THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT.
THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT.
The dead Cat falls upon his nimble feet,Snaps up the slowest, head and tail."Ha! ha!" he gobbling cried, "It could not fail,Myruse de guerre; no holes availTo save these creatures, and I warn them now,They all will come to the same mouth, I trow."His prophecy came true—the master of his art,A second time played well his part.His fur he whitened o'er with flour,That very hour,And hid withinA white meal bin.No bad contrivance, every one must own.The Rats could not leave well alone;One Rat was wary, shy to venture out,And pry about—Man of the world, and master offinesse,He'd lost his tail in battle, too,And half a dozen tricks he knew."This mass of white may be all sham, I guess,"He cried, still shunning the Cat's ambuscade:"Beneath the stuff I fear some trap is laid;No matter if it's flour or no,It may be so;But sack or not, still I won't venture near."'Twas neatly said, his prudence and his fearsI much approve; Experience told him true,Suspicion's Safety's mother,And Wisdom's foster brother.
FABLE XLIX.
A WILL INTERPRETED BY ÆSOP.
If what they say of Æsop's truth,He was the oracle of Greece indeed;And all the Areopagus, in sooth,Was not so wise. And here, if you would pleadFor proof, I'll give one, in a pleasant tale,My friends and readers to regale.A certain man had daughters three,Each of a different turn of mind:The one a toper, loving company;The second, fond of all coquetry;The third a miser, and to save inclined.The man left them, by will and deed,As laws municipal decreed,Half his estate, divided equally;And to their mother just the same:But only in her power to claimWhen all the daughters had their ownAnd nothing more but that alone.The father dead, the daughters ranTo read the will—they were not slowTo con it; yet, do what they can,They could not understand it—no.What did he wish?—yes, that's the questionThat took a good deal of digestion.'Each one that had her part, no more,Should to her mother pay it o'er.'It was not quite the usual way,With no gold left, to go and pay:What meant their worthy father, then?They run and ask the black-gowned men,Who turn the case for many days—Turn it a hundred thousand ways;Yet after all, in sheer vexation,Throw down their wigs in perturbation.At last the judge advised the heirsAt once to settle the affairs.As to the widow's part, the counsels sayA third each sister's bound to pay,Upon demand, unless she choose to takeA life annuity, for quietness' sake,Beginning from the day her husband died,And so they all decide.Then in three lots they part the whole estate:In number one the plate;The mighty cellars; summer-houses builtBeneath the vine;The stores of rich Malvoisin wine;The spits, the bowls of silver gilt,And all the tribes of slaves who wait;—In short, the perfect apparatus,That gives an epicure his social status.The second lot comprisesAll that a flirting girl surprises:Embroiderer's, and many a lady's maid,Jewels, and costly robes;—be sureThe town house, and the furniture,And stately eunuchs, rich arrayed.Lot three comprises farming-stock,Pastures and houses, fold and flock;Labourers and horses, stores and herds.This done, they fix, with many words,That since the lottery won't selectWhat each one would the most affect,The eldest have what she likes best,Leaving the same choice to the rest.In Athens it fell out,This pleased the motley rout,Both great and small.The judge was praised by all;Æsop alone deridedThe way they had decided.After much time and pains, they'd gone, he thought,And set the wishes of the man at nought."If the dead came to life," he said,"Athens aloud he would upbraid.What! men who cherish subtlety,To blunder o'er a will so stupidly!"Then quickly he divides,And thus the sage decides:—To each he gave the partLeast grateful to her heart:Pressing on them what they most hate.To the coquette the cups and bowlsCherished and loved by thirsty souls;The toper had the farm; still worse than that,The miser had the slaves and dresses.This is the way, Æsop confesses,To make the sisters alienateTheir shares of the bequeathed estate;Nor would they longer single tarry,But run post haste, and quickly marry;So very soon the father's gold, set free,Would to the mother come, with certainty,Which was the meaning of the testament.The people wondered, as they homeward went,That he alone should have more brainsThan all the lawyers and their trains.
FABLE L.
THE LION IN LOVE.
TO MADEMOISELLE SEVIGNE.
Lady, whose charms were meant to beA model for the Graces three;Lend graciously your gentle ear,And but one simple fable hear;You'll see, without profound alarm,A Lion quelled by Cupid's arm.Love rules with such a tyranny,Happy those shunning slavery;Who the harsh monarch only knowBy song and poem, not by blow.
THE LION IN LOVE.
THE LION IN LOVE.
When I dare speak of love to you,Pardon the fable, no whit true,That gives me courage to bring it,Perhaps with more of zeal than wit,A simple offering, rough and rude,Of my devoted gratitude.In times when animals could speak,The Lion came intent to seekMankind's alliance—wherefore not?Since beasts had then by nature gotCourage, intelligence, and skill;A bearing, too, by no means ill.Now hear what happened, if you will:A Lion of a noble raceSaw in a vale a pretty face,A shepherdess's, understand,And instantly he claimed her hand.The father, prudent and pacific,Preferred a suitor less terrific:To give his daughter seemed too bad,Yet how refuse so wild a lad?If he refused, perhaps there'd beA marriage still clandestinely.The maiden liked her dashing wooer,Her boisterous, reckless, blustering suer,And playing with the creature's main,Combed it, and smoothed it o'er again;The prudent father, half afraidTo spurn the lover of the maid,Said, "But my daughter's delicate,Your claws may hurt your little mate;And when you fondle and caress,Lion, you'll tear her and her dress;Permit me, sir, to clip each paw,It shall be done without a flaw,And, by-the-by, in the meanwhile,Your teeth 'twould be as well to file;Your kisses then would be less rough,And her's far sweeter—that's enough."The Lion, blinded by affection,Obeyed the artful man's direction;Toothless and clawless, he grew prouder(A fortress without guns or powder).They loosed the mastiff on him soon,And he was butchered before noon.O Love! O Love! when bound by you,Prudence, to thee we say, Adieu!
FABLE LI.
THE FOX AND THE GOAT.
A Fox once travelled, and for companyHis friend, a large-horned Goat, had he,Who scarce could see an inch beyond his nose,While Reynard every trick and quibble knows.Thirst drove these folks, it so befell,To seek the bottom of a well.After they'd had their bout of drinking,Says Reynard, "Comrade, I am thinkingHow we can best get out from here;Put up your feet and horns—no fear—Rear up against the wall, my friend,And I'll climb up—our troubles end.One spring upon your horns will do;And I once out can rescue you.""Now, by my beard! I like the plan,"The other said, "you're one that can;Such folks as you see clear through things,Some never learn the secret springs;I never should have found it out,Though I had groped a year about."The Fox once free, the Goat compelledTo learn a sermon—the text's "patience.""If Heaven," he said, "had only heldIt right to give thee and thy dull relationsHalf as much sense as beard—(But then it hasn't, I'm afeard);Still use your efforts, my dear sir—no perturbations.Certain affairs of stateWill hardly let me longer wait;In everything 'tis well to mind the end,In future think of that, my friend."
THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.
FABLE LII.
THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.
Beside his fold, and free from every care,A Shepherd, Amphitrite's neighbour, lived for years;Small was his fortune, yet while skies were fair,He was contented, vexed by cares nor fears.At last the treasures cast upon the shoreTempted the man; he bartered flock and fold,And sent forth ships to bring him back the more;But tempests sank the vessels and the gold.Once more he went to watch the silly sheep,No longer master as he had been long,When his own flocks he used to ward and keep,And poets called him Tircis in their song;Now he was Pierrot, and that was all.After some time he, once more well to do,Had flocks again to answer to his call;One day when winds were low, and vessels drewSafely towards the shore and home, the Shepherd stoodUpon the sunny cliff: "Fair nymphs," he cried,"Seek some one else, I pray you be so good;Ma foi, you don't catch me with any tide."This story is not merely meant to please;It's sober truth, I say, and serves to showThat pence are better if all safe, you know,Than pounds of promises; when once at ease,Remain content, and closely shut your earsTo Circe's wiles, resist her wanton smiles.Ambition and the Sea, avoid them both,They're full of miseries and racking fears;For one who wins there's twenty thousand don't.Rely on that; the winds and thieves are lothTo lose their prey (and trust to them)—they won't.
FABLE LIII.
THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE.
Each one's his faults, to which he still holds fast,And neither shame nor fear can cure the man;'Tisaproposof this (my usual plan),I give a story, for example, from the past.A follower of Bacchus hurt his purse,His health, his mind, and still grew each day worse;Such people, ere they've run one-half their course,Drain all their fortune for their mad expenses.One day this fellow, by the wine o'erthrown,Had in a bottle left his senses;His shrewd wife shut him all aloneIn a dark tomb, till the dull fumeMight from his brains evaporate.He woke and found the place all gloom,A shroud upon him cold and damp,Upon the pall a funeral lamp."What's this?" said he; "my wife's a widow, then!"On that the wife, dressed like a Fury, came,Mask'd, and with voice disguised, into the den,And brought the wretched sot, in hopes to tame,Some boiling gruel fit for Lucifer.The sot no longer doubted he was dead—A citizen of Pluto's—could he err?"And who are you?" unto the ghost he said."I'm Satan's steward," said the wife, "and serve the foodFor those within this black and dismal place."The sot replied, with comical grimace,Not taking any time to think,"And don't you also bring the drink?"
FABLE LIV.
KING GASTER AND THE MEMBERS.
Had I but shown a proper loyalty,I had begun my book with royalty.The Belly is a king, it's true,And in a certain point of viewHis wants the other members share.Well, once to work for him they weary were;Each one discussed a better plan,—To live an idle gentleman,Like Monsieur Gaster,Their lord and master."Without us he must feed on air;We sweat and toil, and groan with care,For whom? for him alone; we get no good,And all our thought's to find him food:We'll strike, and try his idle trade."'Twas done as soon as said.The hands refused to grasp, the legs to walk,The eyes to open, and the tongue to talk;Gaster might do whate'er he could.—'Twas a mistake they soon repentWith one consent.The heart made no more blood, and soThe other members ceased to glow;All wanted strength,And thus the working men at lengthSaw that their idle monarch, in his way,Toiled for the common weal as well as they.And this applies to royalty,It takes and gives with fair equality;All draw from it their nourishment:It feeds the artisan, and pays the magistrate,Gives labourers food, and soldiers subsidies,Distributes in a thousand placesIts sovereign graces;In fact, supports the State.Menenius told the story well,When discord in the senate fell,And discontented Commons taunted itFor having power and treasure, honour, dignity,While all the care and pain was theirs,Taxes and imposts, all the toils of war,The blood, the sorrow, brand and scar.Without the walls already do they band,Resolved to seek another land.Menenius was able,By this most precious fable,To bring them safely backTo the old, honest track.
FABLE LV.
THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.
It was a custom with the GreeksFor travellers by sea to takeMonkeys and fancy dogs, whose tricksWould pastime in fair weather make.A vessel with such things on deck,Not far from Athens, went to wreck;But for the Dolphins all had drowned.This animal is friend to man:The fact in Pliny may be found;So must be true, say what you can.
THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.
THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.
A Dolphin half the people saves,Even a Monkey, by-the-by,He thought a sailor, from the wavesHe kindly helped: the creature sly,Seated upon the Dolphin's back,Looked very grave and wise; good lack!One would have really almost swornT'was old Arion, all forlorn.The two had nearly reached the land,When just by chance, and such a pity!Fish asks, "Are you from Athens grand?""Yes; oh, they know me in that city;If you have any business there,Employ me; for it is truly whereMy kinsfolk hold the highest place.My second cousin is Lord Mayor."The Dolphin thanked him with good grace:"And the Piræus knows your face?You see it often, I dare say?""See him! I see him every day;An old acquaintance; that is so."The foolish chatterer did not knowPiræus was a harbour, not a man.Such people, go where'er you can,You meet within a mile of home,Mistaking Vaugirard for Rome,People who chattering dogmatiseOf what has never met their eyes.The Dolphin laughed, and turning roundThe Monkey saw, and straightway foundHe'd saved mere shadow of humanity;Then plunged again beneath the sea,And search amid the billows madeFor one more worthy of his aid.
FABLE LVI.
THE EAGLE, THE WILD SOW, AND THE CAT.
An Eagle lodged its young within a hollow tree;A Sow lived at the foot; a Cat between the two.Friendly they were, good neighbours, the whole three,—Between the mothers there was no to-do.At last the Cat malignant mischief made;She climbed up to the Eagle: "Ma'am, our peaceIs ended, death," she says, "is threatening; I'm dismayed.We perish if our children die; she'll never cease,That Sow accursed. See! how she grubs and digs,And mines and burrows, to uproot our oak;She hopes to ruin us and ours, to feed her pigsWhen the tree falls—Madam, it is no joke!Were there but hopes of saving one,I'd go and quietly mourn alone."Thus sowing fear broadcast, she wentWith a perfidious intent,To where the Sow sat dozily."Good friend and neighbour," whispered she,"I warn you, if you venture forth,The Eagle pounces on your family;Don't go and spread the thing about,Or I shall fall a victim to her wrath."Having here also sown wild fears,And set her neighbours by the ears,The Cat into her hole withdrew;The Eagle after would not flyTo bring home food; the poor Sow, too,Was still more fearful and more shy.Fools! not to see that one's first careIs for one's self to find good fare;Both stayed at home, still obstinate,To save their young from cruel fate.The royal bird, she feared the mine;The Sow, a pounce upon her swine;Hunger slew all the porcine brood,And then the eaglets of the wood;Not one was left—just think of that!What a relief to Madame Cat!A treacherous tongue sows miseryBy its pernicious subtlety;Of all the ills that from Pandora's box arose,Not one brought half so many woesAs foul Deceit; daughter of Treachery.
FABLE LVII.
THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE.
It's use that constitutes possession wholely;I ask those people who've a passionFor heaping gold on gold, and saving solely,How they excel the poorest man in any fashion?Diogenes is quite as rich as they.True Misers live like beggars, people say;The man with hidden treasure Æsop drewIs an example of the thing I mean.In the next life he might be happy, true;But very little joy in this he knew;
THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE.
THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE.
By gold the Miser was so little blessed.Not its possessor, but by it possessed;He buried it a fathom underground;His heart was with it; his delightTo ruminate upon it day and night;A victim to the altar ever bound.He seemed so poor, yet not one hour forgotThe golden grave, the consecrated spot:Whether he goes or comes, or eats or drinks,Of gold, and gold alone, the Miser thinks.At last a ditcher marks his frequent walks,And muttering talks,Scents out the place, and clears the whole,Unseen by any spies.On one fine day the Miser came, his soulGlowing with joy; he found the empty nest;Bursts into tears, and sobs, and cries,He frets, and tears his thin grey hair;He's lost what he had loved the best.A startled peasant passing thereInquires the reason of his sighs."My gold! my gold! they've stolen all.""Your treasure! what was it, and where?""Why, buried underneath this stone."(A moan!)"Why, man, is this a time of war?Why should you bring your gold so far?Had you not better much have letThe wealth lie in a cabinet,Where you could find it any hourIn your own power?""What! every hour? a wise man knowsGold comes but slowly, quickly goes;I never touched it." "Gracious me!"Replied the other, "why, then, beSo wretched? for if you say true,You never touched it, plain the case;Put back that stone upon the place,'Twill be the very same to you."
FABLE LVIII.
THE GOUT AND THE SPIDER.
When Mischief made the Spider and the Gout,"My daughters," said she, "you may clearly vauntThat nowhere in a human hauntAre there two plagues more staunch and stout;Come, choose your dwellings where you would abide:Here are the hovels—narrow, dark, and poor,And there the palaces all gilt with pride,You have your choice—now, what can I say more?Here is the lottery prescribed by law,Come, daughters, draw.""The hovel's not my place," the Spider says;Her sister hates the palace, for the GoutSees men called doctors creeping in and out,They would not leave her half an hour at ease:She crawls and rests upon a poor man's toe,Just so,And says, "I shall now do whate'er I please.No struggles longer with Hippocrates!No call to pack and march, no one can displace me."The Spider camps upon a ceiling high,As if she had a life-long lease, you see,And spins her web continually,Ready for any fly.A servant soon, to clean the room,Sweeps down the product of her loom.With each tissue the girl's at issue:Spiders, busy maids will swish you!The wretched creature every dayWas driven from her home away;At last, quite wearied, she gave out,And went to seek her sister Gout,Who in the country mourned her wretched fate:A thousand times more hopeless her estate;Even more miseries betide herThan the misfortunes of the Spider.Her host has made her dig and hoe,And rake and chop, and plough and mow,Until he's all but well."I can't resist him. Ah!ma belle:Let us change places." Gladly heard.The Spider took her at her word.In the dark hovel she can spin:No broom comes there with bustling din.The Gout, on her part, pleased to trudge,Goes straightway—wise as any judge—Unto a bishop, and with whimsSo fetters his tormented limbs,That he from bed can never budge.Spasms!Cataplasms!Heaven knows, the doctors make the curseSteal steadily from bad to worse.Both sisters gloried in the change,And never after wished to range.
FABLE LIX.
THE EYE OF THE MASTER.
A Stag sought refuge from the chaseAmong the oxen of a stable,Who counselled him—if he was able—To find a better hiding-place."My brothers," said the fugitive,"Betray me not; and I will showThe richest pastures that I know;Your kindness you will ne'er regret,With interest I'll pay the debt."The oxen promised well to keepThe secret: couched for quiet sleep,Safe in a tranquil privacy,The Stag lay down, and breathed more free.
THE EYE OF THE MASTER.
THE EYE OF THE MASTER.
At even-time they brought fresh hay,As was their custom day by day;Men went and came, ah! very near,And last of all the overseer,Yet carelessly, for horns nor hairShowed that the hiding stag was there.The forest dweller's gratitudeWas great, and in a joyous moodHe waited till the labour ceased,And oxen were from toil released,Leaving the exit once more free,To end his days of slavery.A ruminating bullock cried,"All now goes well; but woe betideWhen that man with the hundred eyesShall come, and you, poor soul! surprise?I fear the watchful look he'll take,And dread his visit for your sake;Boast not until the end, for sureYour boasting may be premature."She had not time to utter more,The master opened quick the door."How's this, you rascal men?" said he;"These empty racks will never do!Go to the loft; this litter, too,Is not the thing. I want to seeMore care from those that work for me;Whose turn these cobwebs to brush out?These collars, traces?—look about!"Then gazing round, he spies a head,Where a fat ox should be instead;The frightened stag they recognise.In vain the tears roll from his eyes;They fall on him with furious blows,Each one a thrust, until, to close,They kill and salt the wretched beast,And cook him up for many a feast.Phædrus hath put it pithily,The master's is the eye for me,The lover's, too, is quick to see.
FABLE LX.
THE WOLF AND THE STORK.
Wolves are too prone to play the glutton.One, at a certain feast, 'tis said,Fell with such fury on his mutton,He gave himself quite up for dead,For in his throat a bone stuck fast.A Stork, by special stroke of luck,As he stood speechless, came at last.He beckoned, and she ran to aid,No whit afraid.A surgeon, and a very friend in need,She drew the bone out. For the cure she'd madeShe simply asked her fee."Fie!" said the Wolf, "you jeer at me,My worthy gossip. Only see:What! is it not enough that, sound and safe,You drew your neck back from my gullet,My pretty pullet?You are ungrateful. Now, then, go;Beware, another time, my blow."
FABLE LXI.
THE LION DEFEATED BY MAN.
A picture was exhibited, one day,In which an artisan had soughtTo paint a lion which had fought,And had been beaten in the fray.The passers-by were full of self-applause.A Lion who looked on reproached the crowd:"Yes, here I see," he said, "the victory is man's:The artisan had his own plans;But if my brothers painted, they'd be proudTo show you man prostrate beneath our claws."
FABLE LXII.
THE SWAN AND THE COOK.
In a menagerie a Swan and GooseLived like sworn friends, in peace and amity.This one was meant to please the master's eye,The other fitted for his palate's use:This for the garden, that one for the board.The château's fosse was their long corridor,Where they could swim, in sight of their liege lord,Splash, drink, and paddle, or fly o'er and o'er,Unwearied of their pastime, down the moat.One day the Cook, taking a cup too much,Mistook the birds, and, seizing by the throat,Was just about to kill—his blindness such—The helpless Swan, and thrust him in the pot.The bird began to sing his dying song:The Cook, in great surprise,Opened his sleepy eyes."What do I do?" he said; "I had forgot:No, no, Jove willing! may my neck be strung,Before I kill a bird that sings so well."Thus, in the dangers that around us throng,Soft words are often useful, as it here befell.
FABLE LXIII.
THE WOLF, THE GOAT, AND THE KID.
The She-Goat going out to feedUpon the young grass in the mead,Closed not the latch until she bidHer youngest born, her darling kid,Take care to open door to none,Or if she did, only to oneWho gave the watchword of the place—"Curse to the Wolf and all his race!"The Wolf was just then passing by,And having no bad memory,Laid the spell by, a perfect treasureReady to be used at leisure.The Kid, so tender and so small,Had never seen a wolf at all.The mother gone, the hypocriteAssumes a voice demure and fit—"The Wolf be cursed! come, pull the latch."The Kid says, peeping through a chink,"Show me a white foot" (silly patch),"Or I'll not open yet the door, I think."White paws are rare with wolves—not yet in fashion.The Wolf surprised, and dumb with secret passion,Went as he came, and sneaked back to his lair:The Kid had lost her life without that care,Had she but listened to the wordThe watchful Wolf had overheard.Two sureties are twice as good as one,Without them she had been undone.And so I boldly say,That too much caution's never thrown away.
FABLE LXIV.
THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD.
This Wolf recalls another to my mind—A friend who found Fate more unkind—Caught in a neater way, you'll see;He perished—here's the history:A peasant dwelt in a lone farm;The Wolf, his watch intent to keep,Saw in and out, not tearing harm,Slim calves and lambs, and old fat sheep,And regiment of turkeys strutting out;In fact, good fare was spread about.
THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD.
THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD.
The thief grew weary of vain wishesFor dainty dishes;But just then heard an Infant cry,The mother chiding angrily—"Be quiet!No riot;Or to the Wolf I'll give you, brat!"The Wolf cried, "Now, I quite like that;"And thanked the gods for being good.The Mother, as a mother should,Soon calmed the Child. "Don't cry, my pet!If the Wolf comes, we'll kill him, there!""What's this?" the thief was in a fret;"First this, then that, there's no truth anywhere;I'm not a fool, you know,And yet they treat me so.Some day, when nutting, it may hapI may surprise the little chap."As these reflections strike the beast,A mastiff stops the way, at one fierce bound,To any future feast,And rough men gird him round."What brought you here?" cries many a one;He told the tale as I have done."Good Heavens!" loud the Mother cried;"You eat my boy! what! darling hereTo stop your hunger? Hush! my dear."They killed the brute and stripped his hide;His right foot and his head in stateAdorn the Picard noble's gate;And this was written underneathThe shrivelled eyes and grinning teeth—"Good Master Wolves, believe not allThat mothers say when children squall."
FABLE LXV.
THE LION GROWN OLD.
A Lion, once the terror of the plain(Borne clown with age, and weakened by decay)Against rebellious vassals fought in vain,And found his foes the victors of the fray.The Horse advanced, and gave his king a kick—The Wolf a bite—the Ox a brutal butt:Meanwhile the Lion, worn, and sad, and sick,Could scarce resent this, the "unkindest cut."But when an Ass came running to the place,The monarch murmured, with his latest breath,"Enough! I wished to die, but this disgraceImparts a twofold bitterness to death."