Chapter IV: Part 4

A Wolf who'd suffered from a thief,
His ill-conditioned neighbour Mr. Fox
Brought up (and falsely, that is my belief)
Before the Ape, to fill the prisoner's box.
The plaintiff and defendant in this case
Distract the place
With questions, answers, cries, and boisterous speeches,
So angry each is.
In an Ape's memory no one saw
An action so entangled as to law.
Hot and perspiring was the judge's face,
He saw their malice, and, with gravity,
Decided thus:--"I know you well of old, my friends,
Both must pay damages, I see;
You, Wolf, because you've brought a groundless charge:
You, Fox, because you stole from him; on that I'll not enlarge."

The judge was right; it's no bad plan,
To punish rascals how you can.

FABLE XXV.

THE MIDDLE-AGED MAN AND THE TWO WIDOWS.

A Man of middle age,
Fast getting grey,
Thought it would be but sage
To fix the marriage day.
He had in stocks,
And under locks,
Money enough to clear his way.
Such folks can pick and choose; all tried to please
The moneyed man; but he, quite at his ease,
Showed no great hurry,
Fuss, nor scurry.
"Courting," he said, "was no child's play."
Two widows in his heart had shares--
One young; the other, rather past her prime,
By careful art repairs
What has been carried off by Time.
The merry widows did their best
To flirt and coax, and laugh and jest;
Arranged, with much of bantering glee,
His hair, and curled it playfully.
The eldest, with a wily theft,
Plucked one by one the dark hairs left.
The younger, also plundering in her sport,
Snipped out the grey hair, every bit.
Both worked so hard at either sort,
They left him bald--that was the end of it.
"A thousand thanks, fair ladies," said the man;
"You've plucked me smooth enough;
Yet more of gain than loss, so <i>quantum suff.</i>,
For marriage now is not at all my plan.
She whom I would have taken t'other day
To enroll in Hymen's ranks,
Had but the wish to make me go <i>her</i> way,
And not my own;
A head that's bald must live alone:
For this good lesson, ladies, many thanks."

FABLE XXVI.

THE FOX AND THE STORK.

The Fox invited neighbour Stork to dinner,
But Reynard was a miser, I'm afraid;
He offered only soup, and that was thinner
Than any soup that ever yet was made.
The guest--whose lanky beak was an obstruction,
The mixture being served upon a plate--
Made countless vain experiments in suction,
While Reynard feasted at a rapid rate.
The victim, bent upon retaliation,
Got up a little dinner in return.
Reynard accepted; for an invitation
To eat and drink was not a thing to spurn.
He reached the Stork's at the appointed hour,
Flattered the host, as well as he was able,
And got his grinders ready to devour
Whatever dishes might be brought to table.
But, lo! the Stork, to punish the offender,
Had got the meat cut very fine, and placed
Within a jug; the neck was long and slender,
Suited exactly to its owner's taste.
The Stork, whose appetite was most extensive,
Emptied the jug entirely to the dregs;
While hungry Reynard, quite abashed and pensive,
Walked homewards with his tail between his legs.

Deceivers reap the fruits of their deceit,
And being cheated may reform a cheat.

FABLE XXVII.

THE LION AND THE GNAT.

"Go, paltry insect, refuse of the earth!"
Thus said the Lion to the Gnat one day.
The Gnat held the Beast King as little worth;
Immediate war declared--no joke, I say.
"Think you I care for Royal name?
I care no button for your fame;
An ox is stronger far than you,
Yet oxen often I pursue."
This said; in anger, fretful, fast,
He blew his loudest trumpet blast,
And charged upon the Royal Nero,
Himself a trumpet and a hero.
The time for vengeance came;
The Gnat was not to blame.
Upon the Lion's neck he settled, glad
To make the Lion raving mad;
The monarch foams: his flashing eye
Rolls wild. Before his roaring fly
All lesser creatures; close they hide
To shun his cruelty and pride:
And all this terror at
The bite of one small Gnat,
Who changes every moment his attack,
First on the mouth, next on the back;
Then in the very caverns of the nose,
Gives no repose.
The foe invisible laughed out,
To see a Lion put to rout;
Yet clearly saw
That tooth nor claw
Could blood from such a pigmy draw.
The helpless Lion tore his hide,
And lashed with furious tail his side;
Lastly, quite worn, and almost spent,
Gave up his furious intent.
With glory crowned, the Gnat the battle-ground
Leaves, his victorious trump to sound,
As he had blown the battle charge before,
Still one blast for the conquest more.
He flies now here, now there,
To tell it everywhere.
Alas! it so fell out he met
A spider's ambuscaded net,
And perished, eaten in mid-air.

What may we learn by this? why, two things, then:
First, that, of enemies, the smaller men
Should most be dreaded; also, secondly,
That passing through great dangers there may be
Still pitfalls waiting for us, though too small to see.

FABLE XXVIII.

THE ASS LADEN WITH SPONGES, AND THE ASS LADEN WITH SALT.

A Peasant, like a Roman Emperor bearing
His sceptre on his shoulder, proudly
Drove his two steeds with long cars, swearing
At one of them, full often and full loudly.
The first, with sponges laden, fast and fleet
Moved well its feet:
The second (it was hardly its own fault)
Bore bags of salt.
O'er mountain, dale, and weary road.
The weary pilgrims bore their load,
Till to a ford they came one day;
They halted there
With wondering air;
The driver knowing very well the way,
Leaped on the Ass the sponges' load that bore,
And drove the other beast before.
That Ass in great dismay
Fell headlong in a hole;
Then plashed and scrambled till he felt
The lessening salt begin to melt;
His shoulders soon had liberty,
And from their heavy load were free.
His comrade takes example from his brother,
As sheep will follow one another;
Up to his neck the creature plunges
Himself, his rider, and the sponges;
All three drank deep, the man and Ass
Tipple together many a glass.
The load seemed turned to lead;
The Ass, now all but dead,
Quite failed to gain the bank: his breath
Was gone: the driver clung like death
Till some one came, no matter who, and aid.
Enough, if I have shown by what I've said,
That all can't act alike, you know;
And this is what I wished to show.

FABLE XXIX.

THE LION AND THE RAT.

It's well to please all people when you can;
There's none so small but one his aid may need.
Here are two fables, if you give good heed,
Will prove the truth to any honest man.

A Rat, in quite a foolish way,
Crept from his hole between a Lion's paws;
The king of animals showed on that day
His royalty, and never snapped his jaws.
The kindness was not unrepaid;
Yet, who'd have thought a Lion would need aid

From a poor Rat?
Soon after that
The Lion in the forest brake,
In their strong toils the hunters take;
In vain his roars, his frenzy, and his rage.
But Mr. Rat runs up; a mesh or two
Nibbles, and lets the Lion through

Patience and length of time may sever,
What strength and empty wrath could never.

FABLE XXX.

THE DOVE AND THE ANT.

The next example we must get
From creatures even smaller yet.
A Dove came to a brook to drink,
When, leaning on the crumbling brink,
An Ant fell in, and failed to reach,
Through those vast ocean waves, the beach.
The Dove, so full of charity is she,
Threw down a blade of grass, a promontory,
Unto the Ant, who so once more,
Grateful and glad, escaped to shore.
Just then passed by
A scampish poacher, soft, bare-footed, came
Creeping and sly;
A crossbow in his hand he bore:
Seeing the Dove, he thought the game
Safe in the pot, and ready for the meal:
Quick runs the Ant, and stings his heel;
The angry rascal turns his head;
The Dove, who sees the scoundrel stoop,
Flies off, and with her flies his soup.

FABLE XXXI.

THE ASTROLOGER WHO LET HIMSELF FALL INTO THE WELL.

To an Astrologer, who by a blunder
Fell in a well, said one, "You addle-head,
Blind half an inch before your nose, I wonder
How you can read the planets overhead."

This small adventure, not to go beyond,
A useful lesson to most men may be;
How few there are at times who are not fond
Of giving reins to their credulity,
Holding that men can read,
In times of need,
The solemn Book of Destiny,
That book, of which old Homer sung,
What was the ancient <i>chance</i>, in common sense,
but modern Providence?
Chance that has always bid defiance
To laws and schemes of human science.
If it were otherwise, a single glance
Would tell us there could be no fortune and no chance.
All things uncertain;
Who can lift the curtain?
Who knows the will of the Supreme?
He who made all, and all with a design;
Who but himself can know them? who can dream
He reads the thoughts of the Divine,
Did God imprint upon the star or cloud
The secrets that the night of Time enshroud,
In darkness hid?--only to rack the brains
Of those who write on what each sphere contains.
To help us shun inevitable woes,
And sadden pleasure long before its close;
Teaching us prematurely to destroy,
And turn to evil every coming joy,
This is an error, nay, it is a crime.
The firmament rolls on, the stars have destined time.
The sun gives light by day,
And drives the shadows of the night away.
Yet what can we deduce but that the will Divine
Bids them rise and bids them shine,
To lure the seasons on, to ripen every seed,
To shed soft influence on men;
What has an ordered universe to do indeed,
With chance, that is beyond our ken.
Horoscope-makers, cheats, and quacks.
On Europe's princes turn your backs,
And carry with you every bellows-working alchymist:
You are as bad as they, I wist.--
But I am wandering greatly, as I think,
Let's turn to him whom Fate forced deep to drink.
Besides the vanity of his deceitful art,
He is the type of those who at chimeras gape,
Forgetting danger's simpler shape,
And troubles that before us and behind us start.

FABLE XXXII.

THE HARE AND THE FROGS.

One day sat dreaming in his form a Hare,
(And what but dream could one do there?)
With melancholy much perplexed
(With grief this creature's often vexed).
"People with nerves are to be pitied,
And often with their dumps are twitted;
Can't even eat, or take their pleasure;
Ennui," he said, "torments their leisure.
See how I live: afraid to sleep,
My eyes all night I open keep.
'Alter your habits,' some one says;
But Fear can never change its ways:
In honest faith shrewd folks can spy,
That men have fear as well as I."
Thus the Hare reasoned; so he kept
Watch day and night, and hardly slept;
Doubtful he was, uneasy ever;
A breath, a shadow, brought a fever.
It was a melancholy creature,
The veriest coward in all nature;
A rustling leaf alarmed his soul,
He fled towards his secret hole.
Passing a pond, the Frogs leaped in,
Scuttling away through thick and thin,
To reach their dark asylums in the mud.
"Oh! oh!" said he, "then I can make them scud
As men make me; my presence scares
Some people too! Why, they're afraid of Hares!
I have alarmed the camp, you see.
Whence comes this courage? Tremble when I come;
I am a thunderbolt of war, may be;
My footfall dreadful as a battle drum!"

There's no poltroon, be sure, in any place,
But he can find a poltroon still more base.

FABLE XXXIII.

THE TWO BULLS AND THE FROG.

Two Bulls were butting in rough battle,
For the fair belle of all the cattle;
A Frog, who saw them, shuddering sighed.
"What ails you?" said a croaker by his side.
"What? why, good gracious! don't you see
The end of all this fight will be
That one will soon be chased, and yield
The empire of this flowery field;
And driven from rich grass to feed,
Searching the marsh for rush and reed,
He'll trample many a back and head,
And every time he moves we're dead.
'Tis very hard a heifer should occasion
To us so cruel an invasion."
There was good sense in the old croaker's fear,
For soon the vanquished Bull came near:
Treading with heedless, brutal power,
He crushed some twenty every hour.

The poor in every age are forced by Fate
To expiate the follies of the great.

FABLE XXXIV.

THE PEACOCK COMPLAINING TO JUNO.

The Peacock to great Juno came:
"Goddess," he said, "they justly blame
The song you've given to your bird:
All nature thinks it most absurd,
The while the Nightingale, a paltry thing,
Is the chief glory of the spring:
Her note so sweet, and deep, and strong."
"I do thee, jealous bird, no wrong,"
Juno, in anger, cried:
"Restrain thy foolish pride.
Is it for you to envy other's song?--
You who around your neck art wearing
Of rainbow silks a hundred different dyes?--
You, who can still display to mortal's eyes
A plume that far outfaces
A lapidary's jewel-cases?
Is there a bird beneath the skies
More fit to please and strike?
No animal has every gift alike:
We've given you each one his special dower;
This one has beauty, and that other power.
Falcons are swift; the Eagle's proud and bold;
By Ravens sorrow is foretold;
The Crow announces miseries to come;
All are content if singing or if dumb.
Cease, then, to murmur, lest, as punishment,
The plumage from thy foolish back be rent."

FABLE XXXV.

THE BAT AND THE TWO WEASELS.

A Bat one day into a Weasel's hole
Went boldly; well, it was a special blunder.
The Weasel, hating mice with heart and soul,
Ran up to eat the stranger--where's the wonder?
"How do you dare," he said, "to meet me here,
When you and I are foes, and always were?
Aint you a mouse?--lie not, and cast off fear;
You are; or I'm no Weasel: have a care."
"Now, pardon me," replied the Bat,
"I'm really anything but that.
What! I a mouse? the wicked tattlers lie.
Thanks to the Maker of all human things,
I am a bird--here are my wings:
Long live the cleavers of the sky!"
These arguments seemed good, and so
The Weasel let the poor wretch go.
But two days later, though it seems absurd,
The simpleton into another hole intruded.
This second Weasel hated every bird,
And darted on the rash intruder.
"There you mistake," the Bat exclaimed;
"Look at me, ain[']t I rashly blamed?
What makes a bird? its feathers?--yes.
I am a mouse--long live the rats,
And Jupiter take all the cats."
So twice, by his supreme address,
This Bat was saved--thanks to <i>finesse.</i>

Many there are who, changing uniform,
Have laughed at every danger and intrigue;
The wise man cries, to 'scape the shifting storm,
"Long live the King!" or, "Glory to the League!"

FABLE XXXVI.

THE BIRD WOUNDED BY AN ARROW.

A bird by well-aimed arrow shot,
Dying, deplored its cruel lot;
And cried, "It doubles every pain
When from oneself the cause of ruin's ta'en.
Oh, cruel men, from our own wings you drew
The plume that winged the shaft that slew;
But mock us not, you heartless race,
You too will some time take our place;
For half at least of Japhet's brothers
Forge swords and knives to slay the others."

FABLE XXXVII.

THE MILLER, HIS SON, AND THE ASS.

The Arts are birthrights; true, and being so,
The fable to the ancient Greeks we owe;
But still the field can ne'er be reaped so clean
As not to let the later comers glean.
The world of fiction's full of deserts bare,
Yet still our authors make discoveries there.
Let me repeat a story, good, though old,
That Malherbe to Racan, 'tis rumoured, told;
Rivals of Horace, heirs in every way,
Apollo's sons, our masters, I should say:
They met one time in friendly solitude,
Unbosoming those cares that will obtrude.
Racan commences thus,--"Tell me, my friend,
You, who the clue of life, from end to end,
Know well, and step by step, and stage by stage,
Have lost no one experience of age;
How shall I settle? I must choose my station.
You know my fortune, birth, and education.
Shall I the provinces make my resort,
Carry the colours, or push on at court?
The world has bitterness, and it has charms,
War has its sweets, and marriage its alarms:
Easy to follow one's own natural bent,
But I've both court and people to content."
"Please everybody!" Malherbe says, with crafty eye,
"Now hear my story ere you make reply.
I've somewhere read, a Miller and his Son,
One just through life, the other scarce begun
(Boy of fifteen, if I remember well),
Went one fair day a favourite Ass to sell;
To take him fresh--according to wise rules--
They tied his feet and swung him--the two fools--
They carried him just like a chandelier.
Poor simple rustics (idiots, I fear),
The first who met them gave a loud guffaw,
And asked what clumsy farce it was he saw.
'The greatest ass is not the one who walks,'
So sneeringly the passing horseman talks.
The Miller frees the beast, by this convinced.
The discontented creature brayed and winced
In its own <i>patois</i>; for the change was bad:
Then the good Miller mounted the poor lad.
As he limped after, there came by that way
Three honest merchants, who reviling say,
'Dismount! why, that won't do, you lazy lad;
Give up the saddle to your grey-haired dad;
You go behind, and let your father ride.'
'Yes, masters,' said the Miller, 'you decide
Quite right; both ways I am content.'
He took his seat, and then away they went.
Three girls next passed: 'Oh, what a shame!' says one,
'A father treating like a slave his son!
The churl rides like a bishop's calf. 'Not I,'
The Miller made the girls a sharp reply:
'Too old for veal, you hussies, and ill-famed.'
Still with such jesting he became ashamed,
Thought he'd done wrong; and changing his weak mind,

Took up his son upon the croup behind.
But three yards more, a third, sour, carping set,
Began to cavil,--'Biggest fools we've met!
The beast is done--he'll die beneath their blows.
What! load a poor old servant!' so it grows:
'They'll go to market, and they'll sell his skin.'
'Parbleu!' the Miller said, 'not worth a pin
The fellow's brains who tries with toil and strife
To please the world, his neighbour, and his wife.
But still we'll have a try as we've begun:'
So off the Ass they jumped, himself and son.
The Ass in state goes first, and then came they.
A quidnunc met them--What! is that the way?
The Ass at ease, the Miller quite foot-sore!
That seems an Ass that's greatly held in store.
Set him in gold--frame him--now, by the mass,
Wear out one's shoes, to save a paltry Ass!
Not so went Nicolas his Jeanne to woo;
The song says that he rode to save his shoe.
There go three asses.' 'Right,' the Miller cries;
'I am an Ass, it's true, and you are wise;
But henceforth I don't care, so let them blame
Or praise, no matter, it shall be the same;
Let them be quiet, pshaw! or let them tell,
I'll go my own way now;'" and he did well.

Then follow Mars, or Cupid, or the Court,
Walk, sit, or run, in town or country sport,
Marry or take the cowl, empty or fill the bag,
Still never doubt the babbling tongues will wag.

FABLE XXXVIII.

THE COCK AND THE FOX.

Upon a branch a crafty sentinel,
A very artful old bird, sat.
"Brother," a Fox said, "greet you well"
(He speaks so soft--there's guile in that);
"Our quarrel's over, peace proclaimed:
I bring the news; come down, embrace:
Do not delay: I shall be blamed
If soon not twenty stages from this place.
Now you and yours can take your ease:
Do what you please,
Without a fear;
We're brothers now, you know, my dear.
Light up the bonfires everywhere:
Dismiss all care;
But let us first, to seal the bliss,
Have one fraternal, tender kiss."
"Friend," said the Cock, "upon my word,
More glorious news I never heard.
This peace.
May it increase;
It's double joy to hear it, friend, from thee.
Ha! there I see
Two greyhounds--couriers, doubtless, as you are--
Coming fast down yonder scaur:
They'll be here in a minute,
Ah! yes, there's something in it--
I'll come down quick:--we'd better kiss all round."
"Adieu," the Fox said; "Sir, my business presses;
We shall meet shortly, I'll be bound:
Another time we can exult
Over this end of our distresses."
Then off the rascal ran to ground,
Full of chagrin and discontent.
The Cock laughed loud, to see his fear,
And clapped his wings, his wives to cheer.

It is a pleasure doubly sweet
To trick the scoundrel and the cheat.

FABLE XXXIX.

THE FROGS WHO ASKED FOR A KING.

Of Democrats the Frogs grew tired,
And unto Monarchy aspired;
Clamour so loud, that from a cloud
Great Jove in pity dropped a King,
Silent and peaceful, all allowed;
And yet he fell with such a splash, the thing
Quite terrified those poor marsh folks,
Not fond of jokes,
Foolish and timid, all from him hid;
And each one brushes

To hide in reeds, or sneak in rushes;
And from their swampy holes, poor little souls!
For a long time they dared not peep
At the great giant, still asleep.
And yet the monarch of the bog
Was but a LOG,
Whose solemn gravity inspired with awe
The first who venturing saw:
He hobbled somewhat near,
With trembling and with fear;
Then others followed, and another yet,
Until a crowd there met;
At last the daring mob grew bolder,
And leaped upon the royal shoulder;
Good man, he did not take it ill,
But as before kept still.
Soon Jupiter is deafened with the din--
"Give us a king who'll move," they all begin.
The monarch of the gods sends down a Crane,
Who with a vengeance comes to reign.
He gobbles and he munches,
He sups and lunches;
Till louder still the Frogs complain.
"Why, see!" great Jupiter replied,
"How foolishly you did decide.
You'd better kept your first--the last is worst.
You must allow, if you are fair,
King Log was calm and <i>debonair</i>:
With him, then, be ye now content,
For fear a third, and worse, be sent."

FABLE XL.

THE DOG AND HER COMPANION.

A Dog, proud of her new-born family,
And needing shelter for her restless brood,
Begged a snug kennel with such urgency,
A generous friend at last was found who would
Supply her pressing need--so it was lent.
After a week or so the good soul went
And asked it back.--"Only a fortnight more:"
The little ones could hardly walk as yet;
'Twas kindly granted as before.
The second term expired, again they met:
The friend demands her house, her room, her bed.
This time the graceless Dog showed teeth, and scowled;
"I and my children are prepared to go," she growled,
"If you can put us out and reign instead."
By this time they were grown,
And better left alone.

Lend to bad men, and you'll regret it much;
To draw from them the money right,
You must plead, and you must fight,
Or else your gold you'll never touch.
Only the truth I mean to tell:
Give them an inch, they'll take an ell.

FABLE XLI.

THE FOX AND THE GRAPES.

A Certain hungry Fox, of Gascon breed
(Or Norman--but the difference is small),
Discovered, looking very ripe indeed,
Some Grapes that hung upon an orchard-wall.
Striving to clamber up and seize the prey,
He found the fruit was not within his power;
"Well, well," he muttered, as he walked away,
"It's my conviction that those Grapes are sour."

The Fox did wisely to accept his lot;
'Twas better than complaining, was it not?

FABLE XLII.

THE EAGLE AND THE BEETLE.

John Rabbit, by an Eagle followed, fled,
And in his terror hid his head
In a poor Beetle's hole, that happened to be there.
You well may guess that this poor lair
Was insecure; but where to hide? alack!
He crouched--the Eagle pounced upon his back.
The friendly Beetle intercedes,
And, all in tears, he kindly pleads:
"Queen of the Birds! no doubt, in spite of me,
You can this trembling creature bear away;
But spare me this affront, this grief, I pray.
John Rabbit begs his little life of thee;
Grant it for pity's sake, sweet ma'am, now do!"
The bird of Jove disdained to make reply,
But struck the Beetle with her wing--one--two--
Then bore John Rabbit to the upper sky.
Indignant Beetle, of revenge in quest,
Flew straight to the proud Eagle's nest;
Broke in her absence all her eggs--the lot--
Her sweetest hopes--the eggs she held so dear.
Angry people have no fear.
The Eagle, coming to the well-loved spot,
And seeing all the hideous fricassee,
Filled heaven with shrieks; but could not find
On whom to vent her wrath--you see,
Her fury made her blind.
She mourned in vain; that year it was her fate
Childless to be, and desolate.
The next she built a loftier nest--in vain,
The Beetle addled all the eggs again.
John Rabbit's death was well avenged indeed!
For six long months the Eagle's moanings flew,
And woke the echoing forest through.
The bird that bore off Ganymede,
Furious and loud remonstrance made,
And flew to Jupiter for aid.
Her eggs she placed upon the Thunderer's lap--
There could come no mishap;
Jove must defend them: who would dare
To touch the objects of his care?
The enemy now changed his note; he soared,
And let some earth fall where they're stored;
The god, his vestment shaking carelessly,
Let the eggs fall into infinity.
The Eagle, mad with rage at the event
(Merely an accident),
Swore she would leave the wicked court,
And make the desert her resort;
With such vagaries.--
(In rage all fair is.)
Poor Jupiter in silence heard;
The Beetle came, and charged the bird--
In the tribunal of the upper air
Related the affair.
The god pronounced the Eagle in the wrong,
But still the mutual hate was strong.
To make a truce, Jove then arranged
The time for Eagles' hatching should be changed
To winter, when the marmots sleep,
And Beetles from the daylight keep.

FABLE XLIII.

THE RAVEN WHO WISHED TO IMITATE THE EAGLE.

The bird of Jove bore off a heavy "mutton;"
A Raven, witness of the whole affair,
Weaker in back, but scarcely less a glutton,
Resolved to do the same, whate'er
Might come of it.
With greedy wit,
Around the flock he made a sweep,
Marking, among the fattest sheep,
One of enormous size,
Fit for a sacrifice.
Said Master Raven, winking both his eyes,
"Your nurse's name I cannot tell,
But such fat flesh will suit me well:
You're ready for my eating."
Then on the sheep, slow, sluggish, bleating,
The Raven settled down, not knowing
The beast weighed more than a mere cream-cheese could.
It had a fleece as thickly growing
As beard of Polyphemus--tangled wood--
That clung to either claw; the animal could not withdraw.
The shepherd comes, and calling to his boy,
Gives him the Raven for a toy.

We must take care; the moral is quite clear--
The footpad mustn't rob on the highway.
Example is a dangerous lure, I fear:
Men-eaters are not all great people; no, I say,
Where wasps passed last week gnats are crushed to-day.

FABLE XLIV.

THE WOLVES AND THE SHEEP.

After a thousand years of open war,
The Wolves signed treaty with their foes, the Sheep:
It seemed to be the best for both, by far;
For if the Wolves contrived their tithes to reap,
The shepherds liked a coat of tanned Wolf-skin.
No liberty for pasture had there been,
Neither for carnage; never was there rest!
None could enjoy what pleasures seemed the best;
Peace was concluded--hostages surrendered.
The Wolves their cubs, the Sheep their watch-dogs rendered;

Th' exchange was made in form and order due,
Commissioners were there and not a few;
Some time elapsed, but soon the Wolf-cubs grew
To perfect Wolves, and with a taste for killing;
They chose a time the shepherds were away,
Choked all the fattest lambs that they could slay,
And bore them to the woods; no whit unwilling,
Their fellow-plotters waited for them there.
The dogs, who, full of trust, had thrown by care,
Were slain so quickly, that not one e'en knew
Who their assailants were that bit and slew.
War 'gainst the bad, a war that never ends;
Peace is a wholesome thing, good men are friends.
That I allow; yet peace is but a word, a senseless joke,
With wicked people, and such faithless folk.

FABLE XLV.

THE CAT CHANGED INTO A WOMAN.

A Man loved, heart and soul, his favourite Cat;
She was his pet, his beauty, and all that.
Her mewing was so sweet, and was so sad:--
He was far madder than the mad.
This man, then, by his tears and praying,
By wizard charms and much soothsaying,
Wrought things so well, that Destiny,
One fine day, changed the Cat into a Woman
(A change uncommon).
And they were married, soon as they could be.
Mad friends became mad lovers then;
And not the fairest dame e'er known
Had ever such affection shown
To him she'd chosen from all men.
The love-blind fool, delighted with his bride,
Found not a trace of Cat was left at all,
No scratch or caterwaul;
He fondles her, she him: she is his pride;
She is the fairest of her kind,
A perfect woman, to his mind.
One night some mice came gnawing at the curtain;
It broke the lady's sleep, that's certain;
At once she leaped upon her feet--
To cats revenge is very sweet--
And on all-fours she ran to seize
Those creatures always prone to tease;
But she was changed--in shape and wit--
They did not care for her a bit
This aberration on her part
Was grief perpetual to his heart.
It never ceased to be the way
Whenever mice were out at play;
For when a certain time has gone,
The jug is seasoned; and the cloth gets wrinkles.
In vain we try to alter what is done,
The warning bell unheeded tinkles.
Things will not change again; one knows
There is no way to end the matter,
Neither by pitchforks nor by blows;
Though Habit you should beat and tatter.
You'll not be master of the place,
Saddle or bridle--how you will;
For if the door's slammed in its face,
It comes back o'er the window-sill.

FABLE XLVI.

PHILOMEL AND PROGNE.

Progne, the Swallow, set forth from her dwelling,
And, leaving the cities afar, took flight
For the grove that Philomel chose for telling
Her ancient griefs to the listening night.
"Sister," said Progne, "I have not met you
For nearly the space of a thousand years.
Why are we parted? I cannot forget you,
Nor banish our Thracian trials and tears.
Come, leave this wood; it is dark and lonely."
"What haunt could be pleasanter?" Philomel asked.
"And is it," said Progne, "for animals only,
Or peasants at best, that your efforts are tasked?
With a note so rich 'tis a thousand pities
To scatter its charms to the desert air.
Come, quit this grove to delight our cities,
And waste no longer a gift so rare.
These woods, my sister, must oft remind you
Of all the sorrow King Tereus wrought.
Leave, leave the terrible days behind you,
And give to the past not a tearful thought."
"'Tis the memory, dear, of our Thracian troubles,"
Said Philomel, sadly, "that bids me stay;
For the sight of humanity only doubles
The grief of the times that have passed away!"

FABLE XLVII.

THE LION AND THE ASS.

The King of Animals a <i>battue</i> made
Upon his birthday, bent to fill his bags.
The Lion's game is not with sparrows played;
But boars of bulk, and good-sized portly stags.
For an ally in this affair,
He had an able minister.
The Ass, with Stentor's voice, served as his hunting-horn;
The Lion hid deep 'mid the thickest wood,
And ordered him to bray loud as he could;
So that the clamour shrilly borne,
Might drive from every nook and lair
Those not initiated to the sound.
The hideous tempest came; the air
Shook with the dreadful discord; round
It flew, and scared the fiercest forest creatures;
They fled with terror-stricken features.
And fell into the ready snare,
Where the King Lion stood to meet his prey.
"Have I not served thee brave and true?"
The Ass said, taking to himself the palm.
"Yes," quoth the Lion, grave and calm,
"'Twas nobly brayed; I own to you,
Had I not known your name and race,
I had been almost frightened too!"
Had he been rash, the Ass, his rage
Would not have hidden, I'll engage.
Just was the rallying, though severe;
For who can bear a bragging Ass?
It does not fit their rank or class,
And very ill becomes their business here.

FABLE XLVIII.

THE CAT AND THE OLD RAT.

I've read in some old Fabulist, I know,
A second Nibblelard, of Cats
The Alexander, and of Rats
The Attila, struck many a fatal blow;
And this exterminating creature
Was quite a Cerberus by nature.
(The author writes) For miles away,
This Cat was feared; he'd vowed, they say,
To clear the world of mice,
And in a trice.
The disks within a jar hung gingerly,
"The death to Rats:" the traps, and gins, and springs,
The nooses, poisons, and such things,
Were nothing to this Cat, but merely toys.
Soon as he heard no longer stir or noise,
The mice being prisoned in each hole,
Cheek and jowl;
So that it was in vain to hope for prey,
He tried another "lay."
Shammed death, laid down fast holding by a cord;
A trickster, eager for the horde--
The mice, good folk, deem he is hung
For stealing meat or cheese, tight strung
For scratching some one, or for breaking done.
At last they think the monster's sand is run;
His funeral will be quite a gala day.
Then out they slowly creep,
First one small nose, and then another,
Next a young mouse, then an old brother,
And then they scurry back in fright;
But four step once more to the light,
And lastly all come out to play,
And now begins another sort of treat:

The dead Cat falls upon his nimble feet,
Snaps up the slowest, head and tail.
"Ha! ha!" he gobbling cried, "It could not fail,
My <i>ruse de guerre</i>; no holes avail
To save these creatures, and I warn them now,
They all will come to the same mouth, I trow."
His prophecy came true--the master of his art,
A second time played well his part.
His fur he whitened o'er with flour,
That very hour,
And hid within
A white meal bin.
No bad contrivance, every one must own.
The Rats could not leave well alone;
One Rat was wary, shy to venture out,
And pry about--
Man of the world, and master of <i>finesse</i>,
He'd lost his tail in battle, too,
And half a dozen tricks he knew.
"This mass of white may be all sham, I guess,"
He cried, still shunning the Cat's ambuscade:
"Beneath the stuff I fear some trap is laid;
No matter if it's flour or no,
It may be so;
But sack or not, still I won't venture near."
'Twas neatly said, his prudence and his fears
I much approve; Experience told him true,
Suspicion's Safety's mother,
And Wisdom's foster brother.

FABLE XLIX.

A WILL INTERPRETED BY ÆSOP.

If what they say of Æsop's truth,
He was the oracle of Greece indeed;
And all the Areopagus, in sooth,
Was not so wise. And here, if you would plead
For proof, I'll give one, in a pleasant tale,
My friends and readers to regale.

A certain man had daughters three,
Each of a different turn of mind:
The one a toper, loving company;
The second, fond of all coquetry;
The third a miser, and to save inclined.
The man left them, by will and deed,
As laws municipal decreed,
Half his estate, divided equally;
And to their mother just the same:
But only in her power to claim
When all the daughters had their own
And nothing more but that alone.
The father dead, the daughters ran
To read the will--they were not slow
To con it; yet, do what they can,
They could not understand it--no.
What did he wish?--yes, that's the question
That took a good deal of digestion.
'Each one that had her part, no more,
Should to her mother pay it o'er.'
It was not quite the usual way,
With no gold left, to go and pay:
What meant their worthy father, then?
They run and ask the black-gowned men,
Who turn the case for many days--
Turn it a hundred thousand ways;
Yet after all, in sheer vexation,
Throw down their wigs in perturbation.
At last the judge advised the heirs
At once to settle the affairs.
As to the widow's part, the counsels say
A third each sister's bound to pay,
Upon demand, unless she choose to take
A life annuity, for quietness' sake,
Beginning from the day her husband died,
And so they all decide.
Then in three lots they part the whole estate:
In number one the plate;
The mighty cellars; summer-houses built
Beneath the vine;
The stores of rich Malvoisin wine;
The spits, the bowls of silver gilt,
And all the tribes of slaves who wait;--
In short, the perfect apparatus,
That gives an epicure his social status.
The second lot comprises
All that a flirting girl surprises:
Embroiderer's, and many a lady's maid,
Jewels, and costly robes;--be sure
The town house, and the furniture,
And stately eunuchs, rich arrayed.
Lot three comprises farming-stock,
Pastures and houses, fold and flock;
Labourers and horses, stores and herds.
This done, they fix, with many words,
That since the lottery won't select
What each one would the most affect,
The eldest have what she likes best,
Leaving the same choice to the rest.
In Athens it fell out,
This pleased the motley rout,
Both great and small.
The judge was praised by all;
Æsop alone derided
The way they had decided.
After much time and pains, they'd gone, he thought,
And set the wishes of the man at nought.
"If the dead came to life," he said,
"Athens aloud he would upbraid.
What! men who cherish subtlety,
To blunder o'er a will so stupidly!"
Then quickly he divides,
And thus the sage decides:--
To each he gave the part
Least grateful to her heart:
Pressing on them what they most hate.
To the coquette the cups and bowls
Cherished and loved by thirsty souls;
The toper had the farm; still worse than that,
The miser had the slaves and dresses.
This is the way, Æsop confesses,
To make the sisters alienate
Their shares of the bequeathed estate;
Nor would they longer single tarry,
But run post haste, and quickly marry;
So very soon the father's gold, set free,
Would to the mother come, with certainty,
Which was the meaning of the testament.
The people wondered, as they homeward went,
That he alone should have more brains
Than all the lawyers and their trains.

FABLE L.

THE LION IN LOVE.

TO MADEMOISELLE SEVIGNE.

Lady, whose charms were meant to be
A model for the Graces three;
Lend graciously your gentle ear,
And but one simple fable hear;
You'll see, without profound alarm,
A Lion quelled by Cupid's arm.
Love rules with such a tyranny,
Happy those shunning slavery;
Who the harsh monarch only know
By song and poem, not by blow.

When I dare speak of love to you,
Pardon the fable, no whit true,
That gives me courage to bring it,
Perhaps with more of zeal than wit,
A simple offering, rough and rude,
Of my devoted gratitude.
In times when animals could speak,
The Lion came intent to seek
Mankind's alliance--wherefore not?
Since beasts had then by nature got
Courage, intelligence, and skill;
A bearing, too, by no means ill.
Now hear what happened, if you will:
A Lion of a noble race
Saw in a vale a pretty face,
A shepherdess's, understand,
And instantly he claimed her hand.
The father, prudent and pacific,
Preferred a suitor less terrific:
To give his daughter seemed too bad,
Yet how refuse so wild a lad?
If he refused, perhaps there'd be
A marriage still clandestinely.
The maiden liked her dashing wooer,
Her boisterous, reckless, blustering suer,
And playing with the creature's main,
Combed it, and smoothed it o'er again;
The prudent father, half afraid
To spurn the lover of the maid,
Said, "But my daughter's delicate,
Your claws may hurt your little mate;
And when you fondle and caress,
Lion, you'll tear her and her dress;
Permit me, sir, to clip each paw,
It shall be done without a flaw,
And, by-the-by, in the meanwhile,
Your teeth 'twould be as well to file;
Your kisses then would be less rough,
And her's far sweeter--that's enough."
The Lion, blinded by affection,
Obeyed the artful man's direction;
Toothless and clawless, he grew prouder
(A fortress without guns or powder).
They loosed the mastiff on him soon,
And he was butchered before noon.
O Love! O Love! when bound by you,
Prudence, to thee we say, Adieu!

FABLE LI.

THE FOX AND THE GOAT.

A Fox once travelled, and for company
His friend, a large-horned Goat, had he,
Who scarce could see an inch beyond his nose,
While Reynard every trick and quibble knows.
Thirst drove these folks, it so befell,
To seek the bottom of a well.
After they'd had their bout of drinking,
Says Reynard, "Comrade, I am thinking
How we can best get out from here;
Put up your feet and horns--no fear--
Rear up against the wall, my friend,
And I'll climb up--our troubles end.
One spring upon your horns will do;
And I once out can rescue you."
"Now, by my beard! I like the plan,"
The other said, "you're one that can;
Such folks as you see clear through things,
Some never learn the secret springs;
I never should have found it out,
Though I had groped a year about."
The Fox once free, the Goat compelled
To learn a sermon--the text's "patience."
"If Heaven," he said, "had only held
It right to give thee and thy dull relations
Half as much sense as beard--
(But then it hasn't, I'm afeard);
Still use your efforts, my dear sir--no perturbations.
Certain affairs of state
Will hardly let me longer wait;
In everything 'tis well to mind the end,
In future think of that, my friend."

FABLE LII.

THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.

Beside his fold, and free from every care,
A Shepherd, Amphitrite's neighbour, lived for years;
Small was his fortune, yet while skies were fair,
He was contented, vexed by cares nor fears.
At last the treasures cast upon the shore
Tempted the man; he bartered flock and fold,
And sent forth ships to bring him back the more;
But tempests sank the vessels and the gold.
Once more he went to watch the silly sheep,
No longer master as he had been long,
When his own flocks he used to ward and keep,
And poets called him Tircis in their song;
Now he was Pierrot, and that was all.
After some time he, once more well to do,
Had flocks again to answer to his call;
One day when winds were low, and vessels drew
Safely towards the shore and home, the Shepherd stood
Upon the sunny cliff: "Fair nymphs," he cried,
"Seek some one else, I pray you be so good;
<i>Ma foi</i>, you don't catch me with any tide."

This story is not merely meant to please;
It's sober truth, I say, and serves to show
That pence are better if all safe, you know,
Than pounds of promises; when once at ease,
Remain content, and closely shut your ears
To Circe's wiles, resist her wanton smiles.
Ambition and the Sea, avoid them both,
They're full of miseries and racking fears;
For one who wins there's twenty thousand don't.
Rely on that; the winds and thieves are loth
To lose their prey (and trust to them)--they won't.

FABLE LIII.

THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE.

Each one's his faults, to which he still holds fast,
And neither shame nor fear can cure the man;
'Tis <i>apropos</i> of this (my usual plan),
I give a story, for example, from the past.
A follower of Bacchus hurt his purse,
His health, his mind, and still grew each day worse;
Such people, ere they've run one-half their course,
Drain all their fortune for their mad expenses.
One day this fellow, by the wine o'erthrown,
Had in a bottle left his senses;
His shrewd wife shut him all alone
In a dark tomb, till the dull fume
Might from his brains evaporate.
He woke and found the place all gloom,
A shroud upon him cold and damp,
Upon the pall a funeral lamp.
"What's this?" said he; "my wife's a widow, then!"
On that the wife, dressed like a Fury, came,
Mask'd, and with voice disguised, into the den,
And brought the wretched sot, in hopes to tame,
Some boiling gruel fit for Lucifer.
The sot no longer doubted he was dead--
A citizen of Pluto's--could he err?
"And who are you?" unto the ghost he said.
"I'm Satan's steward," said the wife, "and serve the food
For those within this black and dismal place."
The sot replied, with comical grimace,
Not taking any time to think,
"And don't you also bring the drink?"

FABLE LIV.

KING GASTER AND THE MEMBERS.

Had I but shown a proper loyalty,
I had begun my book with royalty.
The Belly is a king, it's true,
And in a certain point of view
His wants the other members share.
Well, once to work for him they weary were;
Each one discussed a better plan,--
To live an idle gentleman,
Like Monsieur Gaster,
Their lord and master.
"Without us he must feed on air;
We sweat and toil, and groan with care,
For whom? for him alone; we get no good,
And all our thought's to find him food:
We'll strike, and try his idle trade."
'Twas done as soon as said.
The hands refused to grasp, the legs to walk,
The eyes to open, and the tongue to talk;
Gaster might do whate'er he could.--
'Twas a mistake they soon repent
With one consent.
The heart made no more blood, and so
The other members ceased to glow;
All wanted strength,
And thus the working men at length
Saw that their idle monarch, in his way,
Toiled for the common weal as well as they.
And this applies to royalty,
It takes and gives with fair equality;
All draw from it their nourishment:
It feeds the artisan, and pays the magistrate,
Gives labourers food, and soldiers subsidies,
Distributes in a thousand places
Its sovereign graces;
In fact, supports the State.

Menenius told the story well,
When discord in the senate fell,
And discontented Commons taunted it
For having power and treasure, honour, dignity,
While all the care and pain was theirs,
Taxes and imposts, all the toils of war,
The blood, the sorrow, brand and scar.
Without the walls already do they band,
Resolved to seek another land.
Menenius was able,
By this most precious fable,
To bring them safely back
To the old, honest track.

FABLE LV.

THE MONKEY AND THE DOLPHIN.

It was a custom with the Greeks
For travellers by sea to take
Monkeys and fancy dogs, whose tricks
Would pastime in fair weather make.
A vessel with such things on deck,
Not far from Athens, went to wreck;
But for the Dolphins all had drowned.
This animal is friend to man:
The fact in Pliny may be found;
So must be true, say what you can.

A Dolphin half the people saves,
Even a Monkey, by-the-by,
He thought a sailor, from the waves
He kindly helped: the creature sly,
Seated upon the Dolphin's back,
Looked very grave and wise; good lack!
One would have really almost sworn
T'was old Arion, all forlorn.
The two had nearly reached the land,
When just by chance, and such a pity!
Fish asks, "Are you from Athens grand?"
"Yes; oh, they know me in that city;
If you have any business there,
Employ me; for it is truly where
My kinsfolk hold the highest place.
My second cousin is Lord Mayor."
The Dolphin thanked him with good grace:
"And the Piræus knows your face?
You see it often, I dare say?"
"See him! I see him every day;
An old acquaintance; that is so."
The foolish chatterer did not know
Piræus was a harbour, not a man.
Such people, go where'er you can,
You meet within a mile of home,
Mistaking Vaugirard for Rome,
People who chattering dogmatise
Of what has never met their eyes.
The Dolphin laughed, and turning round
The Monkey saw, and straightway found
He'd saved mere shadow of humanity;
Then plunged again beneath the sea,
And search amid the billows made
For one more worthy of his aid.

FABLE LVI.

THE EAGLE, THE WILD SOW, AND THE CAT.

An Eagle lodged its young within a hollow tree;
A Sow lived at the foot; a Cat between the two.
Friendly they were, good neighbours, the whole three,--
Between the mothers there was no to-do.
At last the Cat malignant mischief made;
She climbed up to the Eagle: "Ma'am, our peace
Is ended, death," she says, "is threatening; I'm dismayed.
We perish if our children die; she'll never cease,
That Sow accursed. See! how she grubs and digs,
And mines and burrows, to uproot our oak;
She hopes to ruin us and ours, to feed her pigs
When the tree falls--Madam, it is no joke!
Were there but hopes of saving one,
I'd go and quietly mourn alone."
Thus sowing fear broadcast, she went
With a perfidious intent,
To where the Sow sat dozily.
"Good friend and neighbour," whispered she,
"I warn you, if you venture forth,
The Eagle pounces on your family;
Don't go and spread the thing about,
Or I shall fall a victim to her wrath."
Having here also sown wild fears,
And set her neighbours by the ears,
The Cat into her hole withdrew;
The Eagle after would not fly
To bring home food; the poor Sow, too,
Was still more fearful and more shy.
Fools! not to see that one's first care
Is for one's self to find good fare;
Both stayed at home, still obstinate,
To save their young from cruel fate.
The royal bird, she feared the mine;
The Sow, a pounce upon her swine;
Hunger slew all the porcine brood,
And then the eaglets of the wood;
Not one was left--just think of that!
What a relief to Madame Cat!

A treacherous tongue sows misery
By its pernicious subtlety;
Of all the ills that from Pandora's box arose,
Not one brought half so many woes
As foul Deceit; daughter of Treachery.

FABLE LVII.

THE MISER WHO LOST HIS TREASURE.

It's use that constitutes possession wholely;
I ask those people who've a passion
For heaping gold on gold, and saving solely,
How they excel the poorest man in any fashion?
Diogenes is quite as rich as they.
True Misers live like beggars, people say;
The man with hidden treasure Æsop drew
Is an example of the thing I mean.
In the next life he might be happy, true;
But very little joy in this he knew;