The beasts all gathered from the farce,That stuff for kings is very scarce.
The Rat and the Oyster
A country Rat of little brains,Grown weary of inglorious rest,Left home with all its straws and grains,Resolved to know beyond his nest.When peeping through the nearest fence,"How big the world is, how immense!"He cried; "there rise the Alps, and thatIs doubtless famous Ararat."His mountains were the works of moles,Or dirt thrown up in digging holes!Some days of travel brought him whereThe tide had left the Oysters bare.Since here our traveller saw the sea,He thought these shells the ships must be."My father was, in truth," said he,"A coward, and an ignoramus;He dared not travel: as for me,I've seen the ships and ocean famous;Have cross'd the deserts without drinking,And many dangerous streams, unshrinking."Among the shut-up shell-fish, oneWas gaping widely at the sun;It breathed, and drank the air's perfume,Expanding, like a flower in bloom.Both white and fat, its meatAppear'd a dainty treat.Our Rat, when he this shell espied,Thought for his stomach to provide."If not mistaken in the matter,"Said he, "no meat was ever fatter,Or in its flavour half so fine,As that on which to-day I dine."Thus full of hope, the foolish chapThrust in his head to taste,And felt the pinching of a trap—The Oyster closed in haste.
Now those to whom the world is newAre wonder-struck at every view;And the marauder finds his matchWhen he is caught who thinks to catch.
The Ass and the Dog
Along the road an Ass and DogOne master following, did jog.Their master slept: meanwhile, the AssApplied his nippers to the grass,Much pleased in such a place to stop,Though there no thistle he could crop.He would not be too delicate,Nor spoil a dinner for a plate,Which, but for that, his favourite dish,Were all that any Ass could wish."My dear companion," Towser said—"'Tis as a starving Dog I ask it—Pray lower down your loaded basket,And let me get a piece of bread."No answer—not a word!—indeed,The truth was, our Arcadian steedFear'd lest, for every moment's flight,His nimble teeth should lose a bite.At last, "I counsel you," said he, "to waitTill master is himself awake,Who then, unless I much mistake,Will give his Dog the usual bait."Meanwhile, there issued from the woodA creature of the wolfish brood,Himself by famine sorely pinch'd.At sight of him the Donkey flinch'd,And begg'd the Dog to give him aid.The Dog budged not, but answer made,"I counsel thee, my friend, to run,Till master's nap is fairly done;There can, indeed, be no mistakeThat he will very soon awake;Till then, scud off with all your might;And should he snap you in your flight,This ugly Wolf—why, let him feelThe greeting of your well-shod heel.I do not doubt, at all, but thatWill be enough to lay him flat."But ere he ceased it was too late;The Ass had met his cruel fate.
The Monkey and the Leopard
A Monkey and a Leopard wereThe rivals at a country fair.Each advertised his own attractions.Said one, "Good sirs, the highest placeMy merit knows; for, of his grace,The King hath seen me face to face;And, judging by his looks and actions,I gave the best of satisfactions.When I am dead, 'tis plain enough,My skin will make his royal muff.So richly is it streak'd and spotted,So delicately waved and dotted,Its various beauty cannot fail to please."And, thus invited, everybody sees;But soon they see, and soon depart.The Monkey's show-bill to the martHis merits thus sets forth the while,All in his own peculiar style:"Come, gentlemen, I pray you, come;In magic arts I am at home.The whole variety in whichMy neighbour boasts himself so richIs to his simple skin confined,While mine is living in the mind.For I can speak, you understand;Can dance, and practise sleight-of-hand;Can jump through hoops, and balance sticks;In short, can do a thousand tricks;One penny is my charge to you,And, if you think the price won't do,When you have seen, then I'll restore,Each man his money at the door."
The Ape was not to reason blind;For who in wealth of dress can findSuch charms as dwell in wealth of mind?One meets our ever-new desires,The other in a moment tires.Alas! how many lords there are,Of mighty sway and lofty mien,Who, like this Leopard at the fair,Show all their talents on the skin!
The Rat and the Elephant
A Rat, of quite the smallest size,Fix'd on an Elephant his eyes,And jeer'd the beast of high descentBecause his feet so slowly went.Upon his back, three stories high,There sat, beneath a canopy,A certain sultan of renown,His Dog, and Cat, and wife sublime,His parrot, servant, and his wine,All pilgrims to a distant town.The Rat profess'd to be amazedThat all the people stood and gazedWith wonder, as he pass'd the road,Both at the creature and his load."As if," said he, "to occupyA little more of land or skyMade one, in view of common sense,Of greater worth and consequence!What see ye, men, in this parade,That food for wonder need be made?The bulk which makes a child afraid?In truth, I take myself to be,In all aspects, as good as he."And further might have gone his vaunt;But, darting down, the CatConvinced him that a RatIs smaller than an elephant.
The Acorn and the Pumpkin
God's works are good. This truth to proveAround the world I need not move;I do it by the nearest Pumpkin."This fruit so large, on vine so small,"Surveying once, exclaim'd a bumpkin—"What could He mean who made us all?He's left this Pumpkin out of place.If I had order'd in the case,Upon that oak it should have hung——A noble fruit as ever swungTo grace a tree so firm and strong.Indeed, it was a great mistake,As this discovery teaches,That I myself did not partakeHis counsels whom my curate preaches.All things had then in order come;This Acorn, for example,Not bigger than my thumb,Had not disgraced a tree so ample.The more I think, the more I wonderTo see outraged proportion's laws,And that without the slightest cause;God surely made an awkward blunder."With such reflections proudly fraught,Our sage grew tired of mighty thought,And threw himself on Nature's lap,Beneath an oak, to take his nap.Plump on his nose, by lucky hap,An Acorn fell: he waked, and inThe scarf he wore beneath his chin,He found the cause of such a bruiseAs made him different language use."Oh! Oh!" he cried; "I bleed! I bleed!And this is what has done the deed!But, truly, what had been my fate,Had this had half a Pumpkin's weight!I see that God had reasons good,And all His works were understood."Thus home he went in humbler mood.
The Cat and the Fox
The Cat and Fox, when saints were all the rageTogether went upon pilgrimage.Our Pilgrims, as a thing of course,Disputed till their throats were hoarse.Then, dropping to a lower tone,They talk'd of this, and talk'd of that,Till Reynard whisper'd to the Cat,"You think yourself a knowing one:How many cunning tricks have you?For I've a hundred, old and new,All ready in my haversack."The Cat replied, "I do not lack,Though with but one provided;And, truth to honour, for that matter,I hold it than a thousand better."In fresh dispute they sided;And loudly were they at it, whenApproach'd a mob of dogs and men."Now," said the Cat, "your tricks ransack,And put your cunning brains to rack,One life to save; I'll show you mine—A trick, you see, for saving nine."With that, she climb'd a lofty pine.The Fox his hundred ruses tried,And yet no safety found.A hundred times he falsified.The nose of every houndWas here, and there, and everywhere,Above, and under ground;But yet to stop he did not dare,Pent in a hole, it was no joke,To meet the terriers or the smoke.So, leaping into upper air,He met two dogs, that choked him there.
Expedients may be too many,Consuming time to choose and try.On one, but that as good as any,'Tis best in danger to rely.
The City Rat and the Country Rat
A city Rat, one nightDid with a civil stoopA Country Rat inviteTo end a turtle soup.
Upon a Turkey carpetThey found the table spread,And sure I need not harp itHow well the fellows fed.
The entertainment wasA truly noble one;But some unlucky causeDisturbed it when begun
It was a slight rat-tat,That put their Joys to rout;Out ran the City Rat;His guest, too, scampered out.
Our rats but fairly quit,The fearful knocking ceased,"Return we," said the cit,"To finish there our feast."
"No," said the Rustic Rat;"To-morrow dine with me.I'm not offended atYour feast so grand and free,
"For I've no fare resembling;But then I eat at leisure,And would not swap for pleasureSo mixed with fear and trembling."
The Ploughman and His Sons
A wealthy Ploughman drawing near his endCall'd in his Sons apart from every friend,And said, "When of your sire bereft,The heritage our fathers leftGuard well, nor sell a single field.A treasure in it is conceal'd:The place, precisely, I don't know,But industry will serve to show.The harvest past. Time's forelock take,And search with plough, and spade, and rake;Turn over every inch of sod,Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod."The father died. The Sons in vain—Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again;That year their acres boreMore grain than e'er before.Though hidden money found they none,Yet had their Father wisely done,To show by such a measureThat toil itself is treasure.
The farmer's patient care and toilAre oftener wanting than the soil.
The Fox, the Wolf, and the Horse
A Fox, though young, by no means raw,Had seen a Horse, the first he ever saw:"Ho! neighbour Wolf," said he to one quite green,"A creature in our meadow I have seen—Sleek, grand! I seem to see him yet—The finest beast I ever met.""Is he a stouter one than we?"The Wolf demanded, eagerly;"Some picture of him let me see.""If I could paint," said Fox, "I should delightT' anticipate your pleasure at the sight;But come; who knows? perhaps it is a preyBy fortune offer'd in our way."They went. The Horse, turn'd loose to graze,Not liking much their looks and ways,Was just about to gallop off."Sir," said the Fox, "your humble servants, weMake bold to ask you what your name may be."The Horse, an animal with brains enough,Replied, "Sirs, you yourselves may read my name;My shoer round my heel hath writ the same."The Fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge:"Me, sir, my parents did not educate,So poor, a hole was their entire estate.My friend, the Wolf, however, taught at college,Could read it, were it even Greek."The Wolf, to flattery weak,Approached to verify the boast;For which four teeth he lost.The high raised hoof came down with such a blowAs laid him bleeding on the ground full low."My brother," said the Fox, "this shows how justWhat once was taught me by a fox of wit—Which on thy jaws this animal hath writ—'All unknown things the wise mistrust.'"
The Woodman and Mercury
A Man that laboured in the woodHad lost his honest livelihood;That is to say,His axe was gone astray.He had no tools to spare;This wholly earn'd his fare.Without a hope beside,He sat him down and cried,"Alas, my axe! where can it be?O Jove! but send it back to me,And it shall strike good blows for thee."His prayer in high Olympus heard,Swift Mercury started at the word."Your axe must not be lost," said he:"Now, will you know it when you see?An axe I found upon the road."With that an axe of gold he show'd."Is't this?" The Woodman answer'd, "Nay."An axe of silver, bright and gay,Refused the honest Woodman too.At last the finder brought to viewAn axe of iron, steel, and wood."That's mine," he said, in joyful mood;"With that I'll quite contented be."The god replied, "I give the three,As due reward of honesty."This luck when neighbouring choppers knew,They lost their axes, not a few,And sent their prayers to JupiterSo fast, he knew not which to hear.His winged son, however, sentWith gold and silver axes, went.Each would have thought himself a foolNot to have own'd the richest tool.But Mercury promptly gave, insteadOf it, a blow upon the head.
With simple truth to be contented,Is surest not to be repented:But still there are who wouldWith evil trap the good,Whose cunning is but stupid,For Jove is never duped.
The Eagle and the Owl
The Eagle and the Owl, resolved to ceaseTheir war, embraced in pledge of peace.On faith of King, on faith of Owl, they sworeThat they would eat each other's chicks no more."But know you mine?" said Wisdom's bird."Not I, indeed," the Eagle cried."The worse for that," the Owl replied:"I fear your oath's a useless word;I fear that you, as king, will notConsider duly who or what:Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!""Describe them, then, and I'll not eat them,"The Eagle said. The Owl replied:"My little ones, I say with pride,For grace of form cannot be match'd—The prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd;By this you cannot fail to know them;'Tis needless, therefore, that I show them."At length God gives the Owl some heirs,And while at early eve abroad he fares,In quest of birds and mice for food,Our Eagle haply spies the brood,As on some craggy rock they sprawl,Or nestle in some ruined wall,(But which it matters not at all,)And thinks them ugly little frights,Grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites."These chicks," says he, "with looks almost infernal,Can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal.I'll sup of them." And so he did, not slightly:He never sups, if he can help it, lightly.The Owl return'd; and, sad, he foundNought left but claws upon the ground.He pray'd the gods above and gods belowTo smite the brigand who had caused his woe.Quoth one, "On you alone the blame must fall;Thinking your like the loveliest of all,You told the Eagle of your young ones' graces;You gave the picture of their faces:Had it of likeness any traces?"
The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot
An Iron Pot proposedTo an Earthen Pot a journey.The latter was opposed,Expressing the concern heHad felt about the dangerOf going out a ranger.He thought the kitchen hearthThe safest place on earthFor one so very brittle."For thee, who art a kettle,And hast a tougher skin,There's nought to keep thee in.""I'll be thy bodyguard,"Replied the Iron Pot;"If anything that's hardShould threaten thee a jot,Between you I will go,And save thee from the blow."This offer him persuaded.The Iron Pot paradedHimself as guard and guideClose at his cousin's side.Now, in their tripod way,They hobble as they may;And eke together boltAt every little jolt—Which gives the crockery pain;But presently his comrade hitsSo hard, he dashes him to bits,Before he can complain.
Take care that you associateWith equals only, lest your fateBetween these pots should find its mate.
The Wolf and the Lean Dog
A Troutling, some time since,Endeavoured vainly to convinceA hungry fishermanOf his unfitness for the frying-pan.The fisherman had reason good—The troutling did the best he could—Both argued for their lives.Now, if my present purpose thrives,I'll prop my former propositionBy building on a small addition.A certain Wolf, in point of witThe prudent fisher's opposite,A Dog once finding far astray,Prepared to take him as his prey.The Dog his leanness plead;"Your lordship, sure," he said,"Cannot be very eagerTo eat a dog so meagre.To wait a little do not grudge:The wedding of my master's only daughterWill cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter;And then, as you yourself can judge,I cannot help becoming fatter."The Wolf, believing, waived the matter,And so, some days therefrom,Return'd with sole design to seeIf fat enough his Dog might be.The rogue was now at home:He saw the hunter through the fence."My friend," said he, "please wait;I'll be with you a moment hence,And fetch our porter of the gate."This porter was a dog immense,That left to wolves no future tense.Suspicion gave our Wolf a jog—It might not be so safely tamper'd."My service to your porter dog,"Was his reply, as off he scampered.His legs proved better than his head,And saved him life to learn his trade.
The Ears of the Hare
Some beast with horns did goreThe Lion; and that sovereign dread,Resolved to suffer so no more,Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said,All sorts of beasts with horns—Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns.Such brutes all promptly fled.A Hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving,Could hardly help believingThat some vile spy for horns would take them,And food for accusation make them."Adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket;I take my foreign ticket.My ears, should I stay here,Will turn to horns, I fear;And were they shorter than a bird's,I fear the effect of words.""These horns!" the cricket answered; "why,God made them ears who can deny?""Yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns,And horns, perhaps, of unicorns!In vain shall I protest,With all the learning of the schools:My reasons they will send to restIn th' Hospital of Fools."
The Ass Carrying Relics
An Ass, with relics for his load,Supposed the worship on the roadMeant for himself alone,And took on lofty airs,Receiving as his ownThe incense and the prayers.Some one, who saw his great mistake,Cried, "Master Donkey, do not makeYourself so big a fool.Not you they worship, but your pack;They praise the idols on your back,And count yourself a paltry tool."
'Tis thus a brainless magistrateIs honoured for his robe of state.
The Two Mules
Two Mules were bearing on their backs,One, oats; the other, silver of the tax.The latter glorying in his load,March'd proudly forward on the road;And, from the jingle of his bell,'Twas plain he liked his burden well.But in a wild-wood glenA band of robber menRush'd forth upon the twain.Well with the silver pleased,They by the bridle seizedThe treasure Mule so vain.Poor Mule! in struggling to repelHis ruthless foes, he fellStabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing,He cried: "Is this the lot they promised me?My humble friend from danger free,While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?""My friend," his fellow-mule replied,"It is not well to have one's work too high.If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I,Thou wouldst not thus have died."
The Lion and the Gnat
"Go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!"Thus said the royal Lion to the Gnat.The Gnat declared immediate war."Think you," said he, "your royal nameTo me worth caring for?Think you I tremble at your power or fame?The ox is bigger far than you;Yet him I drive, and all his crew."This said, as one that did no fear owe,Himself he blew the battle charge,Himself both trumpeter and hero.At first he play'd about at large,Then on the Lion's neck, at leisure, settled,And there the royal beast full sorely nettled.With foaming mouth, and flashing eye,He roars. All creatures hide or fly—Such mortal terror atThe work of one poor Gnat!With constant change of his attack,The snout now stinging, now the back,And now the chambers of the nose;The pigmy fly no mercy shows.The Lion's rage was at its height;His viewless foe now laugh'd outright,When on his battle-ground he saw,That every savage tooth and clawHad got its proper beautyBy doing bloody duty;Himself, the hapless Lion tore his hide,And lash'd with sounding tail from side to side.Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse!He beat the harmless air, and worse;For, though so fierce and stout,By effort wearied out,He fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel;The Gnat retires with verdant laurel.
We often have the most to fearFrom those we most despise;Again, great risks a man may clearWho by the smallest dies.
The Countryman and the Serpent
A Countryman, as Aesop certifies,A charitable man, but not so wise,One day in winter found,Stretched on the snowy ground,A chill'd or frozen Snake,As torpid as a stake,And, if alive, devoid of sense.He took him up, and bore him home,And, thinking not what recompenseFor such a charity would come,Before the fire stretch'd him,And back to being fetch'd him.The Snake scarce felt the genial heatBefore his heart with native malice beat.He raised his head, thrust out his forked tongue,Coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung."Ungrateful wretch!" said he, "is this the wayMy care and kindness you repay?Now you shall die." With that his axe he takes,And with two blows three serpents makes.Trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes;And, leaping up with all their might,They vainly sought to reunite.
'Tis good and lovely to be kind;But charity should not be blind;For as to wretchedness ingrate,You cannot raise it from its wretched state.
The Dairywoman and the Pot of Milk
A Pot of Milk upon her cushioned crown,Good Peggy hastened to the market town;Short-clad and light, with step she went,Not fearing any accident;Indeed to be the nimbler tripper,Her dress that day,The truth to say,Was simply petticoat and slipper.And, thus bedight,Good Peggy, light,Her gains already counted,Laid out the cashAt single dash,Which to a hundred eggs amounted.Three nests she made,Which, by the aidOf diligence and care, were hatched."To raise the chicks,We'll easily fix,"Said she, "beside our cottage thatched.The fox must getMore cunning yet,Or leave enough to buy a pig.With little care,And any fare,He'll grow quite fat and big;And then the priceWill be so niceFor which the pork will sell!'Twill go quite hardBut in our yardI'll bring a cow and calf to dwell—A calf to frisk among the flock!"The thought made Peggy do the same;And down at once the milk pot came,And perished with the shock.Calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu!Your mistress' face is sad to view—She gives a tear to fortune spilt;Then, with the down-cast look of guilt,Home to her husband empty goes,Somewhat in danger of his blows.
Who buildeth not, sometimes, in air,His cots, or seats, or castles fair?From kings to dairywomen—all—The wise, the foolish, great and small—Each thinks his waking dream the best.Some flattering error fills the breast:The world, with all its wealth, is ours,Its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers.Instinct with valour, where alone,I hurl the monarch from his throne;The people glad to see him dead,Elect me monarch in his stead,And diadems rain on my head.Some accident then calls me back,And I'm no more than simple Jack!
The Monkey and the Cat
Sly Bertrand and Ratto in company sat,(The one was a Monkey, the other a Cat,)Co-servants and lodgers:More mischievous codgersNe'er mess'd from a platter, since platters were flat.Was anything wrong in the house or about it,The neighbours were blameless—no mortal could doubt it;For Bertrand was thievish, and Ratto so nice,More attentive to cheese than he was to the mice.One day the two plunderers sat by the fire,Where chestnuts were roasting, with looks of desire.To steal them would be a right noble affair.A double inducement our heroes drew there—'Twould benefit them, could they swallow their fill,And then 'twould occasion to somebody ill.Said Bertrand to Ratto, "My brother, to-dayExhibit your powers in a masterly way,And take me these chestnuts, I pray.Which were I but otherwise fitted(As I am ingeniously wilted)For pulling things out of the flame,Would stand but a pitiful game.""'Tis done," replied Ratto, all prompt to obey;And thrust out his paw in a delicate way.First giving the ashes a scratch,He open'd the coveted batch;Then lightly and quickly impinging,He drew out, in spite of the singeing,One after another, the chestnuts at last—While Bertrand contrived to devour them as fast.A servant girl enters. Adieu to the fun.Our Ratto was hardly contented, says one.
No more are the princes, by flattery paidFor furnishing help in a different trade,And burning their fingers to bringMore power to some mightier king.
The Lioness and the Bear
The Lioness had lost her young;A hunter stole it from the vale;The forests and the mountains rungResponsive to her hideous wail.Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose,Could still the loud lament that roseFrom that grim forest queen.No animal, as you might think,With such a noise could sleep a wink.A Bear presumed to intervene."One word, sweet friend," quoth she,"And that is all, from me.The young that through your teeth have passed,In file unbroken by a fast,Had they nor dam nor sire?""They had them both." "Then I desire,Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot,While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat,To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?""I quiet!—I!—a wretch bereaved!My only son!—such anguish be relieved!No, never! All for me belowIs but a life of tears and woe!"—"But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?""Alas! 'tis Destiny that is my foe."
Such language, since the mortal fall,Has fallen from the lips of all.Ye human wretches, give your heed;For your complaints there's little need.Let him who thinks his own the hardest case,Some widowed, childless Hecuba behold,Herself to toil and shame of slavery sold,And he will own the wealth of heavenly grace.
The Cat and the Two Sparrows
Contemporary with a Sparrow tameThere lived a Cat; from tenderest age,Of both, the basket and the cageHad household gods the same.The Bird's sharp beak full oft provoked the Cat,Who play'd in turn, but with a gentle pat,His wee friend sparing with a merry laugh,Not punishing his faults by half.In short, he scrupled much the harm,Should he with points his ferule arm.The Sparrow, less discreet than he,With dagger beak made very free.Sir Cat, a person wise and staid,Excused the warmth with which he play'd:For 'tis full half of friendship's artTo take no joke in serious part.Familiar since they saw the light,Mere habit kept their friendship good;Fair play had never turn'd to fight,Till, of their neighbourhood,Another sparrow came to greetOld Ratto grave and Saucy Pete.Between the birds a quarrel rose,And Ratto took his side."A pretty stranger, with such blowsTo beat our friend!" he cried."A neighbour's sparrow eating ours!Not so, by all the feline powers."And quick the stranger he devours."Now, truly," saith Sir Cat,"I know how sparrows taste by that.Exquisite, tender, delicate!"This thought soon seal'd the other's fate.But hence what moral can I bring?For, lacking that important thing,A fable lacks its finishing:I seem to see of one some trace,But still its shadow mocks my chase.
The Sick Stag
A Stag, where stags abounded,Fell sick and was surroundedForthwith by comrades kind,All—pressing to assist,Or see, their friend, at least,And ease his anxious mind—An irksome multitude."Ah, sirs!" the sick was fain to cry,"Pray leave me here to die,As others do, in solitude.Pray, let your kind attentions cease,Till death my spirit shall release."But comforters are not so sent:On duty sad full long intent,When Heaven pleased, they went:But not without a friendly glass;That is to say, they cropp'd the grassAnd leaves which in that quarter grew,From which the sick his pittance drew.By kindness thus compell'd to fast,He died for want of food at last.
The men take off no trifling doleWho heal the body, or the soul.Alas the times! do what we will,They have their payment, cure or kill.
The Wolf and the Fox
"Dear Wolf," complain'd a hungry Fox,"A lean chick's meat, or veteran cock's,Is all I get by toil or trick:Of such a living I am sick.With far less risk, you've better cheer;A house you need not venture near,But I must do it, spite of fear.Pray, make me master of your trade.And let me by that means be madeThe first of all my race that tookFat mutton to his larder's hook:Your kindness shall not be repented."The Wolf quite readily consented."I have a brother, lately dead:Go fit his skin to yours," he said.'Twas done; and then the wolf proceeded:"Now mark you well what must be doneThe dogs that guard the flock to shun."The Fox the lessons strictly heeded.At first he boggled in his dress;But awkwardness grew less and less,Till perseverance gave success.His education scarce complete,A flock, his scholarship to greet,Came rambling out that way.The new-made Wolf his work began,Amidst the heedless nibblers ran,And spread a sore dismay.The bleating host now surely thoughtThat fifty wolves were on the spot:Dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled,And left a single sheep in pawn,Which Reynard seized when they were gone.But, ere upon his prize he fed,There crow'd a cock near by, and downThe scholar threw his prey and gown,That he might run that way the faster—Forgetting lessons, prize and master.
Reality, in every station,Will burst out on the first occasion.
The Woods and the Woodman
A certain Wood-chopper lost or brokeFrom his axe's eye a bit of oak.The forest must needs be somewhat sparedWhile such a loss was being repair'd.Came the man at last, and humbly pray'dThat the Woods would kindly lend to him—A moderate loan—a single limb,Whereof might another helve be made,And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade.Oh, the oaks and firs that then might stand,A pride and a joy throughout the land,For their ancientness and glorious charms!The innocent Forest lent him arms;But bitter indeed was her regret;For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet,Did nought but his benefactress spoilOf the finest trees that graced her soil;And ceaselessly was she made to groan,Doing penance for that fatal loan.
Behold the world-stage and its actors,Where benefits hurt benefactors!A weary theme, and full of pain;For where's the shade so cool and sweet,Protecting strangers from the heat,But might of such a wrong complain?Alas! I vex myself in vain;Ingratitude, do what I will,Is sure to be the fashion still.
The Shepherd and the Lion
The Fable Aesop tells is nearly this:A Shepherd from his flock began to miss,And long'd to catch the stealer of his sheep.Before a cavern, dark and deep,Where wolves retired by day to sleep,Which he suspected as the thieves,He set his trap among the leaves;And, ere he left the place,He thus invoked celestial grace:"O king of all the powers divine,Against the rogue but grant me this delight,That this my trap may catch him in my sight,And I, from twenty calves of mine,Will make the fattest thine."But while the words were on his tongue,Forth came a Lion great and strong.Down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said.With shivering fright half dead,"Alas! that man should never be awareOf what may be the meaning of his prayer!To catch the robber of my flocks,O king of gods, I pledged a calf to thee:If from his clutches thou wilt rescue me,I'll raise my offering to an ox."
The Animals Sick of the Plague
The sorest ill that Heaven hathSent on this lower world in wrath—The Plague (to call it by its name)One single day of whichWould Pluto's ferryman enrich—Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame.They died not all, but all were sick:No hunting now, by force or trick,To save what might so soon expire,No food excited their desire;Nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slayThe innocent and tender prey.The turtles fled;So love and therefore joy were dead.The Lion council held, and said:"My friends, I do believeThis awful scourge, for which we grieve,Is for our sins a punishmentMost righteously by Heaven sent.Let us our guiltiest beast resign,A sacrifice to wrath divine.Perhaps this offering, truly small,May gain me life and health of all.By history we find it notedThat lives have been just so devoted.Then let us all turn eyes within,And ferret out the hidden sin.Himself let no one spare nor flatter,But make clean conscience in the matter.For me, my appetite has play'd the gluttonToo much and often upon mutton.What harm had e'er my victims done?I answer, truly, None.Perhaps, sometimes, by hunger pressed,I've eat the shepherd with the rest.I yield myself, if need there be;And yet I think, in equity,Each should confess his sins with me;For laws of right and justice cry,The guiltiest alone should die.""Sire," said the Fox, "your majestyIs humbler than a king should be,And over-squeamish in the case.What! eating stupid sheep a crime?No, never, sire, at any time.It rather was an act of grace,A mark of honour to their race.And as to shepherds, one may swear,The fate your majesty describesIs recompense less full than fairFor such usurpers o'er our tribes."
Thus Reynard glibly spoke,And loud applause from flatterers broke,Of neither tiger, boar, nor bear,Did any keen inquirer dareTo ask for crimes of high degree;The fighters, biters, scratchers, allFrom every mortal sin were free;The very dogs, both great and small,Were saints, as far as dogs could be.
The Ass, confessing in his turn,Thus spoke in tones of deep concern:"I happen'd through a mead to pass;The monks, its owners, were at mass;Keen hunger, leisure, tender grass,And add to these the devil too,All tempted me the deed to do.I browsed the bigness of my tongue;Since truth must out, I own it wrong."
On this, a hue and cry arose,As if the beasts were all his foes:A Wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise,Denounced the Ass for sacrifice—The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout,By whom the plague had come, no doubt.His fault was judged a hanging crime."What? eat another's grass? O shame!The noose of rope and death sublime,For that offence, were all too tame!"And soon poor Grizzle felt the same.
Thus human courts acquit the strong,And doom the weak, as therefore wrong.
The Fowler, the Hawk, and the Lark
From wrongs of wicked men we drawExcuses for our own;Such is the universal law.Would you have mercy shown,Let yours be clearly known.
A Fowler's mirror served to snareThe little tenants of the air.A Lark there saw her pretty face,And was approaching to the place.A Hawk, that sailed on high,Like vapour in the sky,Came down, as still as infant's breath,On her who sang so near her death.She thus escaped the Fowler's steel,The Hawk's malignant claws to feel.While in his cruel way,The pirate plucked his prey,Upon himself the net was sprung."O Fowler," prayed he in the hawkish tongue,"Release me in thy clemency!I never did a wrong to thee."The man replied, "'Tis true;And did the Lark to you?"
Phoebus and Boreas
Old Boreas and the Sun, one day,Espied a traveller on his way,Whose dress did happily provideAgainst whatever might betide.The time was autumn, when, indeed,All prudent travellers take heed.The rains that then the sunshine dash,And Iris with her splendid sash,Warn one who does not like to soakTo wear abroad a good thick coat.Our man was therefore well bedightWith double mantle, strong and tight."This fellow," said the Wind, "has meantTo guard from every ill event;But little does he wot that ICan blow him such a blastThat, not a button fast,His cloak shall cleave the sky.Come, here's a pleasant game. Sir Sun!Wilt play?" Said Phoebus, "Done!We'll bet between us hereWhich first will take the gearFrom off this cavalier.Begin, and shut awayThe brightness of my ray.""Enough." Our blower, on the bet,Swelled out his pursy formWith all the stuff for storm—The thunder, hail, and drenching wet,And all the fury he could muster;Then, with a very demon's bluster,He whistled, whirled, and splashed,And down the torrents dashed,Full many a roof uptearingHe never did before,Full many a vessel bearingTo wreck upon the shore—And all to doff a single cloak.But vain the furious stroke;The traveller was stout,And kept the tempest out,Defied the hurricane,Defied the pelting rain;And as the fiercer roared the blast,His cloak the tighter held he fast.The Sun broke out, to win the bet;He caused the clouds to disappear,Refreshed and warmed the cavalier,And through his mantle made him sweat,Till off it came, of course,In less than half an hour;And yet the Sun saved half his power—So much does mildness more than force.
The Stag and the Vine
A Stag, by favour of a Vine,Which grew where suns most genial shine,And formed a thick and matted bowerWhich might have turned a summer shower,Was saved by ruinous assault.The hunters thought their dogs at fault,And called them off. In danger now no moreThe Stag, a thankless wretch and vile,Began to browse his benefactress o'er.The hunters listening the while,The rustling heard, came back,With all their yelping pack,And seized him in that very place."This is," said he, "but justice, in my case.Let every black ingrateHenceforward profit by my fate."The dogs fell to—'twere wasting breathTo pray those hunters at the death.They left, and we will not revile 'em,A warning for profaners of asylum.
The Peacock Complaining to Juno
The Peacock to the Queen of heavenComplained in some such words:"Great goddess, you have givenTo me, the laughing stock of birds,A voice which fills, by taste quite just,All nature with disgust;Whereas that little paltry thing,The nightingale, pours from her throatSo sweet and ravishing a note;She bears alone the honours of the spring."In anger Juno heard,And cried, "Shame on you, jealous bird!Grudge you the nightingale her voice,Who in the rainbow neck rejoice,Than costliest silks more richly tinted,In charms of grace and form unstinted—Who strut in kingly pride,Your glorious tail spread wideWith brilliants which in sheen doOutshine the jeweller's bow window?Is there a bird beneath the blueThat has more charms than you?No animal in everything can shine.By just partition of our gifts divine,Each has its full and proper share.Among the birds that cleave the airThe hawk's a swift, the eagle is a brave one,For omens serves the hoarse old raven,The rook's of coming ills the prophet;And if there's any discontent,I've heard not of it.Cease, then, your envious complaint;Or I, instead of making up your lack,Will take your boasted plumage from your back."
The Eagle and the Beetle
John Rabbit, by Dame Eagle chased,Was making for his hole in haste,When, on his way, he met a Beetle's burrow.I leave you all to thinkIf such a little chinkCould to a rabbit give protection thorough;But, since no better could be got,John Rabbit, there was fain to squat.Of course, in an asylum so absurd,John felt ere long the talons of the bird.But first the Beetle, interceding, cried,"Great queen of birds, it cannot be deniedThat, maugre my protection, you can bearMy trembling guest, John Rabbit, through the air,But do not give me such affront, I pray;And since he craves your grace,In pity of his case,Grant him his life, or take us both away;For he's my gossip, friend and neighbour."In vain the Beetle's friendly labour;The Eagle clutched her prey without reply,And as she flapped her vasty wings to fly,Struck down our orator and stilled him—The wonder is she hadn't killed him.The Beetle soon, of sweet revenge in questFlew to the old, gnarled mountain oak,Which proudly bore that haughty Eagle's nest.And while the bird was gone,Her eggs, her cherished eggs, he broke,Not sparing one.Returning from her flight, the Eagle's cryOf rage and bitter anguish filled the sky,But, by excess of passion blind,Her enemy she failed to find.Her wrath in vain, that year it was her fateTo live a mourning mother, desolate.The next, she built a loftier nest; 'twas vain;The Beetle found and dashed her eggs again.
John Rabbit's death was thus avenged anew.The second mourning for her murdered broodWas such that through the giant mountain wood,For six long months, the sleepless echo flew.The bird, once Ganymede, now madeHer prayer to Jupiter for aid;And, laying them within his godship's lap,She thought her eggs now safe from all mishap;The god his own could not but make them—No wretch would venture there to break them.And no one did. Their enemy, this time,Upsoaring to a place sublime,Let fall upon his royal robes some dirt,Which Jove just shaking, with a sudden flirt,Threw out the eggs, no one knows whither.When Jupiter informed her how th' eventOccurred by purest accident,The Eagle raved; there was no reasoning with her;She gave out threats of leaving court,To make the desert her resort,And other brav'ries of this sort.Poor Jupiter in silence heardThe uproar of his favourite bird.Before his throne the Beetle now appeared,And by a clear complaint the mystery cleared.The god pronounced the Eagle in the wrong.But still, their hatred was so old and strong,These enemies could not be reconciled;And, that the general peace might not be spoiled—The best that he could do—the god arrangedThat thence the Eagle's pairing should be changed,To come when Beetle folks are only foundConcealed and dormant under ground.
"As the impressions made upon a new vessel are not easily to be effaced, so here youth are taught prudence through the allurement of fable."
*Translated by Richard Andrew
The Bee and the Cuckoo
A Cuckoo, near a hive, one day,Was chaunting in his usual way,When to the door the Queen-bee ran,And, humming angrily, began:
"Do cease that tuneless song I hear—How can we work while thou art near?There is no other bird, I vow,Half so fantastical as thou,Since all that ugly voice can do,Is to sing on—'Cuckoo! cuckoo'!"
"If my monotony of songDispleases you, shall I be wrong,"The Cuckoo answered, "if I findYour comb has little to my mind?Look at the cells—through every oneDoes not unvaried sameness run?Then if in me there's nothing new,Dear knows, all's old enough in you."The Bee replied: "Hear me, my friend.In works that have a useful endIt is not always worth the whileTo seek variety in style,But if those works whose only viewsAre to give pleasure and amuse,Want either fancy or invention,They fail of gaining their intention."
The Rope Dancer and His Pupil
A Tight-rope Dancer who, they say,Was a great master in his way,Was tutoring a Youth to springUpon the slight and yielding string,Who, though a novice in the science,Had in his talents great reliance,And, as on high his steps he tried,Thus to his sage instructor cried:"This pole you call the counterpoiseMy every attitude annoys;I really cannot think it goodTo use this cumbrous piece of woodIn such a business as ours,An art requiring all our powers.Why should I with this burden couple?Am I not active, strong and supple?So—see me try this step without it,I'll manage better, do not doubt it—See, 'tis not difficult at all,"He said, and let the balance fall,And, taking fearlessly a bound,He tumbled headlong on the ground,With compound fracture of the shin,And six or seven ribs crushed in.
"Unhappy youth!" the Master said,"What was your truest help and aidImpediment you thought to be—For art and method if you flee,Believe me, ere your life is past,This tumble will not be your last."
The Squirrel and the Horse
A Squirrel, on his hind legs raised,Upon a noble Charger gazed,Who docile to the spur and rein,Went through his menage on the plain;Now seeming like the wind to fly,Now gracefully curvetting by."Good Sir," the little Tumbler said,And with much coolness, scratched his head,"In all your swiftness, skill and spirit,I do not see there's much of merit,For, all you seem so proud to do,I can perform, and better too;I'm light and nimble, brisk and sprightly,I trot, and skip, and canter lightly,Backward and forward—here and there,Now on the earth—now in the air—From bough to bough—from hill to hill,And never for a moment still."The Courser tossed his head on high;And made the Squirrel this reply:"My little nimble jealous friend,Those turns and tumbles without end—That hither, thither, restless springing—Those ups and downs and leaps and swinging—And other feats more wondrous far,Pray tell me, of what use they are?But what I do, this praise may claim—My master's service is my aim,And laudably I use for himMy warmth of blood and strength of limb."
The Bear, the Monkey, and the Pig
A Bear with whom a PiedmonteseHad voyaged from the Polar seas,And by whose strange unwieldy gambolsHe earned a living in his rambles,One day, upon his hind legs set,Began to dance a minuet.At length, being tired, as well he might,Of standing such a time upright,He to a Monkey near advancing,Exclaimed: "What think you of my dancing?""Really," he said, "ahem!" (I'm sureThis Monkey was a connoisseur)"To praise it, I'd indeed be glad,Only it is so very bad!""How!" said the Bear, not over pleased,"Surely, your judgment is diseased,Or else you cannot well have seenMy elegance of step and mien;Just look again, and say what gracesYou think are wanting in my paces.""Indeed, his taste is quite amazing,"Replied a Pig with rapture gazing;"Bravo! encore! well done! Sir Bear,By heaven, you trip as light as air;I vow that Paris never knewA dancer half so fine as you."
With some confusion, Bruin heardSuch praises by a Pig conferred;He communed with himself a while,And muttered thus, in altered style:"I must confess the Monkey's blameMade me feel doubtful of my fame;But since the Pigs their praise concede,My dancing must be bad, indeed!"
The Muff, the Fan, and the Parasol
"It sounds presumptuous and illTo boast of universal skill,But 'tis a scarce less fault, I own,To serve one sort of use alone."An idle Parasol, one day,Within a lady's chamber lay,And having nothing else to do,Addressing his companions two,Reclining near, a Muff and Fan,He thus insultingly began,Using a form of dialect,In which, if Aesop is correct,The Brass and Earthern Jars, of old,Conversed as down the stream they rolled."Oh! sirs, ye merit mighty praise!Yon Muff may do for wintry days,A corner is your lot in spring;While you, Fan, are a useless thingWhen cold succeeds to heat; for neitherCan change yourself to suit the weatherLearn, if you're able to possess,Like me a double usefulness,From winter's rain I help to shunAnd guard in summer from the sun."
The Duck and the Serpent
A self-conceited Duck, one day,Was waddling from her pond away:"What other race can boast," she cried,"The many gifts to ours allied?Earth—water—air—are all for us.When I am tired of walking thus,I fly, if so I take the whim,Or if it pleases me I swim."A cunning Serpent overheardThe boasting of the clumsy bird,And, with contempt and scorn inflamed,Came hissing up, and thus exclaimed:"It strikes me, ma'am, there's small occasionFor your just uttered proclamation;These gifts of yours shine rather dim,Since neither like the trout you swim,Nor like the deer, step swift and light,Nor match the eagle in your flight."They err who think that merit clingsTo knowledge slight of many things;He who his fellows would excel,Whate'er he does should do it well.
The Tea and the Sage
The Tea from China on her way,Met in some sea, or gulf, or bay—(Would to her log I might refer!)The Sage, who thus accosted her:"Sister—ahoy! ho—whither bound?""I leave," she said, "my native groundFor Europe's markets, where, I'm told,They purchase me by weight of gold.""And I," the Sage replied, "am seekingThe route to Canton or to Peking;Your Chinese use me largely inTheir cookery and medicine;They know my virtues, nor denyThe praise I ask, however high,While Europe scorns me, just indeed,As if I was the vilest weed.Go; and good luck t'ye; know full wellThat you are sure enough to sell,For nations all, (fools that they are!)Value whatever comes from afar,And give their money nothing loth,For anything of foreign growth."
The Swan and the Linnet
Piqued at the Linnet's song one day,The Swan exclaimed: "Leave off! I say—Be still, you little noisy thing!What!—dareyouchallenge me to sing,When there's no voice, however fine,Can match the melody of mine?"(The Linnet warbled on)—"D'ye hear?This impudence may cost you dear;I could with one harmonious noteForever stop your squeaking throat,And, if I do not choose to try,Respect my magnanimity.""I wish," at length the Linnet said,"I wish, to heaven, the proof were made;You cannot imagine how I longTo hear that rich and flowing songWhich though so sweet, by fame averred,I know not who has ever heard."
The Swan essayed to sing, but—whew!She screeched and squalled a note or two,Until the Linnet, it appears,Took to her wings to save her ears.'Tis strange when some of learned fameWillprove their title to the name,How often ill-placed praise they mar,And show how ignorant they are.
The Flint and the Steel
The Flint, with language harsh and high,Accused the Steel of crueltyIn striking her with all his might,Whene'er he wanted fire and light.The Steel the imputation spurned,And with such warmth the contest burnedThat both, at last, agreed to slipTheir contract of companionship."Good-by then, madame," said the one;"And since my company you shun,And to continue with me, doubt,We'll see what use you are without.""About as much as you will be,Good sir," she answered, "without me."