try, if my Advice may prove  
Successful, once exert my ancient Love;  
Summon the Slaves to meet at Whitehal Gate,  
Beneath the Scaffold where I whilom sat,  
And punished Tyranny, the worst of Crimes;  
A just Example unto future Times.  
Young Puss the Message takes, and bids fair Warning  
To all the Slaves t'appear on the next morning.   

FAB. II. The Interview.  

THE Morning come, the Slaves await,  
And flock like Bees 'bout Whitehal Gate.  
Some yoked, like Country Hogs appear;  
Others confounded Fetters wear,  
And some most horrid Burdens bear.  
Thus loaded, thus enslaved, oppressed;  
Nature, 'tis strange, don't call for rest:  
Tho Legs are galled, and Shoulders sore,  
The bulky Slaves still crave for more:  
And not an Idiot of the Town  
Has sense to lay his Burden down.  
Straight Puss in Majesty appears,  
Mounting the Scaffold, pricks her Ears,  
Shakes her Majestic Head, aloud  
She thus bespoke the numerous Crowd.   

I have deserted long the nauseous Town,  
Mourning my Country's Ruin, and my own  
Exposed to Tyranny, whilst Beasts of prey  
Ravage my Fields, and steal my Lambs away.  
My Freeborn Subjects now are forced to bear  
Loads, which more fit for backs of Camels are;  
You well deserve the Fetters you do wear.  
You under heavy iron Shackles pine,  
Whose Fathers did in glorious Armour shine,  
Through fields of Blood to Freedom cut their way,  
And taught the proudest Tyrants to obey;  
By me supported, potent Tyrants fell  
A Sacrifice to their just Cause and Hell;  
No more, no more their sacred Lineage stain,  
No more their names in your cursed Race profane.  
Let not their Offspring such Alliance have,  
Shackles were ne'er the Trophies of the Brave;  
They could wide Conquests, and just Honours boast,  
But you, dull Slaves! have all your Freedom lost.  
Where 'ere a Tyrant raised his impious Head,  
Strait their bold Hands struck the damned Monster dead.  
Had you a spark of ancient Honour left,  
You should not long be of my Aid bereft;  
My Claws are hard and sharp as e'er they were,  
As fit a Tyrant and his Rats to tear.  
The Villains that support a Tyrant Crown,  
This angry Tail will horridly sweep down;  
Shake off your Fetters once, and you shall see,  
I'll once more save you from cursed Slavery.   

She said, and away she galloped amain,  
But in hopes they their Sense would recover again;  
For a Doctor will never the Fatigue endure,  
To heal such dull Blockheads, that don't love the Cure.    

FAB. III. The Frogs Concern.  

A Generous Race of croaking Frogs,  
Which lay entrenched betwixt two Bogs,  
Who as the morning Sun did shine,  
Daily increased their stock divine;  
Just as the Solar Influence burned,  
Prolific spawn to Life was turned,  
Until the young ones had at length  
An equal Vigour, equal Strength.  
So numerous at length they prove,  
They supplicate to mighty Jove;  
A King and Governor they crave,  
As other Beasts and Infects have:  
But Jove allowed all Mortal Elves,  
To choose a Monarch for themselves.  
The Croaking Elders now consult  
About a King, and the Result  
Was, that a neighbouring Log should be  
Executor of Monarchy.  
About the Log their Heads they raise,  
In sounds uncouth they croak his Praise:  
At length some crawl upon his Top,  
And frisk about, and croak and hop:  
Says one Frog, Here's fine business done,  
Was e'er a King thus trampled one?  
'Troth, says another ancient Frog,  
We'll ne'er be governed by a Log;  
The heat at length so far arose,  
They did the Loggerhead depose.  
To new Election they proceed,  
And to their Hearts content succeed;  
A neighbouring Stork at length they chose,  
Which should their Heats and Feuds compose:  
He took upon him the Command  
Of all the People in Frogland;  
But he as t'other 'fore had done,  
Made it an Arbitrary Throne;  
Up from the Mud the Frogs would pick,  
And squeeze their Corpse within his Beak.  
One Frog much wiser than the rest,  
To those about him thus addressed:  
Good Friends, this is confounded work;  
Shall we be governed by a Stork;  
To have our Bones in pieces torn,  
Our young ones eat just as they're born?  
As if Kings only had a Power  
To ruin Subjects and devour;  
I think 'tis just to choose again:  
The brood of Frogs all croaked, Amen.  
The next they chose was a dull Ass,  
Which proved as bad as t'other was;  
For though he was not so malicious,  
His folly made him as pernicious;  
Stumbling on Empire, oft he stood  
Upon his Subjects choked in Mud:  
Whole beds of Spawn he did destroy,  
At every flounce did Frogs annoy.  
The Devil's in't, said one, for we  
In choosing Kings still wretched be.   

Thus often we have chose a King,  
And still have found it the same thing.    

FAB. iv The Bees and the Hornet.  
A Hive of Bees had plundered every Field,  
And every Herb does Wax or Honey yield:  
Large Troops of winged force they daily arm,  
Large as the Flocks that about Hybla swarm;  
From distant Fields did every Evening come,  
Loaden with Sweets and wholesome Honey home:  
Blest with abundant Wealth the Swarm does thrive  
Beneath the Blessings of a well stocked Hive.  
But Wealth and Luxury together go,  
And Bees, when rich, do vain and wanton grow;  
Pampered with Food, they loathe their happy Fate,  
And Changelings like, attempt to change their State.  
Large Herds they saw, as they abroad did rove,  
Governed by Monarches, by the leave of Jove.  
They Jupiter invoke, that also he  
Would please to favour them with Monarchy.  
Jove from Olympus nodding, gave consent,  
And straight the Bees to an Election went.  
An overgrown Hornet in an Oaken-Tree,  
Was what they chose, and must their sovereign be:  
For Bulk and Valour was elected King,  
The greatest Warrior ever drew a Sting.  
His Paunch more Honey still did bear away  
Then ten strong Bees could gather in a Day.  
But what was worse, he often would invite  
His Family to dine, and sup at Night:  
His numerous favourites did devour more,  
Then his small Regions ever saw before;  
His lazy Drones did more Provision spoil,  
Than is the product of a Summer's toil.  
The Bees thus robbed of all their Honey, grieve;  
'Tis Winter too, they know not how to live.  
Their Monarch goes to rob another Swarm,  
And there remain till Summer's heat shall warm.  
The Bees bereaved of all their Nourishment,  
Their Wax decayed, and all their Honey spent;  
Around their Hive their Obsequies they sing,  
Lament their Fortune, and they curse their King.   

FAB. V The Lion and Fox.  

A Youthful Lion in the Wood,  
Of Bulk and Nature strong;  
Still used to ravening and to blood,  
And came to Empire young:   

He too, as other Monarch's use,  
New Methods did pursue:  
His Father's favourites did refuse,  
And chose a set of new.   

He having loved, and used to gore;  
An arbitrary sway,  
A base, a wild Despotic Power  
His Subjects must obey.   

But want of Brains do still attend  
Unlimited Command:  
And therefore he would have some Friend  
Might Business understand.   

There was a cunning Fox lived near,  
For many years had killed  
The neighbouring Lambs and Poultry there,  
With Bones his Kennel filled.   

He summoned Reynard to appear,  
Next Night, at Council Board.  
Which Reynard did, and when was there,  
Looked grave as any Lord.   

The Lion told him, he must be  
The chief Support of State.  
At which kind Reynard bowed his Knee,  
And wished him better Fate.   

O, says the Lion, thou art skilled  
In Arbitrary Sway:  
Thou many Beasts and Fowls hast killed,  
To govern knowst the way.   

Ask, and I'll give Thee any thing,  
Is in my Power to give:  
Thou shalt be next unto the King  
As long as I do live.   

Quoth Reynard, make me then the Priest,  
I'll make all Beasts your Slaves:  
The Body You, I Soul at least,  
We'll tyrannize by halves.   

Thus Fate did Men to thraldom bring,  
Oppressed just like a Beast;  
Rod, spurred, and whipped by such a King,  
And eke so lewd a Priest.    

FAB. VI The Weesil, Rats and Mice.  

A Mighty Weesil of Renown,  
Well versed in things of State,  
Was chosen King all o'er the Town,  
Of all the Mice and Rats.   

His Coronation Day was come,  
And all the Grandees meet  
The Weesil in a gaudy Room,  
And bow beneath his Feet.   

His Chair of State was Rind of Cheese,  
And o'er his Royal Head  
Some Bacon sword in goodly guise,  
Like Canopy was spread.   

At length he walks and struts about,  
Like any Lord or Duke;  
Sometimes he does one Subject flout,  
And sometimes one rebuke.   

He calls an aged Rat aside,  
And asked him his advice,  
Whether a Project mayn't be tried  
To eat up all the Mice.   

Ay quoth the Rat, your Majesty  
May be well satisfied,  
Mice haters are of Monarchy,  
And Regal State deride.   

The Rats and Weesils now devour  
The Mice in piteous sort,  
They die the Cellars with their Gore,  
And with their Bones they sport.   

At length the Mice are all destroyed,  
The Weesils and the Rats  
Would other Food find out abroad,  
But that they feared the Cats.   

The Weesils now together plot,  
How they the Rats may eat;  
Provision must be daily got,  
Kings must have sumptuous Meat.   

The Rats now all do go to pot:  
Some baked, some boiled, some roasted;  
'Tis hoped they had not then forgot  
How they the Mice accosted.   

Thus some Men oft by Tyrant Power,  
Their Kindred, Subject-Slaves devour,  
Do all the Villainies are done  
To prop a beastly Tyrant Throne;  
Tho others Blood the Tyrant filled,  
They must at length to's Fury yield;  
Nought stops a Tyrant's Course but Decollation,  
Or else a modern Abdication.    

FAB. VII. Lubberland.  
A Land there is, as Maps do tell,  
(Tho they describe it not right well)  
Nor near the Hot nor Frigid Zone,  
But Latitude of fifty one;  
In Nature's plenty does abound,  
With Fruits and Flocks is amply crowned:  
The Natives never are content  
But with tyrannic Government;  
They Men resemble by their Faces,  
But by their Backs resemble Asses.  
For each is born with a great pack,  
A warlike Saddle on his Back,  
Which does adorn the parts are upper,  
On nether parts they wear a Crupper.  
Their Kings, as 'tis decreed by Jove,  
Do always jump down from above:  
Armed Capapee with Boots and Spurs,  
Just fit to mount such servile Curs:  
With Hunting-Whips they daily maul 'em,  
And with long roweled Spurs do gall 'em.  
He only is the great Bravado,  
Has most the Regal Bastinado.  
They leap and jump, and frisk and skip,  
And sing the Praises of the Whip:  
They bear the Lash without once bogging,  
Extol the Royal Art of flogging.  
With Blanket-Coat and wooden-Shoes,  
The Man the Camel scarce outdoes.  
Whilst Freemen feed on Dainties fine,  
These do on Bread and Garlic dine;  
And if they spend a Soulx in Wine,  
The Health drank round must always be,  
Their Kings applauded Tyranny:  
Still let 'em be cursed Slaves for me.   

FAB. VIII. The Hawk and Birds.  

I.  
A Hawk, that of Yore,  
Had long weltered in Gore,  
And many a Sparrow had killed;  
By the Birds he was told,  
Now he was grown old,  
He his number of Sins had fulfilled.   

II.  
No said the old Hawk,  
My Actions to balk  
If you shall but once thus combine,  
The Gods will avenge,  
My Cause will revenge,  
I may murder ye Jure Divino.   

III.  
The Gods, said the Birds,  
We'll not take their words;  
If they've'gin you an Absolute Power,  
They've'gin us a part,  
Is not worth a Fart,  
While you have a Right to devour.   

iv  
The Birds all agreed,  
And thus ' 'ttwas decreed,  
That Slaves they no longer would be;  
They throttled their King,  
Then sweetly did sing  
The Praises of free Liberty.    

FAB. IX. The Owl and the Mice.  
THE harmless Mice by Tyranny oppressed,  
And by the Owls vast insolence distressed,  
Came to a consult, where they did debate  
Of Means to save their yet declining State.  
Up stands a Mouse of generous noble Blood,  
Free from the Fears of the more slavish Brood;  
Says he, my Project, Sirs I hope will take,  
We'll tie a Bell about the Owls damned Neck:  
Thus when the Tyrant's Bell does ever toll  
Each Mouse secures himself within his hole.  
At which a Mouse for Courage famed, arose,  
And did as follows to the rest propose.  
Brethren, says he, this enterprise is vain,  
There is no end of this Tyrannic Reign,  
As long as Owl, or any of his kind,  
Shall here Dominion and an Empire find:  
You may hang Bells about his Neck, but then  
He pecks it off, and turns an Owl again.  
Let's try for once, since our Condition's so,  
What bold Micean Potentates can do.  
The only way to guard our Empire well,  
Is both to rid ourselves of Owl and Bell.  
Thus we our State and Freedom shall repair,  
And live as free as our Forefathers were.   

FAB. X. Neptune and the Fishes.  
NEptune the God of the Tempestuous Deep,  
When's Brother Boreas hushed the Storms asleep;  
Upon a Rock erected had his Throne,  
His Chair of State was carved out of the Stone;  
On either hand the lovely Mermaids sat,  
The glittering Pageants of the Monarch's State;  
The golden Tresses which their Heads adorn,  
Died with the yellow glittering of the Mo●n.  
He shook his Trident, when both far and near  
His Guard du Corpse of Tritons shook for fear;  
One he commanded straight to go and tell,  
All Clans of Fish beneath the Surface devil,  
That to his Court they presently repair,  
Away the Triton flounced as swift as Air,  
The scaly Tribe's in endless numbers flock  
And rendevouz before the Royal Rock;  
Neptune in State unto the brink did go,  
And vievved the numerous Shoals of Fish below:  
Then pointing to the Mermaids, thus he said,  
" See there the lovely work the Gods have made,  
" By them and Nature destined for my own,  
" The just Supporters of my virtuous Throne.  
" My Pleasure is, that every sort of Fish,  
" For them do every Day provide a Dish,  
" The best and wholesom'st Fish of every sort,  
" And bring them every Day unto the Court.  
Each Fish beneath the Surface downward darts,  
But glide along with very heavy Hearts;  
In vain says one the heavenly Sun does burn,  
Warm the vast Deep, and Spawn to Fishes turn:  
The Gods its seems thus Neptune has empovvered  
And we are born only to be devoured;  
Our Offspring still must pay their Parents Scores  
Made for a Tyrant's Food, and Bawds & 's Whores  
When vast lascivious Paunches spend always,  
More than the numerous Shoals of Fish can raise  
No more said he, by my consent, we'll own  
A Tyrant's Empire, but abjure his Throne;  
The watery Tribes the motion did approve,  
And to his Station every one did move.   

FAB. XI. The Asylum.  
THE Princes once did all combine,  
The People's Liberty to mine;  
Would make 'em right or wrong obey  
An absolute Despotic Sway,  
One Method, was to make us poor,  
By loading Taxes more and more;  
For when to Poverty Men fall,  
They easily are brought to thrall:  
And when their Spirit's sunk and gone,  
Tyrants may lay vast Burdens on.  
This did in some, in all it could  
Not do: Some Men had better Blood,  
And tho' they could not mend their Fate  
They murmured at the Tyrant's hate;  
Which so incensed the Tyrant's Ire,  
Some they condemned to ravenous fire;  
Some were to slavish Galleys sent,  
Others in Fetters did lament.  
Some Men were strangled in their Beds,  
Others were hanged, some lost their Heads;  
Some whipped till bleeding Backs were killed,  
The Lands with Tyranny were filled,  
But those whom better luck and hap  
Did favour with a wished escape,  
A City on Batavian Shoar,  
Did shelter from the Ills before;  
Where native Liberty does thrive,  
And no cursed Tyranny can live.  
Long live great City, Favourite of Heaven,  
And never want those Blessings thou hast given.   
FINIS.