Chapter II: Part 2

But when to go away he tried,
The man held to him fast:
"Now that you are of use," he cried,
"You'll serve me to the last."

THE CAT AND THE OLD MOUSE.

The mice o'errun a certain house-- In every spot was found a mouse. So for a cat the mistress went, And to the kitchen puss was sent.

With diligence were many caught, And eaten up. The mice were taught That they some cunning must devise To keep the prey from pussy's eyes.

So on a certain shelf so high, To reach which puss in vain might try, There all the mice together got, And they resolved to leave it not.

So pussy found that to eat them, She must resort to stratagem. And holding fast by means of pegs, She hung suspended by the legs.

And downward she then hung her head, And looked as though she were quite dead-- And thus she sought to cheat the mice, And from their dwellings them entice.

A cunning mouse, well "up to trap," On pussy her two eyes did clap. "Aha!" she cried, "puss are you there? Within your reach, I would not dare-- Not e'en though it were proved by law, That your whole skin were stuffed with straw."

THE FOX AND THE VIZOR MASK.

A fox while walking out one day, Into a toy shop chanced to stray; Among the toys that stood arrayed, A vizor mask was there displayed, With rosy cheeks, complexion fair, And ruby lips and auburn hair, And eyes of blue, and Grecian nose; And many beauties to disclose, It seemed made. The fox, with sighs, Gazed on. "Ah, ah!" he cries, "Look at this head it naught contains, It has rare beauty, but no brains."

MORAL.

The accomplished beau, in air and mien how blest. His hat well fashioned, and his hair well dress'd-- But still undress'd within: to give him brains Exceeds his hatter's or his barber's pains.

THE GOOSE THAT LAID GOLDEN EGGS.

A man once had a goose I'm told, Which had laid each day an egg of gold. Now if this treasure were well spent, It might make any one content. But no! this man desired more; And though of eggs he had rich store; He thought one day the goose he'd kill, And then at once his pockets fill. So chasing goosey round and round, She soon was caught and firmly bound He opened her from neck to tail And then his folly did bewail. For not a single egg was there, And thus he lost this treasure rare.

THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.

A fox once took it in his pate, To go beyond a garden gate, To see if there grew on the trees, Some food his hunger to appease. So in he went and there he spied Some grapes. To reach them hard he tried. Now they were large and luscious too, Quite purple, and beautiful to view. So up he jumps with many a bound, Until exhausted to the ground, He falls. The grapes hang o'er his head, In clusters large, "Well! well!" he said, "You are but green, and hard as stone, And all my time away is thrown. I'll leave you to your solitude, You are not fit to make me food."

THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL.

A very thin and hungry mouse,
Into a granary stole,
Where stood a basket full of grain,
In which was a small hole.

After much squeezing he got in,
And there he ate his fill;
But when he tried to issue out,
The hole seemed smaller still.

A weasel who stood looking on,
Cried out in sneering tone,
"You can't come out, my little dear,
Until you've smaller grown.

"You were half-starved when you crept in,
And now you are quite stout;
So cease to eat until you can,
As you got in, get out."

THE MISER AND HIS TREASURE.

In a retired spot,
A miser had got
A very large treasure in store.
And it was his delight,
Each morn and each night,
To count it and add to it more.

He had made the hole deep,
And he thought none would peep,
To find out his secret retreat.
But a servant so sly,
His master did spy,
And thought that his cunning he'd beat.

So one dark winter night,
He took out his light,
And to the field hastened away;
And he laughed in his sleeve,
To think how 'twould grieve
His master to miss it next day.

And indeed the distress
Of his lord you may guess,
For words can't describe it, I'm sure.
He tore out his hair,
Clasp'd his hands in despair
And cried he was ruined and poor.

A man passing by,
His grief chanced to spy;
And told him, "'tis useless to mourn.
You can look at the hole,
To solace your soul,
Although all the money is gone."

THE JACKDAW AND THE PEACOCKS.

Thus Esop has the folly shown, To build on merits not your own.

A jackdaw, empty, pert and vain, Who held his equals in disdain, One day some beauteous feathers found, Left by a peacock on the ground. When in the gaudy plumage dress'd, The shallow thing his fortune bless'd; With stately gesture strode along, And boldly join'd the peacock throng; Who, his impertinence to pay, First stripp'd him, and then chas'd away. The crest-fall'n coxcomb homeward sneaks, And his forsaken comrades seeks; Where'er he comes, with scorn they leave him, And not a jackdaw will receive him. Says one he had disdain'd, at last, "Such as thou art, thou mightst have pass'd, And hadst not now been cast behind, The scorn and scandal of thy kind."

THE SPARROW AND THE HARE.

Who dares another's ills deride, Had best against his own provide. An eagle pouncing on a hare, With piercing cries puss rends the air; When a pert sparrow from a tree, Insulted thus her misery: "Ho, ho! poor puss, thy boasted speed Has failed thee, then, in time of need!" Scarce had she spoke, when, like an arrow, A vulture darted on the sparrow. Ere the poor hare resign'd her breath, "This sight," she cried, "consoles in death --That thou, who hast my woes derided, My last of miseries hast divided!"

THE ASS AND THE LION.

Vain boasters credit may surprise, Till known; who knows them will despise.

A lion once a hunting took An ass, and hid him in a nook. To drive the forest made him bray, That he might seize the passing prey. Long-ears set up such horrid cries, That every creature trembling flies; The lion, practised in his trade, Had soon abundant carnage made; Satiate with spoil, the ass he calls, And bid him cease his hideous brawls. The king he found with slaughter weary, Surrounded by his noble quarry, And, puffed with self-importance, said: "Sir, to some purpose I have bray'd!" "No ass more famously could do," The lion says, "but thee I knew, Or I might have been frightened too."

THE STAG AND THE FOUNTAIN.

That good from bad men rarely know, This apologue may serve to show:

A stag upon a fountain's side, Beheld his branching horns with pride; While of his spindle-shanks asham'd, Their disproportioned form he blam'd. Sudden he hears the hunter's cries, And to the forest nimbly flies. The woods receive their well-known guest. His tangled horns, his feet arrest; The hounds approach, and seize their prey; Who, dying, thus was heard to say: "Wretch that I am! too late I learn, How little we the truth discern! What would have saved me, I despis'd, And what has been my ruin, priz'd!"

THE EAGLE, THE CAT, AND THE SOW.

Her nest on high an eagle made Lower a cat her kittens laid; And at the bottom of the tree A sow dispos'd her progeny. Vile puss to gain her wicked ends, Much love for both of them pretends. First to the eagle's aerie mounts, And thus to her false alarms recounts: "Madam, in truth our dangerous state, 'Tis with reluctance I relate; But things are really gone so far, Conceal them I no longer dare. Night after night the treacherous sow Our tree has undermined below; Ere long it cannot choose but fall, And then she hopes to eat us all." Successful when she saw her lies, Down to the bristly sow she hies; "My worthy neighbor!" crying out, "I pray you, mind what you're about, For to a certainty I know, The eagle waits but till you go, (The thing with great concern I say,) To make your little ones her prey." Suspicious dread when thus inspir'd, Puss to her hole all day retir'd; Stealing at night on silent paw, To stuff her own and kittens' maw. To stir nor sow nor eagle dare. What more? fell hunger ends their care; And long the mischief-making beast With her base brood on carrion feast.

Learn hence, ye simples, ere too late, What ills the double-tongued create.

THE EAGLE, THE RAVEN AND THE TORTOISE.

Who in their foe united find Force, art, and a remorseless mind, Whate'er their strength and prowess be, To perish stand in jeopardy.

An eagle once a tortoise held, Safe in his horny house concealed, Which he in vain essayed to break With all the fury of his beak. As with his prey he wing'd the air, A wily raven ventur'd near: "Your prize is excellent," says she, "And if you'll give a share to me, I know, for all his iron hide, How we the dainty may divide." The bargain made, "On yonder wall, Down," says the raven, "let him fall." He listen'd to the hoary sinner; And they on turtle made their dinner.

Thus fraud and force their purpose gain, And nature fortifies in vain.

THE FLY AND THE HORSE.

A fly upon a coach-box seated, With arrogance the horses rated. "Advance!" cries out the paltry thing, "Unless you mean to feel my sting." "Not thee we heed," a horse replied, "But him whose skilful hand can guide The rein and whip. We better know Than thee when we should stop or go."

Thus men without or sense or weight, Think themselves born to rule the state.

ESOP AT PLAY.

When an Athenian Esop saw, Playing with school-boys once at taw, The man with laughter shook his sides; Esop the laughter thus derides: "Of this slack bow before you laid, The meaning, sprightly sir," he said, "Explain!" (A crowd had gather'd round.) Surpris'd, the man no answer found: He puzzled long, but all his wit Could on no explanation hit. The laugh on Esop's side; says he, "Why you this bow unbended see, It is because it needs must break, If always bent; so we must take Due relaxation, that the mind Its vigor may when wanted find."

He who in harmless sport employs A vacant hour, is not unwise.

THE OLD PILOT AND THE SAILORS.

To one complaining of his fate, Esop this fable did relate.

A ship by raging tempests toss'd, The seamen, giving all for lost, 'Twas who should weep and pray the most. Grown calm at once the sky and sea, They shout in joyful extacy. The pilot, from experience wise, The giddy crew did thus advise: "Nor much rejoice, nor over grieve, But decently what comes receive; Since good and ill succeed so near, Meet ill with hope and good with fear."

THE CRAB AND HER DAUGHTER.

Not what they hear, but what they see, Will children and domestics be.

A crab one day her daughter chid; "You never do as you are bid, Have I not told you o'er and o'er, That awkward gait to use no more? Learn, ninny, once for all to know, Folks forward and not backward go." "Mamma," says Miss, "how strange you talk! Have I not learn'd from you to walk? Were I to move the other way, How could I follow you I pray?"

THE SUN AND THE WIND.

Phebus and Boreas from on high Upon the road a traveller spy, Wearing a cloak for fear of rain. Says Boreas, "his precaution's vain 'Gainst me, I'll show you for a joke How soon I'll make him quit his cloak." "Come on," says Phebus, "let us see Who best succeeds, or you or me." The wind to blow so fierce began, He almost had upset his man; But still his cloak, for all his roar, Was wrapp'd more closely than before. When Boreas what he could had done, "Now for my trial," says the Sun, And with his beams so warm'd the air, The man his mantle could not bear, But open'd first, then threw aside.

Learn hence, unbending sons of pride Persuasive manners will prevail, When menaces and bluster fail.

THE TWO POTS.

Forc'd on a stream to make their way, To pot of brass says pot of clay: "Since brass is stout and clay is frail, Pray let us at a distance sail. Not your intention that I fear Sir Brass," adds humble Earthenware, "While the winds leave you to yourself; But woe betide my ribs of delf, If it should dash our sides together; For mine would be the damage, whether Their force should you or I impel; To pray proceed, and fare you well."

Learn hence, ye folks of low estate, To keep due distance from the great.

HERCULES AND THE CARTER.

His cart bemired, a carter pray'd To Hercules to come and aid. "Up!" says the God, "thou lazy dog. And lift the axle from the bog; Think'st thou Gods nothing have to do But listen to such knaves as you?"

THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER.

From a wise emmet, well sustain'd On what her industry had gain'd, A grasshopper some aid desir'd. "What was his trade?" the ant inquir'd. "I've none," the grasshopper replied; "I range the country far and wide, Singing all day from door to door, And have no time to form a store." Shutting her granaries, says the ant, "No wonder, friend, you are in want; He who all summer sings, may chance In winter to be forc'd to dance."

To spend his time in idle song, The thoughtless grasshopper was wrong; And not to give a small supply, The emmet mean and niggardly.

THE CROW AND THE PITCHER.

Patience and ingenuity The want of natural means supply.

A thirsty crow some water found, But in a vessel so profound, That with her neck at utmost stretch, A single drop she could not reach. Then stones she in the pitcher places, Which to the top the water raises; And by this innocent device Her thirst at leisure satisfies.

THE ANGLER AND THE LITTLE FISH.

An angler a small salmon caught, Who with much earnestness besought That he would let her go: says she, "What can you do with such as me! Next year when grown a little bigger, I in your bag might make a figure." The prudent man replied, "No, no; Into my pouch, though small, you go. A bird in hand is better far, Than two that in the bushes are."

THE FROG AND THE FOX.

Let us our own defects amend, Ere to guide others we pretend.

A sallow, wrinkl'd, spotted frog, To turn physician left the bog. "He every malady could cure," He said, "that animals endure." "First on yourself your science show," Says Reynard: "that the world may know Your skill and knowledge, pray begin Of those foul spots to clear your skin: For while you look so sick and pale, To vend your drugs you'll ne'er prevail."

THE APE AND HER YOUNG ONES.

An ape had cubs; one much she lov'd, The other small affection prov'd. Alarm'd, she hears the hunter's cries; And catching up her darling flies: Through fear she stumbled o'er some stones And broke the little favorite's bones; The other to her back who clung Uninjured went with her along.

Mothers, beware! the fondl'd child By too much tenderness is spoil'd; While those who hardships have endur'd, To suffer life are best inur'd.

THE FIR TREE AND THE THORN.

The lowly and contented state Is farthest from the wounds of fate.

A fir tree upon a humble thorn From his high top look'd down with scorn. "For loftiest fanes we grow," she said, "Of us the tallest masts are made, While thou, poor bramble, canst produce Nothing of ornament or use." "Great tree," the modest thorn replied, "When the sharp axe shall pierce your side, In vain you then may wish to be Unsought-for, and unknown like me."

THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.

Fools may on other fools impose; The sage their real value knows.

An ass once found a lion's skin, And rolling up himself therein, From every fold that he came nigh, Made flocks, and herds, and shepherds fly. Ranging the country round, at last He meets his master where he pass'd, Who long-ears instantly descries Through his magnificent disguise: Laying his cudgel on his side, "Get home, thou stupid fool," he cried: "With others for a lion pass; I know thee for an arrant ass."

THE DOG IN THE MANGER.

A mastiff in a stable lay, Couch'd on a manger full of hay. When any thing drew near to eat, He quickly forced it to retreat. An ox then cried, "detested creature, How vile is thy malignant nature, Which will not others let enjoy That which thou never canst employ!"

THE STAG AND THE VINE.

A stag pursued with horn and hound In a thick vineyard shelter found. Soon as he thought the danger past, He on the vine began to feast. The huntsman hears the rustling noise, And through half-eaten leaves descries His branching horns, the pack recalls, And merited the creature falls To his ingratitude a prey.

Those their protectors who betray, Unpitying, all the world will see Consign'd to death and infamy.

THE MISCHIEVOUS DOG.

Titles and ribands, bought with shame, Folly and vice but more proclaim. A man who own'd a vicious dog, Upon his collar fix'd a log, Which the vain cur supposed to be A note of worth and dignity. A mastiff saw his foolish pride; "Puppy," indignantly he cried, "That thing is put about your neck Your mischievous designs to check; And to who see you to declare, Of what a currish race you are."

THE SICK MAN AND THE PHYSICIAN.

Woe to the land where those who guide, To please the people's foolish pride, Persuade them there is nought to dread, When ruin threatens o'er their head.

A patient, ask'd to tell his pains, Of thirst and shivering cold complains. "'Tis very good," the doctor said; "He has but to remain in bed, And take the med'cines I shall send, The thing will soon be at an end." When next the question was repeated, The man complain'd he much was heated; "This," cried the leech, "is better still!" And thus to each increasing ill, "That it was going well," he cried, Till the poor martyr sunk and died.

THE FARMER AND HIS SONS.

Work, work, my boys, with hand and mind! Your labors you will fruitful find.

A husbandman, about to die, Call'd on his children to come nigh: "I leave," he says, "a small estate, But wherewithal to make it great: For know, a treasure it contains, If you to search will take the pains." He died. The sons dug all the ground, And there no hidden treasure found; But so productive was the soil, The crop by far o'erpaid the toil. Says one, when they the corn had sold, "This treasure 'twas our sire foretold!"

THE SWALLOW AND THE BIRDS.

Those who of guides stand most in need, Are least inclin'd advice to heed.

A travell'd swallow, learn'd and wise, To all his feather'd neighbors cries: "See you yon laborers there below; What is it, think ye, that they sow? 'Tis hemp, my friends; of which are made The nets that for us all are laid; The moment yonder men are gone, Then pick the seeds up one by one." The gay inhabitants of air For his precaution little care. The seedling sprung; again the swallow Urges his good advice to follow; Again his counsel they deride. The plants full grown, and cut, and dried, Beaten and spun, the nets were made, And the unwary birds betray'd, Regretting, in their hapless fate, Their incredulity too late.

Learn hence the danger to foresee, Nor wait for their maturity.

THE BOASTING TRAVELLER.

A fellow who abroad had been, Told marvels he had done and seen: "When resident at Rhodes," he said, "A leap of twenty yards he made Over a barrier ten feet high; A dozen witnesses were by." "Come on," says one, at the same table, "Yon ditch and fence to o'erleap you're able. They're not, by much, so high or wide; Here let the experiment be tried. Suppose yourself at Rhodes, and we Your faithful witnesses will be." The man replied, "that he to-day Was not quite well," and stole away.

Who boast of what they cannot do Both knavery and folly show.

THE OLD WOMAN AND HER MAIDS.

Better known evils to endure, Than seek by wrong a doubtful cure.

A thrifty dame her maids awoke At the first crowing of the cock. They of such early rising tir'd, To kill the harmless cock conspir'd. The dame, to hear him crow in wait, Next morning lay in bed till eight. But when she knew the trick they had play'd, She caused a larum to be made, And rung it daily in their ears Two hours before the dawn appears.

INDUSTRY AND SLOTH.

Insidious sloth her object gains, If but a hearing she obtains.

A youth ask'd why so long in bed? "I listen to a cause," he said; "As soon as I unclose my eyes. First industry excites to rise." "Up, up," she says, "to meet the sun, Your task of yesterday's undone!" "Lie still," cries sloth, "it is not warm, An hour's more sleep can do no harm; You will have time your work to do, And leisure for amusement too."

THE SHEPHERD TURNED MERCHANT.

Fair weather sailors, keep at home, For be assur'd the storm will come.

A shepherd of an inland breed Brought to the coast his flocks to feed; The beauty of a summer sea, A merchant tempted him to be. He sold his sheep, and with the sale Purchas'd of dates an ample bale. He sail'd; a furious tempest rose; Into the sea his dates he throws; And swimming from the bark to land, Arrives half dead upon the strand. To one, soon afterwards who stood Pleas'd with the calmness of the flood, "Aye, aye," the simple shepherd said "With dates again it would be fed."

THE SPENDTHRIFT AND THE SWALLOW.

A fool who all had thrown away, When wandering pennyless one day, Perceived a swallow. "Ho," says he, "Summer is come at last I see!" And to a Jew his mantle sold. Next day it was severely cold: Starv'd as he walk'd, the bird he found Frozen to death upon the ground. "Ah! what a fool was I," he cried, "When on one swallow I relied!"

Those who too readily believe, For their credulity may grieve.

THE EAGLE AND THE CROW.

The wise well know their force to weigh, Nor what they cannot do, essay.

A carrion crow an eagle saw Seize on a lamb with beak and claw. Conceiving he could better do, He pounces on a well fed ewe; But he and not the sheep was caught; For when to fly with it he sought, His feet entangled in the wool, The shepherd seiz'd the helpless fool.

THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERD'S BOY.

In wantonness a shepherd's boy Alarm'd the neighbor's with his cry; "The wolf! the wolf!" And when they came, Of their lost labor made his game. At last the wolf when there indeed, His real cries they did not heed; He and his flock a prey were made, And for his lies he dearly paid.

Those who are known to have deceiv'd, When they speak truth, are not believ'd.

THE FOX WITHOUT A TAIL.

Fashions and modes we often see, Made to conceal deformity: Those to whom nature has been kind, Should leave such fopperies behind.

A fox who in a trap was taken, Resign'd his brush to save his bacon. Ashamed that all the world should know His cunning had been cheated so, To an assembly of the nation He made the following oration: "I oft have thought the tails we wear A troublesome appendage are; Where's their utility, I pray? They serve but to obstruct our way. Nor ornamental do I find, To drag this ponderous length behind. For my part, without more debate, I move our tails we amputate." "Please, sir, to show yourself behind," (Says one to smoke the jest inclin'd, And who discovered what it was) "We there perhaps shall see the cause, Ere we your prudent counsel take, Why you this curious motion make?" His bare posteriors when they found, Loud laughter shook the benches round; Nor could the fox without a tail To introduce the mode prevail.

THE MEN AND THE OYSTER.

Any partition better make, Than _all_ the hungry law should take.

By the sea side two travellers found A fine large oyster on the ground; His claim each obstinately lays: "I saw it first," one eager says; "I pick'd it up," the other cries; "Mine"--"Mine is certainly the prize." They talk'd as usual, loud and long; And more they reason'd, more were wrong; Till they a neighboring lawyer see Passing, and mutually agree To take him for their referee. With legal dignity of face, He heard them both relate the case; "Your claims are good," then gravely said, "And a brave lawsuit would have made Which to prefer I cannot tell, So each of you must take a shell; And, as the oyster is but one, That I myself will swallow down; To stink it otherwise had lain, And all your cash been spent in vain; You're cheaply off; go home content; And faith the fish was excellent."

THE SHEPHERD AND HIS DOG.

A dog his master so deceiv'd, He was the best of curs believ'd. The flock was trusted to his care, Whene'er the shepherd was not there. And in the house, a favored guest, He always fed upon the best. The treacherous guard his charge betray'd And on the sheep in secret prey'd. The master, when the crime was prov'd, With double indignation mov'd, About his neck the halter tied Himself: the dog for mercy cried; "You let the wolf escape," he said, "Who much more slaughter oft has made." "Wretch!" says the man, "the wolf declares Hostility, and boldly dares; He has no confidence abused: But, coward, thou my trust hast used: Against myself! and on this tree Without delay shalt hanged be."

THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE JUSTICE.

The law still lends the readiest aid, When well her ministers are paid.

A countryman, by power oppress'd, Seeking to have his wrongs redress'd, Oft to the justice went in vain; Admittance he could ne'er obtain, But still was bid again to come; "Unwell"--"engag'd"--or "not home!" The wily rustic took a kid One day, and in a basket hid; And when he to the house drew near, Began to pinch him by the ear, So that the porter, from the hall, Might hear the little fatling squall; The man his master's mind who knew, Open'd the door and let him through. The shepherd, laughing as he pass'd, Says to his kid, "Thy cries at last An audience for my wrongs obtain; Thy flesh, perhaps, redress will gain."

THE COCK AND THE FOX.

The world applauds the lucky hit, When it beholds the biter bit.

A treach'rous fox invited down A cock, who on a tree had flown. "Do you not know, my friend," says he, "Bird, beast, fish, reptile, man agree, To live henceforth in amity? Come down and celebrate the day." "Troth," quoth the cock, "you truly say; For hounds I see come o'er the dell, With open mouths, the news to tell." "Adieu," says Ren. "'Tis best to go; Those dogs the treaty may not know."

THE BLIND MAN AND THE LAME.

Who kind assistance give and take, Life's arduous journey best will make.

Two men, one blind, the other lame, To pass a ford together came. The stream was rapid, and the way Obliquely thwart the current lay; To his companion says the blind, "Yon winding road I ne'er shall find." "Nor my poor limbs," the lame replied, "The current's rapid force abide." "Come," says the blind, "my loins are strong, I'll bear you on my back along, While you to guide me give the word;" And thus they safely cross'd the ford.

THE MAN AND THE SERPENT.

There's in the world a cursed race, Of nature so perverse and base, If from the gallows you should save, A dangerous enemy you have.

A countryman a serpent found, Stiffen'd with frost upon the ground, And took her home; but when the fire Began new vigor to inspire, Swelling her neck with angry eyes, She fills the cot with hissing cries. The rustic then his axe did take, "Is this then the return you make? Is this your gratitude?" he said, And knock'd the reptile on the head.

THE TWO STREAMS.

Those who display much dash and din, Have seldom any thing within.

A weary traveller, one day, Cross'd o'er a river in his way; Alarm'd to see the foaming tide Dashing o'er rocks from side to side, Nevertheless, his course to keep, He ventur'd in with trembling step; And found the water neither deep, Nor footing bad; and got well o'er. When he had travell'd some leagues more, He to another river came, That smoothly flowed, a silent stream: This he thought easily to pass; But ere he in the middle was, He plunged into a gulf profound, And for his feet no bottom found; But, forced to swim with all his might, Got to the shore in piteous plight.

THE SOT AND HIS WIFE.

Inveterate sin is seldom cur'd.

A wife had long a sot endur'd, Who all his time in taverns spent, While his affairs in ruin went. Once as insensible he lay, She dress'd him in a corpse's array, And with the undertaker's aid, Into a burying vault convey'd. The fumes dispersed, the man awakes; All for reality he takes. When by the glimmering of a lamp He saw his mansion drear and damp, Reflecting how his life had pass'd, A forced repentance came at last. The wife, with suited voice and dress, Presented an infernal mess: "Good Trap, pray take away your meat; I have no appetite to eat," He cried, "but faith I'm devilish dry: Can't you a bowl of wine supply?" The woman, seeing all was vain, Restor'd him to his casks again: Consol'd with certainty, that he Ere long a real corpse must be.

THE FARMER AND HIS QUARRELSOME SONS.

Three sons an honest farmer had; And it so happen'd, ne'er a lad Could with the other two agree; All quarrelling perpetually. Their time in idle contest spent, Garden and farm to ruin went; And the good farmer and his wife Led but a miserable life. One day as this unhappy sire Sat musing by his evening fire, He saw some twigs in bundles stand, Tied for the basket-maker's hand. Taking up one: "My boys," says he, "Which is the strongest, let me see; He who this bundle breaks in twain, The preference, and this prize shall gain," (Showing a pair of Sunday shoes.) The rivals every effort use In vain. Their utmost force when tried, The father took the twigs untied, And giving to them one by one, The work immediately was done. "Yon twigs," he says, "that broken lie, This useful lesson may supply: That those in amity who live, And succor to each other give, Double their forces to resist Oppression, and their work assist."

THE FIG TREE AND THE FLOWERING SHRUB.

Flowers which many leaves display, In fruitless beauty fade away.

Cries one of these, with saucy sneer, To a plain fig-tree growing near, "How comes it, honest friend, that thou Dost in the spring no blossoms show?" Says he, "I keep them out of view, For fear I should resemble you, And in the autumn nought produce Of permanence and solid use."

Who soon and much essay to shine, May dread a premature decline.

THE FARMER AND THE LANDLORD.

A farmer of an honest fame, One morning to his landlord came: "Alas, my lord," he weeping said, "Gored by my bull, your ox is dead. What must be done?" "The case is plain," Replies the lord; "the creature slain, The owner of the bull must pay; Let it be done without delay." "Heav'n give your worship long to live! I hope you will a good one give, For mine was good!" "How! your's, my friend? Let me your story comprehend: Your bull, you say, my ox has gored?" "Forgive me the mistake, my lord, In my confusion I have made; Mine was the ox that must be paid; But 'tis all one--what's just for me The same must for your worship be: I'll tell the steward what you say." "Not yet--we'll think of it to-day. Further inquiry must be had; Perhaps your fences were but bad; Perhaps--but come again to-morrow." The honest laborer saw with sorrow, That justice wears a different face, When for themselves men put the case.

THE SCHOOL-BOY AND THE MONITOR.

At play on Thames's verdant side A school boy fell into the tide, Where providentially there stood A willow, bending o'er the flood. Buoy'd on its branch, he floating lay, The monitor pass'd by that way. The lad entreats his life to save: The Don replies with aspect grave, "Sirrah, what business had you there? How vain is all our watchful care! You never heed a word we say; Your disobedience you shall pay!" "First," says the boy, "pray stretch your hand: I'll hear you when I come to land."

This is for those, with vain parade Who give advice, instead of aid.

THE MILLER AND HIS ASS.

A rustic bringing to the fair An ass, that he might show him there, Sleek and well looking let him trot; He followed with his son on foot. The first they met upon the road, At our pedestrians laugh'd loud, "Look at those two legged asses," cried, "Who trudge on foot when they might ride!" The father with the hint complies: Makes the boy mount. Now other cries Assail their ears; by graybeards blam'd; "Sirrah, you ought to be asham'd To ride and let your father walk!" Again he listened to their talk. The sire got up, the youth got down; When passing through a country town, At every door the mothers said, "A murrain light on thy old head! Hast thou no bowels for thy kind? At least take up the lad behind." This done they next were thus address'd: "Two lubbers on a little beast? They fitter are to carry him!" Complying with this senseless whim, Upon a pole his feet in air, The ass they on their shoulders bear. Now laughing shouts spread far and wide. The ass's ligatures untied, "Proceed, my son," then said the man: "To please the world, do all we can, Since 'tis impossible, you see, To please ourselves content we'll be."

THE DREAMER AND HIS SON.

Mortals bring down upon their head The very miseries most they dread.

The only son of a rich knight In hunting daily took delight. The father living in alarm, Lest he should come to any harm, Dream'd that he saw him on the ground, Rent with the lion's fatal wound. The youth, allow'd to hunt no more, Impatiently confinement bore. Remarking, one unlucky day, In the fine chamber where he lay, A lion painted on the wall, "Thou art," he cried, "the cause of all." With idle rage the wall he struck, And in his hand an iron stuck, Which piercing bones and sinews through, Fester'd and then a gangrene grew. And thus the father's ill-tim'd care Deprived him of his son and heir.

THE OLD MAN AND DEATH.

Though life be welcome to the wise, Death cannot take him by surprise; Aware that every day and hour He holds but at the tyrant's power, That beauty, talents, worth, are vain. A moment's respite to obtain. Nothing more known, and yet how rare It is with courage to prepare For this inevitable day! All hope a little more delay.

One who had suffer'd many a year, And to a century drew near, At last complain'd, that unawares Death came, unsettled his affairs: "My will is not completely made; A little time," he trembling said, "A little longer let me live; Some warning 'tis but fair to give! My grandson is expected home; At least pray, let the doctor come." "Poor helpless driveller!" Death replied, "Ten years ago thou should'st have died! Thy friends, thy foes, thyself outliv'd: Almost an age thou hast surviv'd: Some who their day had scarce begun. Others beneath their noon-tide sun-- Time's deepest lines engrave thy brow, And dost thou hesitate to go? Idiot, what warning would'st thou have? One foot already in the grave: Sight, hearing, feeling, day by day, Sunk gradual in a long decay. I blame myself for my neglect; Thou'st not a moment to expect!"

When failing nature warns, the sage Sees death a refuge from old age; And rising from life's lengthened feast, Willing retires, a sated guest.

THE PAINTER.

When candid critics deign to blame Their index points the road to fame, But when dull fools your works admire, Throw them at once into the fire.

In Rome there dwelt, in days of yore, A painter deep in graphic lore. His touch was firm, his outline true, And every rule full well he knew. A Mars he painted, meant to show How far his learned skill could go. The work complete, he call'd a friend, On whose good taste he could depend. The friend was honest, spoke his thought, And fairly pointed out the fault, "That overwork'd in every part, It show'd too much laborious art." The painter argued for his rules, And cited maxims from the schools; Still the judicious critic held The labor should be more conceal'd. While they disputed on his stricture, A coxcomb came to see the picture: Entering, he cries, "Good heavens, how fine! The piece, I swear, is quite divine! The sword, the knot, the belt, the leather, The steel, the gold, the silk, the feather, Are perfect nature, all together!" The painter, reddening with despite, Whispers, "My friend, by Jove, you're right. 'Tis not enough our art to know, Till less of it we learn to show; My picture must be done again I see, to please discerning men."

THE COBBLER AND THE NABOB.

A cobbler, who had fix'd his stall Against a nabob's palace wall, Work'd merrily as others play, And sung and whistled all the day. A prey to many an anxious care, Less merry was the lord, by far; And often in the night he thought It hard, sleep was not to be bought: And if tow'rds morn he got a doze, The cobbler troubled his repose. One day he bid the man attend-- And, "Well," says he, "my honest friend, How is it that so well you thrive? You seem the happiest man alive. Pray, what may be the profit clear, That you can earn within the year?" "What in a twelvemonth I can earn, My lord, was never my concern; 'Tis quite enough," the cobbler said, "If I can gain my daily bread." "Take then this note"--'twas twenty pound; "But sing not with so shrill a sound, Good man," the generous nabob cries, "When early to your work you rise; For then I want to close my eyes." Delighted to his stall he went: But now he first felt discontent; All day he neither work'd nor ate, For thinking of his happy fate. At night, when he retir'd to bed, He plac'd the note beneath his head. But could not sleep a single wink, What he should do with it, to think; And every little noise he heard, That folks were come to rob him, fear'd. Living in constant dread to all, Who did but look towards his stall, So lean and sallow he was grown, The man was hardly to be known. At last he begg'd the lord to see: "Take back your present, sir," said he, "Riches, I find, are not for me. To-morrow I my song renew; Not less my gratitude to you: And care henceforward I will take, My chaunts your slumber do not break."

THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.

A man a palfrey long possess'd, A quiet, serviceable beast; Spavin'd, indeed, and somewhat blind, But still his way he well could find; And if he stumbled now and then, Was soon upon his feet again. In short, for many a year, the pack Had borne him safely on his back. Till riding out one fatal day, He overheard some coxcombs say, "For such a man, 'tis quite a shame, To mount a horse old, blind, and lame." "Aye," replied one, "I know a steed Would nobly carry him indeed; Young, vigorous, beautiful, and sound; His like is nowhere to be found." In evil hour an ear he lent, To view this boasted courser went: Unwary on his back he got, And tried to put him on a trot; He rear'd and plung'd, and leap'd about, Till from his seat he shook him out, Then kicking, pitch'd him o'er his head, And laid him on the pavement dead. The vicious creature left at large, On all his fury would discharge; This from behind his heels surprise, Trod under foot, that sprawling lies: Another, who would seize the reins, Is bit and mangled for his pains. But want of nourishment and rest Will tame at last the fiercest beast; And rage itself suspends its course, Exhausted by its proper force. Light'ning no more his eyes inspire, No more his nostrils snorted fire; At bay he stood, fatigu'd and lank, With flagging ears, and beating flank. An active jockey, stout and able, Contracts to bring him to the stable; Soothes, and his neck begins to pat, And the corn rattles in his hat; By hunger drawn, repell'd by fear, The courser neighs, retires, comes near; Lur'd with the smell, begins to eat. The jockey vaulted in the seat: With vigorous hand the bridle plied, And stuck the rowels in his side. Some bounds and curvets still he made, But soon submissively obey'd. The horseman who such skill had shown, Resolv'd to keep him for his own: Aware that constant work alone Can keep this wicked spirit down He night and day is on his back, To lead him to some new attack, No road is safe, nor far nor near, This highwayman is every where.

THE GOOD MINISTER.

An honest minister disgrac'd, (Such are not easily replac'd,) Found the sweet leisure in his fields, To virtuous minds retirement yields. The king, who had his foes believ'd, The loss of him ere long perceiv'd. To bring him back again intent, To his retreat alone he went: "My friend, you must return with me," He said, "your value now I see." "Forgive me," the Recluse replied; "Here I determine to abide. By sad experience well I know, Were I to court again to go, And all my best endeavors do, To serve my country, sir, and you, Art and intrigue so much prevail, Again I certainly should fail; Against your will and approbation, And the good wishes of the nation, You'd find yourself compell'd to yield, And I once more must quit the field."

The honest man, who will not bend To circumstance, or condescend To pay his court to knave or fool, Will never long a nation rule.

THE SWAN AND THE COOK.

A man once had a swan and goose
Among his birds and beasts.
The one was destined for a pet,
The other for a feast.
Sometimes you saw them sailing
Gracefully on the current, side by side,
Sometimes they played a game of tag,
Or plunged into the tide.
One day the master ordered
The cook to kill the goose,
And roast it for his dinner;
It was fat and fit for use.
But the cook had taken a drop too much,
And it had gone to his head;
So when he went out for the goose
He took the swan instead.
He seized the swan fast by the throat,
And would have kill'd it soon:
But the bird saw he was to die,
And he his throat did tune,
And warbled out his farewell lay.
The cook straight dropped his knife
In great surprise, "what! what!" cried he,
"Shall I take the life
Of a musical bird like this?
No, no! it must not be.
So to the garden he shall go back
And ne'er be kill'd by me."

THE LYNX AND THE MOLE.

A lynx once met by chance a mole, Just emerging from his hole. The lynx with penetrating eye The beauties of the place did spy, And asked the mole to take a share In the fine prospect, rich and rare. "I've seldom found so good a place. From this small hill you see a space Extended far beneath your view, I like it much; pray do not you? See now the sun begins to rise, And with crimson tints the skies. It spreads all round its genial heat, And nature now enjoys a treat." "Well, well!" the mole aloud did cry "You may see this and more, but I Can only now before me see, A very heavy mist." "Truly, Now," said the lynx, "I clearly see The difference 'twixt you and me. My eyes see with perception bright While your's are always dark as night. Go to your hold beneath the ground, While I will range the forest round."

THE OLD CAT AND THE YOUNG MOUSE.

A young mouse of little experience, Thought to soften an old cat, And besought her clemency, By asking for his life at her expense. Said he, "A mouse, or e'en a rat, Is not a great charge on the house; And I shall not starve out the host. Besides I seldom quit my post, And when I do a grain of corn Has served me since I first was born. Now I am thin, pray let me be, I'll serve your children yet, you'll see." Thus to the cat spoke the poor mouse. The other answered, "You mistake, When unto me this tone you take; You might as well talk to the deaf, As to so old a cat as I, And through your tricks I spy, Die! you can go and chatter to the fates, My children will be fed on better cates."

MORAL.

Youth is sanguine, and hopes for all: Old age is pitiless; so says our moral.

THE TWO FRIENDS.

Two real friends lived in Monomotapa, All that belonged to one was for the other, And each was unto each a brother. The people of that country, thus, Make better friends than among us. One night when fast asleep, They each were sound reposing, The eldest darted from his couch, And stopped the other's dozing. He runs to see his friend, Awakes the slaves, and in the end, Even his friend is quite alarmed, And goes to seek the other, With sword and purse. "My brother, What can the matter be? Here I am armed, you see, Ready with sword to fight for you, And here is money ready too, If you have lost in play. You're even welcome to my handsome slave, With jet black hair, and eyes so grave." "No!" said the other, "I need naught, But ere I slept to-night, I thought, Being in a trance, that you were sad, And as the thought nigh drove me mad, I hurried to your tent, And found you sleeping quite content."

MORAL.

Which of the two best loved the other? Here is a thing to ponder on. A true friend is a precious thing, And all to aid you he will bring, But with excess of love the other In dreams was thinking of his brother.

THE SICK STAG.

In a land where stags are many, One fell sick, and not any Of all his friends, delayed to come, To offer aid and consolation, In his sorrowful situation. Said he, "My friends, pray let me die In the right way, nor shed such tears." Not at all, the consolers, With many a tear, and many a sigh, Had come resolved by him to lie; And when they left they helped themselves Upon his lands, the greedy elves! And drank from out his brook, And every one of them such suppers took, That when the stag revived, He found his meals reduced; So that while his friends had thrived, He had to fast or die of hunger.

THE FOREST AND THE WOODMAN.

A woodman had broken or misplaced The wooden handle of his axe, This loss could not be well replaced. So master woodman humbly prayed From all the trees a single branch, And promised to go elsewhere when he made Again his livelihood, And he would touch nor oak nor pine. The trees which were all very good Furnished for him new arms, And soon commenced all their alarms, And their regret. The axe was mended. And his repentance all was ended. The miserable wretch but used it, E'en as he had before abused it, By felling down the forest trees, Which groaned in spirit, and which died, By arms they had themselves supplied.

MORAL.

This is the way the world goes on, We use our benefits against our benefactors: I am tired of speaking thereupon, Till we obtain our wants, we are good actors.

THE ELEPHANT AND THE MONKEY OF JUPITER.

Formerly the elephant and the rhinoceros Disputing on the light of empire Resolved to end the combat thus-- By fighting to their heart's desire. The day was fixed, when it was heard, That the monkey of Sire Jupiter Had been seen in the air, Poised on a cloud like any bird. The elephant was quite convinced That to arrange the new election, An interest the god evinced, And felt for him a great affection, He went to see the monkey's highness, Expecting him to speak about the fight, But not a word said monkey. At this sight, The elephant perceived that he must speak himself, And so began: "Sire Jupiter," said he, "Between rhinoceros and me will see A royal combat of legation; A tournament for all the nation. I suppose you have already heard This news!" Said monkey, "Not a word." The elephant ashamed, and quite surprised, Looked on the monkey with astonished eyes. Said monkey, "In celestial place, A fly or leopard are of equal race." "Was it not then because of us," Said elephant, "that you descended?" "Nay," said the monkey, quite offended. "I left the heavens to share a grain of corn Among some ants, nor knew that you were born. We have the care of mortal things; But all are equals in our eyes, And at your talk I feel surprise."

THE WOODCUTTER AND DEATH.

A woodman was toiling, all covered with dust, But reach home with his faggot ere night he must, Panting and weary he walks quite slow, How to get home he does not know. At last quite exhausted with toil and trouble, With the weight of the burden and his years, bent double. He puts down his faggot, and thinks of his pains, What is his work, and what are his gains, How since he came into this weary world, By the wheels of blind fortune around he's been twirled. Was he not poor, a wood cutter, at best, Oft without bread, always without rest. He thinks of his wife, his children, his taxes, At last quite warm with the subject he waxes. He calls on death; who comes without delay, The woodman, in terror, knows not what to say. Death asks what to do the man wishes he should. "Oh, help me," he said, "with this faggot of wood. My poor bones ache, and my limbs they crack. So help me to put it upon my back."

THE RAT AND THE OYSTER.