Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OWL AND THE NIGHTINGALE, by EDWARD MOORE (1712-1757)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OWL AND THE NIGHTINGALE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: To know the mistress' humour right
Last Line: An owl is scorn'd alike by both.'
Subject(s): Birds; Fables; Housewives; Nightingales; Owls; Women; Allegories


TO know the mistress' humour right,
See if her maids are clean and tight;
If Betty waits without her stays,
She copies but her lady's ways;
When Miss comes in with boistrous shout,
And drops no curtsy going out,
Depend upon't mamma is one
Who reads or drinks too much alone.
If bottled beer her thirst assuage,
She feels enthusiastic rage,
And burns with ardour to inherit
The gifts and workings of the spirit:
If learning crack her giddy brains,
No remedy but death remains.
Sum up the various ills of life,
And all are sweet to such a wife.
At home superior wit she vaunts,
And twits her husband with his wants;
Her ragged offspring all around,
Like pigs, are wallowing on the ground:
Impatient ever of control,
She knows no order but of soul;
With books her litter'd floor is spread,
Of nameless authors never read;
Foul linen, petticoats, and lace,
Fill up the intermediate space.
Abroad at visitings her tongue
Is never still, and always wrong;
All meanings she defines away,
And stands with truth and sense, at bay.
If e'er she meets a gentle heart,
Skill'd in the housewife's useful art,
Who makes her family her care,
And builds Contentment's temple there,
She starts at such mistakes in nature,
And cries, 'Lord help us! what a creature!'
Melissa, if the moral strike,
You'll find the fable not unlike.
An Owl, puff'd up with self-conceit,
Lov'd learning better than his meat;
Old manuscripts he treasur'd up,
And rummag'd every grocer's shop:
At pastry-cooks was known to ply,
And strip for science every pie.
For modern poetry and wit
He had read all that Blackmore writ;
So intimate with Curll was grown
His learned treasures were his own,
To all his authors had access,
And sometimes would correct the press.
In logic he acquir'd such knowledge
You'd swear him fellow of a college;
Alike to every art and science
His daring genius bid defiance,
And swallow'd wisdom with that haste
That cits do custards at a feast.
Within the shelter of a wood
One evening as he musing stood,
Hard by, upon a leafy spray,
A Nightingale began his lay:
Sudden he starts, with anger stung,
And, screeching, interrupts the song:
'Pert busy Thing! thy airs give o'er,
And let my contemplation soar.
What is the music of thy voice
But jarring dissonance and noise?
Be wise: true harmony thou'lt find
Not in the throat but in the mind;
By empty chirping not attain'd,
But by laborious study gain'd.
Go read the authors Pope explodes,
Fathom the depth of Cibber's Odes;
With modern plays improve thy wit,
Read all the learning Henley writ,
And if thou needs must sing, sing then,
And emulate the ways of men;
So shalt thou grow, like me, refin'd,
And bring improvement to thy kind'
'Thou Wretch! (the little warbler cried,)
Made up of ignorance and pride,
Ask all the birds, and they'll declare
A greater blockhead wings not air.
Read o'er thyself, thy talents scan;
Science was only meant for man.
No useless authors me molest,
I mind the duties of my nest;
With careful wing protect my young,
And cheer their evenings with a song.
'Thus following Nature and her laws,
From men and birds I claim applause;
While, nurs'd in pedantry and sloth,
An Owl is scorn'd alike by both.'





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