scattered before the gates of his palace, like human bones before the cave of some giant. The avenues to his castle 5 were guarded with turnpikes and palisadoes, all after the modern way of fortification. After you had passed several courts, you came to the centre, wherein you might behold the constable himself in his own lodgings, which had windows fronting to each avenue, and ports to sally out, upon all 10 occasions of prey or defence. In this mansion he had for some time dwelt in peace and plenty, without danger to his person by swallows from above, or to his palace by brooms from below when it was the pleasure of fortune to conduct thither a wandering bee, to whose curiosity a broken pane in 15 the glass had discovered itself, and in he went; where, expatiating a while, he at last happened to alight upon one of the outward walls of the spider's citadel; which, yielding to the unequal weight, sunk down to the very foundation.

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Thrice he endeavoured to force his passage, and thrice the centre shook. The spider within, feeling the terrible convulsion, supposed at first that nature was approaching to her final dissolution; or else, that Beelzebub, with all his legions, was come to revenge the death of many thousands of his 25 subjects, whom this enemy had slain and devoured. However, he at length valiantly resolved to issue forth, and meet his fate. Meanwhile the bee had acquitted himself of his toils, and, posted securely at some distance, was employed in cleansing his wings, and disengaging them from the ragged 30 remnants of the cobweb. By this time the spider was adventured out, when, beholding the chasms, the ruins, and dilapidations of his fortress, he was very near at his wit's end; he stormed and swore like a madman, and swelled till he was ready to burst. At length, casting his eye upon 35 the bee, and wisely gathering causes from events, (for they knew each other by sight), A plague split you, said he; is it

you, with a vengeance, that have made this litter here? could not you look before you, and be d-d? do you think 40 I have nothing else to do (in the devil's name) but to mend and repair after you? - Good words, friend, said the bee, (having now pruned himself, and being disposed to droll), I'll give you my hand and word to come near your kennel no more: I was never in such a confounded pickle since I was 45 born. Sirrah, replied the spider, if it were not for breaking an old custom in our family, never to stir abroad against an enemy, I should come and teach you better manners. - I pray have patience, said the bee, or you will spend your substance, and, for aught I see, you may stand in need of 50 it all towards the repair of your house. - Rogue, rogue, replied the spider, yet, methinks you should have more respect to a person, whom all the world allows to be so much your better. By my troth, said the bee, the comparison will amount to a very good jest; and you will do me a favour 55 to let me know the reasons that all the world is pleased to use in so hopeful a dispute. At this the spider, having swelled himself into the size and posture of a disputant, began his argument in the true spirit of controversy, with a resolution to be heartily scurrilous and angry, to urge on his own reasons, 60 without the least regard to the answers or objections of his opposite; and fully predetermined in his mind against all conviction.

Not to disparage myself, said he, by the comparison with such a rascal, what art thou but a vagabond without house 65 or home, without stock or inheritance, born to no possession of your own but a pair of wings and a drone-pipe? Your livelihood is an universal plunder upon nature; a freebooter over fields and gardens; and, for the sake of stealing, will rob a nettle as readily as a violet. Whereas I am a domestic 70 animal, furnished with a native stock within myself. This large castle (to shew my improvements in the mathematics)

is all built with my own hands, and the materials extracted altogether out of mine own person.

I am glad, answered the bee, to hear you grant at least that I am come honestly by my wings and my voice; for 75 then, it seems, I am obliged to Heaven alone for my flights and my music; and Providence would never have bestowed of me two such gifts without designing them for the noblest ends. I visit indeed all the flowers and blossoms of the field and garden; but whatever I collect from thence enriches 80 myself, without the least injury to their beauty, their smell, or their taste. Now for you and your skill in architecture and other mathematics, I have little to say: in that building of yours there might, for aught I know, have been labour and method enough; but by woful experience for us both 85 'tis too plain the materials are naught; and I hope you will henceforth take warning, and consider duration and matter as well as method and art. You boast, indeed, of being obliged to no other creature, but of drawing and spinning out all from yourself; that is to say, if we may judge of the 90 liquor in the vessel by what issues out, you possess a good plentiful store of dirt and poison in your breast; and though I would by no means lessen or disparage your genuine stock of either, yet, I doubt you are somewhat obliged for an increase of both to a little foreign assistance. Your inherent 95 portion of dirt does not fail of acquisitions by sweepings exhaled from below and one insect furnishes you with a share of poison to destroy another. So that, in short, the question comes all to this; whether is the nobler being of the two, that which, by a lazy contemplation of four inches 100 round, by an overweening pride, which feeding and engendering on itself turns all into venom, producing nothing at all, but fly bane and a cobweb; or that which, by an universal range, with long search, much study, true judgment, and distinction of things, brings home honey and wax?

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This dispute was managed with such eagerness, clamour, and warmth, that the two parties of books, in arms below, stood silent a while, waiting in suspense what would be the issue; which was not long undetermined; for the bee, 110 grown impatient at so much loss of time, fled straight away to a bed of roses without looking for a reply; and left the spider, like an orator, collected in himself, and just prepared to burst out.

It happened upon this emergency, that Æsop broke silence 115 first. He had been of late most barbarously treated by a strange effect of the regent's humanity, who had tore off his title-page, sorely defaced one half of his leaves, and chained him fast among a shelf of moderns. Where, soon discovering how high the quarrel was likely to proceed, he tried all his 120 arts, and turned himself to a thousand forms. At length, in the borrowed shape of an ass, the regent mistook him for a modern; by which means he had time and opportunity to escape to the ancients, just when the spider and the bee were entering into their contest; to which he gave his attention 125 with a world of pleasure; and when it was ended, swore

in the loudest key, that in all his life he had never known two cases so parallel and adapt to each other, as that in the window, and this upon the shelves. The disputants, said he, have admirably managed the dispute between them, have 130 taken in the full strength of all that is to be said on both sides, and exhausted the substance of every argument pro and con.

It is but to adjust the reasonings of both to the present quarrel, then to compare and apply the labours and fruits 135 of each, as the bee hath learnedly deduced them, and we shall find the conclusion fall plain and close upon the moderns and us. For, pray, gentlemen, was ever anything so modern as the spider in his air, his turns, and his paradoxes? He argues in the behalf of you his brethren, and

himself, with many boastings of his native stock and great 140 genius; that he spins and spits wholly from himself, and scorns to own any obligation or assistance from without. Then he displays to you his great skill in architecture, and improvement in the mathematics. To all this the bee, as an advocate retained by us the ancients, thinks fit to answer : 145 that if one may judge of the great genius or inventions of the moderns by what they have produced, you will hardly have countenance to bear you out, in boasting of either. Erect your schemes with as much method and skill as you please; yet if the materials be nothing but dirt, spun out of your 150 own entrails, the edifice will conclude at last in a cobweb; the duration of which, like that of other spiders' webs, may be imputed to their being forgotten, or neglected, or hid in a corner. For anything else of genuine that the moderns may pretend to, I cannot recollect; unless it be a large vein 155 of wrangling and satire, much of a nature and substance with the spider's poison; which, however they pretend to spit wholly out of themselves, is improved by the same arts, by feeding upon the insects and vermin of the age. As for us the ancients, we are content, with the bee, to pretend to 160 nothing of our own, beyond our wings and our voice: that is to say, our flights and our language. For the rest, whatever we have got hath been by infinite labour and search, and ranging through every corner of nature; the difference is, that instead of dirt and poison we have rather chosen 165 to fill our hives with honey and wax; thus furnishing mankind with the two noblet of things, which are sweetness and light.