ÆSOP,
IN RHYME;

A wolf there was, whose scanty fare

Had made his person lean and spare;

A dog there was, so amply fed,

His sides were plump and sleek; 'tis said

The wolf once met this prosp'rous cur,

And thus began: "Your servant, sir;

[6]I'm pleased to see you look so well,

Though how it is I cannot tell;

I have not broke my fast to-day;

Nor have I, I'm concern'd to say,

One bone in store or expectation,

And that I call a great vexation."

"Indeed it is," the dog replied:

"I know no ill so great beside;

But if you do not like to be

So poorly fed, come live with me."

"Agreed," rejoined the wolf, "I'll go:

But pray, what work am I to do?"

"Oh, guard the house, and do not fail

To bark at thieves, and wag your tail."

So off they jogg'd, and soon arrived

At where the friendly mastiff lived.

"Well," said the wolf, "I can't deny

You have a better house than I."

"Not so," the other then replied,

"If you with me will hence abide."

"Oh," said the wolf, "how kind you are!

But what d'ye call that, hanging there?

[7]Is it an iron chain, or what?"

"Friend," said the dog, "I quite forgot

To mention that; sometimes, you see,

They hook that little chain to me;

But it is only meant to keep

Us dogs from walking in our sleep,

And should you wear it, you would find,

It's nothing that you need to mind."

"I'll take your word," the wolf replied.

"It's truth by me shall ne'er be tried;

I'll have my liberty again,

And you your collar and your chain."

Our neighbors sometimes seem to be

A vast deal better off than we;

Yet seldom 'tis they really are,

Since they have troubles too to bear,

Which, if the truth were really known,

Are quite as grievous as our own.

A herdsman, who lived at a time and a place

Which, should you not know, is but little disgrace,

Discover'd one morning, on counting his stock,

That a sheep had been stolen that night from the flock.

[9]"Oh, I wish I had caught ye, whoever ye be,

I'd have soon let you know, I'd have soon let ye see,

What he had to expect," said the herdsman, "I trow;

But I've thought of a scheme that will trouble you now."

So what did he do, sir, but put up a board,

Describing the thief, and proposed a reward

Of a lamb, to the man who would give information

Concerning the thief, and his true designation.

The project succeeded; for soon there applied

A certain near neighbor, with others beside.

"But tell me the thief," said the herdsman, "at least;"

"Come hither," said they, "and we'll show you the beast!"

[10]"The beast!" said the rustic, who thought he should die on

The spot, when he found that the thief was a lion!

"Ill luck to my hurry, what now shall I do?

I promised a lamb to detect you 'tis true;

But now I'd consent all my substance to pay,

If I could but with safety get out of your way."

Silly people ask things that would ruin, if sent;

They demand them in haste, and at leisure repent.

Some boys, beside a pond or lake,

Were playing once at duck and drake?

When, doubtless to their heart's content,

Volleys of stones were quickly sent.

But there were some (there will be such)

Who did not seem amused so much;

[12]These were the frogs, to whom the game,

In point of sport was not the same.

For scarce a stone arrived, 'tis said,

But gave some frog a broken head;

And scores in less than half an hour,

Perished beneath the dreadful shower.

At last, said one, "You silly folks, I say,

Do fling your stones another way;

Though sport to you, to throw them thus,

Remember, pray, 'tis death to us!"

From hence this moral may be learn'd:

Let play be play to all concern'd.

A cock there was: a sage was he

(If Esop we may trust,)

Who wish'd to make a meal, you see,

As other sages must.

With this intent, as heretofore,

When on the hunt for grain;

Our hero scratch'd the litter o'er

With all his might and main.

[14]But scarce a minute had he scratch'd,

When, to his great surprise,

A gem, with golden chain attach'd,

He saw with both his eyes.

"Alack!" quoth he, "what have we here?

A diamond, I protest!

Which lords and ladies buy so dear,

And hold in such request.

"But one good barley-corn to me

Has more intrinsic worth

Than all the pearls now in the sea,

Or gold now in the earth."

The moral here, in Esop's mind,

Was this, there's not a doubt:

Things have most value, which we find

We cannot do without.

A man and a lion once had a dispute,

Which was reckon'd the greatest, the man or the brute;

The lion discoursed on his side at some length,

And greatly enlarged on his courage and strength.

[16]The man, one would think, had enough to reply

On his side the question, which none could deny;

But like many others who make a pretence,

He talk'd perfect nonsense, and thought it good sense.

"So," says he, "don't be prating,—look yonder, I pray,

At that sculpture of marble, now what will you say?

The lion is vanquished; but as for the man

He is striding upon him; deny it who can."

"But pray," said the lion, "who sculptured that stone?"

"One of us," said the man, "I must candidly own."

"But when we are sculptors," the other replied,

"You will then on the man see the lion astride."

The man might have added, if he had been wise,

"But a beast cannot sculpture a stone, if he tries."

That sufficiently shows where the difference lies.

"I certainly think," said a fox to a crane,

"That face, ma'am of yours is remarkably plain;

That beak that you wear is so frightful a feature,

It makes you appear a most singular creature."

The crane, much offended at what she had heard,

March'd off at full speed, without saying a word:

[19]"Oh dear!" said the fox, "Mrs. Crane, I protest

You misunderstand me, 'twas only a jest."

"Come, don't be affronted—stay with me and dine;

You know very well 'tis this temper of mine

To say such odd things to my intimate friends;

But you know that poor Reynard no mischief intends."

So the crane thought it best not to break with him quite,

But to view his remarks in a good-natured light.

So she put on as pleasant a face as she could

When he ask'd her to dine, and replied that she would.

But alas! she perceived that his jokes were not over,

When Reynard removed from the victuals its cover

[20]'Twas neither game, butcher's meat, chicken, not fish;

But plain gravy-soup, in a broad shallow dish.

Now this the fox lapp'd with his tongue very quick,

While the crane could scarce dip in the point of her beak;

"You make a poor dinner," said he to his guest;

"Oh, dear! by no means," said the bird, "I protest."

But the crane ask'd the fox on a subsequent day,

When nothing, it seems, for their dinner had they

But some minced meat served up in a narrow-neck'd jar;

Too long, and narrow, for Reynard by far.

"You make a poor dinner, I fear," said the bird;

"Why, I think," said the fox, "'twould be very absurd

[21]To deny what you say, yet I cannot complain,

But confess, though a fox, that I'm matched by a crane."

Cunning folks who play tricks which good manners condemn,

Often find their own tricks play'd again upon them.

A luckless wight, in winter slow,

Travelling once a forest through

Cold and hungry, tired and wet,

Began in words like these to fret:

"Oh, what a sharp inclement day!

And what a dismal, dreary way!

No friendly cot, no cheering fields,

No food this howling forest yields;

[23]I've nought in store or expectation!

There's nought before me but starvation."

"Not quite so bad," a voice replied;

Quickly the traveller turned aside,

And saw the satyr of the wood,

Who close beside his dwelling stood.

"Here is my cave hard by," said he,

"Walk in, you're welcome, pray be free."

The traveller did not hesitate,

Hoping for something good to eat,

But follow'd to his heart's content,

Blowing his finger as he went.

"Pray," said the satyr, "may I know

For what you blow your fingers so?"

"What! need you," said the man, "be told?—

To warm my fingers, 'numb'd with cold."

"Indeed!" was all his host replied,

Intent some pottage to provide,

Which heated well, with spice infused,

Was to his shivering guest produced:

[24]So hot it was, as Esop sung,

It made our traveller scald his tongue;

And wishing not again to do it,

Our hero could not wait, but blew it.

"What?" said his host, in accent rough,

"Is not your pottage hot enough?"

"Yes," said the man, "full well I know it,

'Tis far too hot, that's why I blow it."

"You artful villain! do you so?"

His host replied, with angry brow;

"My cave shall not a moment hold

A man that blows both hot and cold!

By none but rogues can that be done,

You double-dealing wretch, begone!"

The traveller scarce deserved such wrath,

For warming fingers—cooling broth.

No statutes old or new forbid it,

Although with the same mouth he did it:

Yet this beware of old and young,

What Esop meant—a double tongue;

Which flatters now with civil clack,

And slanders soon behind one's back.

Two friends once were walking in sociable chat,

When a purse one espied on the ground;

"Oh, see!" said he, (thank my fortune for that,)

"What a large sum of money I've found!"

[26]"Nay, do not say I" said his friend, "for you know

'Tis but friendship to share it with me;"

"I share it with you," said the other. "How so?

He who found it the owner should be."

"Be it so," said his friend, "but what sound do I hear?

'Stop thief!' one is calling to you;

He comes with a constable close in the rear!"

Said the other, "Oh, what shall we do?"

"Nay, do not say we," said his friend, "for you know

You claimed the sole right to the prize!

And since all the money was taken by you,

With you the dishonesty lies."

When people are selfish, dishonest, and mean,

Their nature, in dealing, will quickly be seen.

In days of yore, they say, 'twas then

When all things spoke their mind;

The arms and legs of certain men,

To treason felt inclined.

These arms and legs together met,

As snugly as they could,

With knees and elbows, hands and feet,

In discontented mood.

[28]Said they, "'Tis neither right nor fair,

Nor is there any need,

To labor with such toil and care,

The greedy mouth to feed."

"This we're resolved no more to do,

Though we so long have done it;"

"Ah!" said the knees and elbows too,

"And we are bent upon it."

"I," said the tongue, "may surely speak,

Since I his inmate am;

And for his vices while you seek,

His virtues I'll proclaim.

"You say the mouth embezzles all,

The fruit of your exertion;

But I on this assembly call

To prove the base assertion.

"The food which you with labor gain,

He too with labor chews;

Nor does he long the food retain,

But gives it for your use.

[29]"But he his office has resign'd

To whom you may prefer;

He begs you therefore now to find

Some other treasurer."

"Well, be it so," they all replied;

"His wish shall be obeyed;

We think the hands may now be tried

As treasurers in his stead."

The hands with joy to this agreed,

And all to them was paid;

But they the treasure kept indeed,

And no disbursements made.

Once more the clam'rous members met,

A lean and hungry throng;

When all allowed, from head to feet,

That what they'd done was wrong.

To take his office once again,

The mouth they all implored;

Who soon accepted it, and then

Health was again restored.

This tale for state affairs is meant,

Which we need not discuss;

At present we will be content,

To find a moral thus:

The mouth has claims of large amount,

From arms, legs, feet, and hands;

But let them not, on that account,

Pay more than it demands.

Said a hare to a tortoise, "Good sir, what a while

You have been only crossing the way;

Why I really believe that to go half a mile,

You must travel two nights and a day."

"I am very contented," the creature replied,

"Though I walk but a tortoise's pace,

[32]But if you think proper the point to decide,

We will run half a mile in a race."

"Very good," said the hare; said the tortoise, "Proceed,

And the fox shall decide who has won,"

Then the hare started off with incredible speed;

But the tortoise walk'd leisurely on.

"Come tortoise, friend tortoise, walk on," said the hare,

"Well, I shall stay here for my dinner;

Why, 'twill take you a month, at that rate, to get there,

Then how can you hope to be winner?"

But the tortoise could hear not a word that she said

For he was far distant behind;

So the hare felt secured while at leisure she fed,

And took a sound nap when she dined.

[33]So at last this slow walker came up with the hare,

And there fast asleep did he spy her;

And he cunningly crept with such caution and care,

That she woke not, although he pass'd by her.

"Well now," thought the hare, when she open'd her eyes,

"For the race,—and I soon shall have done it;"

But who can describe her chagrin and surprise,

When she found that the tortoise had won it!

Thus plain plodding people, we often shall find,

Will leave hasty confident people behind.

A milkmaid, who poized a full pail on her head,

Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said:

"Let's see—I should think that this milk will procure

One hundred good eggs, or fourscore to be sure.

[35]"Well then—stop a bit,—it must not be forgotten,

Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten;

But if twenty for accidents should be detach'd,

It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to hatch'd.

"Well, sixty sound eggs—no; sound chickens, I mean;

Of these some may die—we'll suppose seventeen—

Seventeen!—not so many—say ten at the most,

Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.

"But then there's their barley; how much will they need?

Why they take but one grain at a time when they feed,

[36]So that's a mere trifle; now then let us see,

At a fair market price, how much money there'll be?

"Six shillings a pair—five—four—three-and-six,

To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix;

Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said,

Fifty times three-and-sixpence—I'll ask brother Ned.

"Oh! but stop—three-and-sixpence a pair I must sell 'em;

Well, a pair is a couple—now then let us tell 'em;

A couple in fifty will go—(my poor brain!)

Why just a score times, and five pair will remain.

"Twenty-five pair of fowls—now how shameful it is,

That I can't reckon up as much money as this!

[37]Well, there's no use in trying; so let's give a guess;

I will say twenty pounds, and it can't be no less.

"Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow,

Thirty geese, and two turkeys—eight pigs and a sow;

Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year,

I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 'tis clear.

"Then I'll bid that old tumble-down hovel good-bye;

My mother she'll scold, and my sisters they'll cry:

But I won't care a crow's egg for all they can say;

I sha'n't go to stop with such beggars as they!"

But forgetting her burden, when this she had said,

The maid superciliously toss'd up her head

[38]When alas! for her prospects—the milk pail descended!

And so all her schemes for the future were ended.

This moral, I think, may be safely attach'd:

Reckon not on your chickens before they are hatch'd.

A lark who had her nest conceal'd,

Says Esop, in a barley field;

Began, as harvest time drew near,

The reaping of the corn to fear;

Afraid they would her nest descry,

Before her tender brood could fly.

She charged them therefore every day,

Before for food she flew away,

To watch the farmer in her stead,

And listen well to all he said.

[40]It chanced one day, she scarce was gone,

Ere the farmer came and his son.

The farmer well his field survey'd,

And sundry observations made;

At last, "I'll tell you what," said he,

"This corn is fit to cut, I see;

But we our neighbor's help must borrow,

So tell them we begin to-morrow."

Just after this the lark returned,

When from her brood this news she learned.

"Ah! dearest mother," then, said they,

"Pray, let us all begone to-day."

"My dears," said she, "you need not fret,

I shall not be uneasy yet;

For if he waits for neighbor's aid,

The business long will be delay'd."

At dawn she left her nest once more,

And charged her young ones as before.

At five the farmer came again,

And waited for his friends in vain,

[41]"Well," said the man, "I fancy, son,

These friends we can't depend upon;

To-morrow early, mind you go,

And let our own relations know."

Again the lark approach'd her nest,

When round her all her young ones press'd,

And told their mother, word for word,

The fresh intelligence they heard.

"Ah, children, be at ease," said she

"We're safe another day, I see;

For these relations, you will find,

Just like his friends, will stay behind."

At dawn again the lark withdrew,

And did again her charge renew.

Once more the farmer early came,

And found the case was just the same.

The day advanced, the sun was high;

But not a single help drew nigh.

Then said the farmer, "Hark ye, son—

I see this job will not be done,

[42]While thus we wait for friends and neighbors;

So you and I'll commence our labors:

To-morrow early, we'll begin

Ourselves, and get our harvest in."

"Now," said the lark, when this she heard,

"Our movement must not be deferr'd;

For if the farmer and his son

Themselves begin, 'twill soon be done."

The morrow proved the lark was right;

For all was cut and housed by night.

Hence, while we wait for other's aid,

Our business needs must be delay'd;

Which might be done with half the labor

'Twould take to go and call a neighbor.

A philosopher, proud of his wit and his reason,

Sat him under an oak in a hot summer season.

On the oak grew an acorn or two, it is said:

On the ground grew a pumpkin as big as his head.

Thought the sage, "What's the reason this oak is so strong

A few acorns to bear that are scarce an inch long;

[44]While this poor feeble plant has a weight to sustain,

Which had much better hang on the tree, it is plain?"

But just at the time the philosopher spoke

An acorn dropp'd down on his head from the oak;

Then, said he, who just now thought his plan was so clever,

"I am glad that this was not a pumpkin, however."

The sage would no doubt have looked grievously dull,

Had a pumpkin descended with force on his scull.

Of his folly then let us in future beware,

And believe that such matters are best as they are:

Leave the manners and customs of oak trees alone,

Of acorns, and pumpkins—and look to our own.

A wolf, once forgetting the size of his swallow,

Tried to pass a large marrow-bone through it.

"Oh dear," said the beast, thinking death was to follow,

"How careless and stupid to do it!"

His mouth was propp'd open by means of the bone,

And his breathing was greatly impeded,

[46]But a crane coming up, he contrived to make known

What kind of assistance he needed.

"How d'ye do?" said the bird; said the beast, "Very ill,

For a bone has gone down the wrong way;

But if you can extract it by means of your bill,

The service I'll amply repay."

Thought the crane, "I'm no surgeon: yet all must agree,

That my bill will make excellent forceps;

And as for the money, I do not now see

Why I need refuse taking his worship's."

Said the bird, "It's agreed;" said his patient, "Proceed,

And take the bone hence, I beseech;"

Which, after awhile, and with infinite toil,

The crane at last managed to reach.

[47]"Thank my stars!" said the beast, from his terrors released,

"Thank you too, sir," said he to the bird;

"Alas!" said the crane, "is this all I'm to gain,

I was waiting the promised reward."

Said the wolf, "You forget, I've contracted no debt,

Since the service was rendered by me;

Your head I releas'd from the jaws of a beast,

And now you're demanding a fee!"

Give your help to a wolf, should he beg for your aid,

But you must not expect when you've done to be paid.

A dog growing thinner, for want of a dinner,

Once purloined him a joint from a tray,

"How happy I am, with this shoulder of lamb,"

Thought the cur as he trotted away.

But the way that he took, lay just over a brook,

Which he found it was needful to cross;

[49]So without more ado, he plunged in to go through,

Not dreaming of danger or loss.

But what should appear, in this rivulet clear,

As he thought upon coolest reflection,

But a cur like himself, who with ill-gotten pelf,

Had run off in that very direction.

Thought the dog, a propos! but that instant let go

(As he snatched at this same water-spaniel)

The piece he possess'd:—so with hunger distress'd

He slowly walk'd home to his kennel.

Hence, when we are needy, don't let us be greedy,

(Excuse me this line of digression,)

Lest in snatching at all, like the dog, we let fall

The good that we have in possession.

Two trav'llers one morning set out from their home,

It might be from Sparta, from Athens, or Rome;

It matters not which, but agreed, it is said,

Should danger arise, to lend each other aid.

But scarce was this done, when forth rushing amain,

Sprung a bear from a wood tow'rds these travellers twain;

[51]Then one of our heroes, with courage immense,

Climb'd into a tree, and there found his defence.

The other fell flat to the earth with dread,

When the bear came and smelt him, and thought he was dead;

So not liking the carcase, away trotted he,

When straight our brave hero descended the tree.

Then, said he, "I can't think what the bear could propose,

When so close to your ear, he presented his nose."

"Why this," said the other, "he told me to do,

To beware for the future of cowards like you."

Those people who run from their friends in distress,

Will be left when themselves are in trouble, I guess.

A Bull once treading near a bog,

Displaced the entrails of a frog,

Who near his foot did trust them;

In fact, so great was the contusion,

And made of his inwards such confusion,

No art could re-adjust them.

It chanced that some who saw his fate,

Did to a friend the deed relate,

[53]With croakings, groans, and hisses;

"The beast," said they, "in size excell'd

All other beasts," their neighbors swell'd,

And ask'd, "as large as this is!"

"Oh, larger far than that," said they,

"Do not attempt it, madam, pray;"

But still the frog distended,

And said, "I'll burst, but I'll exceed,"

She tried, and burst herself indeed!

And so the matter ended.

Should you with pride inflate and swell,

As did the frog: then who can tell!

Your sides may crack, as has been shown,

And we with laughing crack our own.

Some mice who saw fit, once a quarter to meet,

To arrange the concerns of their city;

Thought it needful to choose, as is common with us,

First a chairman, and then a committee.

When the chairman was seated, the object he stated

For which at that meeting they sat:

[55]Which was, it should seem, the concerting a scheme

To defeat the designs of the cat.

Dr. Nibblecheese rose, and said, "I would propose,

To this cat we fasten a bell;

He who likes what I've said, now will hold up his head;

He who does not, may hold up his tail."

So out of respect, they their noses erect,

Except one who the order reversed;

Ayes, all then but one, but yet nought could be done,

Until he had his reasons rehearsed.

"I shall not," said this mouse, "waste the time of the house,

In long arguments; since, as I view it,

The scheme would succeed without doubt, if indeed

We could find any mouse who would do it."

[56]"Hear! hear!" was the cry, and "no bells we will try,

Unless you will fasten them on;"

So quite broken-hearted the members departed,

For the bill was rejected nem. con.

Then be not too hasty in giving advice,

Lest your schemes should remind of the council of mice;

You had better delay your opinion a year,

Than put forth a ridiculous one, it is clear.

A wolf and lamb once chanced to meet,

Beside a stream, whose waters sweet

Brought various kinds of beasts together,

When dry and sultry was the weather;

Now though the wolf came there to drink,

Of eating, he began to think,

As soon as near the lamb he came,

And straight resolved to kill the same;

[58]Yet thought it better to begin,

With threat'ning words and angry mien.

"And so," said he, to him below,

"How dare you stir the water so?

Making the cool refreshing flood,

As brown as beer, and thick as mud."

"Sir," said the lamb, "that cannot be,

The water flows from you to me;

So, 'tis impossible, I think,

That what I do can spoil your drink."

"I say it does, you saucy puss:

How dare you contradict me thus;

But more than this, you idle clack,

You rail'd at me behind my back

Two years ago, I have been told;"

"How so? I'm not a twelvemonth old,"

The lamb replied; "So I suspect

Your honor is not quite correct."

"If not, your mother it must be,

And that comes all the same to me,"

Rejoined the wolf—who waited not

But kill'd and ate him on the spot.

Some, like the wolf, adopt the plan,

To make a quarrel if they can;

But none with you can hold dispute,

If you're determined to be mute;

For sure this proverb must be true,

That ev'ry quarrel must have two.

This firm once existed, I'd have you to know,

Messrs. Lion, Wolf, Tiger, Fox, Leopard, and Co.;

These in business were join'd, and of course 'twas implied,

They their stocks should unite, and the profits divide.

[61]Now the fable relates, it so happened one day,

That their efforts combined, made a bullock their prey:

But agreed that the Lion should make the division,

And patiently waited the monarch's decision.

"My friends," said the Lion, "I've parted, you see,

The whole into six, which is right, you'll agree;

One part I may claim, as my share in the trade."

"Oh, take it and welcome," they all of them said.

"I claim too the second; since no one denies

'Twas my courage and conduct that gained you the prize:

And for the third; that you know is a fine

To the Lord of the manor, and therefore is mine."

[62]"Hey day!" said the fox; "Stop a bit," said the lion,

"I have not quite done," said he, fixing his eye on

The other three parts; "you are fully aware,

That, as tribute, one other part comes to my share.

"And I think 'twould be prudent, the next to put by

Somewhere safe in my den for a future supply,

And the other, you know, will but barely suffice,

To pay those expenses which always arise."

"If this be the case," said the fox, "I discern

That the business to us is a losing concern;

If so to withdraw, I should think would be best;"

"Oh, yes! let us break up the firm," said the rest;

[63]And so:—for you may not have heard of it yet,—

It was quickly dissolved, though not in the gazette.

Some folks in their dealings, like him in the fable,

Will take others' shares, if they think they are able;

But let them not wonder who act in this way,

If they find none will join them in business or play.

A lion, with the heat oppress'd,

One day composed himself to rest;

But whilst he dozed, as he intended,

A mouse his royal back ascended;

Nor thought of harm as Esop tells,

Mistaking him for something else,

And travelled over him, and round him,

And might have left him as he found him,

[65]Had he not, tremble when you hear,

Tried to explore the monarch's ear!

Who straightway woke with wrath immense,

And shook his head to cast him thence.

"You rascal, what are you about,"

Said he, when he had turned him out.

"I'll teach you soon," the lion said,

"To make a mouse-hole in my head!"

So saying, he prepared his foot,

To crush the trembling tiny brute;

But he, the mouse, with tearful eye,

Implored the lion's clemency,

Who thought it best at least to give

His little pris'ner a reprieve.

'Twas nearly twelve months after this,

The lion chanced his way to miss;

When pressing forward: heedless yet,

He got entangled in a net.

With dreadful rage he stamp'd and tore,

And straight commenced a lordly roar;

When the poor mouse who heard the noise,

Attended, for she knew his voice.

[66]Then what the lion's utmost strength

Could not effect, she did at length:

With patient labor she applied

Her teeth, the net-work to divide;

And so at last forth issued he,

A lion, by a mouse set free.

Few are so small or weak, I guess,

But may assist us in distress;

Nor shall we ever, if we're wise,

The meanest, or the least, despise.

"There lived," says friend Esop, "some ages ago,

An ass who had feelings acute, you must know;

This ass to be jealous, felt strongly inclined,

And for reasons which follow, felt hurt in his mind."

[68]It seems that his master, as I understand,

Had a favorite dog which he fed from his hand.

Nay, the dog was permitted to jump on his knee:

An honor that vex'd our poor donkey to see.

"Now," thought he, "what's the reason, I cannot see any,

That I have no favors, while he has so many?

If all this is got by just wagging his tail,

Why I have got one, which I'll wag without fail."

So the donkey resolved to try what he could do

And, determined unusual attentions to show,

When his master was dining, came into the room.

"Good sir!" said his friends, "why your donkey is come!"

[69]"Indeed!" said their host, great astonishment showing,

When he saw the ass come, while his tail was a-going;

But who can describe his dismay or fear,

When the donkey rear'd up, and bray'd loud in his ear!

"You rascal get down,—John, Edward, or Dick!

Where are you? make haste, and come here with a stick."

The man roared—the guests laugh'd—the dog bark'd—the bell rung:

Coals, poker, and tongs, at the donkey were flung,

Till the blows and the kicks, with combined demonstration,

Convinced him that this was a bad speculation;

So, mortified deeply, his footsteps retrod he,

Hurt much in his mind, but still more in his body.

So some silly children, as stupid as may be,

Will cry for indulgences fit for a baby.

Had they enter'd the room while the donkey withdrew,

They'd have seen their own folly and punishment too:

Let them think of this fable, and what came to pass;

Nor forget, he who play'd this fine game was an ass.

A plain, but honest, country mouse,

Residing in a miller's house;

Once, on a time, invited down

An old acquaintance of the town:

And soon he brought his dainties out;

The best he had there's not a doubt.

A dish of oatmeal and green peas,

With half a candle, and some cheese;

[72]Some beans, and if I'm not mistaken,

A charming piece of Yorkshire bacon.

And then to show he was expert

In such affairs, a fine dessert

Was next produced, all which he press'd,

With rustic freedom, on his guest.

But he, the city epicure,

This homely fare could not endure

Indeed he scarcely broke his fast

By what he took, but said, at last,

"Old crony, now, I'll tell you what:

I don't admire this lonely spot;

This dreadful, dismal, dirty hole,

Seems more adapted for a mole

Than 'tis for you; Oh! could you see

My residence, how charm'd you'd be.

Instead of bringing up your brood

In wind, and wet, and solitude,

Come bring them all at once to town,

We'll make a courtier of a clown.

I think that, for your children's sake,

'Tis proper my advice to take."

[73]"Well," said his host, "I can but try,

And so poor quiet hole good bye!"

Then off they jogg'd for many a mile,

Talking of splendid things the while;

At last, in town, they all arrived—

Found where the city mouse had lived—

Entered at midnight through a crack,

And rested from their tedious track.

"Now," said the city mouse, "I'll show

What kind of fare I've brought you to:"

On which he led the rustic mice

Into a larder, snug and nice,

Where ev'ry thing a mouse could relish,

Did ev'ry shelf and nook embellish.

"Now is not this to be preferr'd

To your green peas?" "Upon my word,

It is," the country mouse replied,

"All this must needs the point decide."

Scarce had they spoke these words, when, lo!

A tribe of servants hasten'd through,

[74]And also two gigantic cats,

Who spied our country mouse and brats.

Then, by a timely exit, she

Just saved herself and family.

"Oh, ask me not," said she in haste,

"Your tempting dainties more to taste;

I much prefer my homely peas,

To splendid dangers such as these."

Then let not those begin to grumble,

Whose lot is safe, though poor and humble;

Nor envy him who better fares,

But for each good, has twenty cares.

Crows feed upon worms: yet an author affirms

Cheshire cheese they will get if they're able;

"For," said he, "I well know, one unprincipled crow

Once purloined a large piece from my table."

Then away darted she, to the shade of a tree,

To deposit the booty within her;

[76]But it never occurr'd to the mind of the bird,

That a fox was to have it for dinner.

"How many a slip, 'twixt the cup and the lip!"

(Excuse me, I pray, the digression,)

Said a fox to himself, "I can share in the pelf,

If I act with my usual discretion."

So said he, "Is it you? pray, ma'am, how do you do,

I have long wish'd to pay you a visit;

For a twelvemonth has pass'd, since I heard of you last

Which is not very neighborly, is it?

"But, dear madam," said he, "you are dining, I see;

On that subject I'd ask your advice;

Pray, ma'am, now can you tell, where provisions they sell,

That are not an extravagant price?

[77]"Bread and meat are so dear, and have been for a year,

That poor people can scarcely endure it,

And then cheese is so high, that such beggars as I,

Till it falls, cannot hope to procure it."

But the ill-behaved bird did not utter a word,

Still intent on retaining her plunder;

Thought the fox, "It should seem, this is not a good scheme,

What else can I think of, I wonder?"

So said Reynard once more, "I ne'er knew it before,

But your feathers are whiter than snow is!"

But thought he, when he'd said it, "she'll ne'er give it credit,

For what bird is so black as a crow is."

[78]"But I'm told that your voice is a horrible noise,

Which they say of all sounds is the oddest;

But then this is absurd, for it never is heard,

Since you are so excessively modest."

If that's all thought the crow, "I will soon let you know

That all doubt on that score may be ended;"

Then most laughingly piped, the poor silly biped,

When quickly her dinner descended!

If this biped had not been so vain and conceited,

She would not by the fox quite so soon have been cheated;

But perhaps the term biped to some may be new:

'Tis a two-legged creature—perchance it is you.

A lion, bravest of the wood,

Whose title undisputed stood,

As o'er the wide domains he prowl'd,

And in pursuit of booty growl'd,

An Echo from a distant cave

Regrowl'd, articulately grave:

His majesty, surprised, began

To think at first it was a man;

[80]But on reflection sage, he found

It was too like a lion's sound.

"Whose voice is that which growls at mine?"

His highness ask'd. Says Echo, "Mine!"

"Thine!" says the Lion: "Who art thou?"

Echo as stern cried, "Who art thou?"

"Know I'm a lion, hear and tremble!"

Replied the king. Cried Echo, "Tremble!"

"Come forth," says Lion; "show thyself."

Laconic Echo answered, "Elf."

"Elf, durst thou call me, vile pretender?"

Echo as loud replies, "Pretender!"

At this, as jealous of his reign,

He growl'd in rage; she growl'd again.

Incensed the more, he chafed and foam'd,

And round the spacious forest roam'd

To find the rival of his throne,

Who durst with him dispute the crown.

A fox, who listen'd all the while,

Address'd the monarch with a smile:

[81]"My liege, most humbly I make bold,

Though truth may not be always told,

That this same phantom which you hear,

That so alarms your royal ear,

Is not a rival of your throne:

The voice and fears are all your own."

Imaginary terrors scare

A timorous soul with real fear;

Nay, even the wise and brave are cow'd

By apprehensions from the crowd:

A frog a lion may disharm,

And yet how causeless the alarm!

Once on a time, a paper kite

Was mounted to a wondrous height;

Where, giddy with its elevation,

It thus express'd self-admiration:

"See how yon crowds of gazing people

Admire my flight above the steeple;

[83]How would they wonder, if they knew

All that a kite, like me, could do?

Were I but free, I'd take a flight,

And pierce the clouds beyond their sight.

But, ah! like a poor prisoner bound,

My string confines me near the ground.

I'd brave the eagle's towering wing,

Might I but fly without a string."

It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke,

To break the string—at last it broke!

Deprived at once of all its stay,

In vain it tried to soar away:

Unable its own weight to bear,

It flutter'd downward through the air;

Unable its own course to guide,

The winds soon plunged it in the tide.

Oh! foolish kite, thou hadst no wing,

How could'st thou fly without a string?

My heart replied, "Oh, Lord, I see

How much the kite resembles me!

Forgetful that by thee I stand,

Impatient of thy ruling hand;

[84]How oft I've wish'd to break the lines

Thy wisdom for my lot assigns!

How oft indulged a vain desire

For something more or something higher!

And but for grace and love divine,

A fall thus dreadful had been mine."

If bees a government maintain,

Why may not rats of stronger brain

And greater power, as well bethought

By Machiavelian axioms taught?

And so they are, for thus of late

It happened in the rats' free state.

Their prince (his subjects more to please)

Had got a mighty Cheshire cheese,

[86]In which his ministers of state

Might live in plenty and grow great.

A powerful party straight combined,

And their united forces join'd,

To bring their measures into play,

For none so loyal were as they;

And none such patriots, to support

As well the country as the court.

No sooner were those Dons admitted

But (all those wondrous virtues quitted)

They all the speediest means devise

To raise themselves and families.

Another party well observing

These pamper'd were, while they were starving,

Their ministry brought in disgrace,

Expelled them and supplied their place;

These on just principles were known

The true supporters of the throne,

And for the subjects liberty

They'd (marry would they) freely die;

But being well fix'd in their station,

Regardless of their prince and nation,

[87]Just like the others, all their skill

Was how they might their paunches fill.

On this a rat, not quite so blind

In state intrigues as human kind,

But of more honor, thus replied:

"Confound ye all on either side;

All your contentions are but these,

Whose arts shall best secure the cheese."

The muslin torn, from tears of grief

In vain Aurelia sought relief;

In sighs and plaints she pass'd the day;

The tatter'd frock neglected lay:

While busied at the weaving trade,

A spider heard the sighing maid

And kindly stopping in a trice,

Thus offer'd (gratis) her advice:

"Turn, little girl! behold in me

A stimulus to industry

[89]Compare your woes, my dear, with mine,

Then tell me who should most repine:

This morning, ere you left your room,

The chambermaid's remorseless broom

In one sad moment that destroy'd,

To build which thousands were employ'd!

The shock was great; but as my life

I saved in the relentless strife,

I knew lamenting was in vain,

So patient went to work again.

By constant work, a day or more,

My little mansion did restore:

And if each tear which you have shed

Had been a needle-full of thread,

If every sigh of sad despair

Had been a stitch of proper care,

Closed would have been the luckless rent,

Nor thus the day have been misspent."

Perch'd on a tree, hard by a rural cot,

A redbreast singing cheer'd the humble spot;

A sparrow on the thatch in critic spleen

Thus took occasion to reprove the strain:

"Dost thou," cried he, "thou dull dejected thing,

Presume to emulate the birds of spring?

[91]Can thy weak warbling dare approach the thrush

Or blackbird's accents in the hawthorn bush?

Or with the lark dost thou poor mimic, vie,

Or nightingale's unequal'd melody?

These other birds possessing twice thy fire

Have been content in silence to admire."

"With candor judge," the minstrel bird replied,

"Nor deem my efforts arrogance or pride;

Think not ambition makes me act this part,

I only sing because I love the art:

I envy not, indeed, but much revere

Those birds whose fame the test of skill will bear;

I feel no hope arising to surpass,

Nor with their charming songs my own to class;

Far other aims incite my humble strain.

Then surely I your pardon may obtain,

While I attempt the rural vale to move

By imitating of the lays I love."

A bard, whose pen had brought him more

Of fame than of the precious ore,

In Grub Street garret oft reposed

With eyes contemplative half-closed.

Cobwebs around in antique glory,

Chief of his household inventory,

Suggested to his roving brains

Amazing multitude of scenes.

[93]"This batch," said he, "of murder-spinners

Who toil their brains out for their dinners,

Though base, too long unsung has lain

By kindred brethren of Duck Lane,

Unknowing that its little plan

Holds all the cyclopedia of man.

"This one, whose radiant thread

Is every where from centre spread,

Like orbs in planetary skies,

Enclosed with rounds of various size,

This curious frame I aptly call

A cobweb mathematical.

"In secret holes, that dirty line,

Where never sun presumes to shine,

With straws, and filth, and time beset,

Where all is fish that comes to net,

That musty film, the Muse supposes

Figures the web of Virtuosos.

"You, where the gaudy insect sings,

Are cobwebs of the court of kings,

[94]Where gilded threads conceal the gin.

And broider'd knaves are caught therein.

"That holly, fix'd 'mid mildew'd panes,

Of cheerless Christmas the remains

(I only dream and sing its cheer,

My Muse keeps Lent throughout the year)

That holly, labor'd o'er and o'er,

Is cobwebs of the lawyer's lore,

Where frisky flies, on gambols borne,

Find out the snare, when lost, undone.

"These dangling webs, with dirt and age,

Display their tatter'd equipage,

So like the antiquarian crew,

That those in every thread I view.

"Here death disseminated lies,

In shrunk anatomies of flies;

And amputated limbs declare

What vermin lie in ambush there:

A baited lure with drugg'd perdition,

A cobweb, not misnamed physician.

"Those plaited webs, long pendent there,

Of sable bards a subtle snare,

[95]Of all-collective disposition,

Which holds like gout of inquisition,

May well denominated be,

The trap-webs of divinity."

But whilst our bard described the scene,

A bee stole through a broken pane;

Fraught with the sweets of every flower,

In taking his adventurous tour,

Is there entrapp'd. Exert thy sting,

Bold bee, and liberate thy wing!

The poet kindly dropp'd his pen,

And freed the captive from its den;

Then musing o'er his empty table,

Forgot the moral of his fable.

Two hundred years ago, or more,

An heir possess'd a miser's store;

Rejoiced to find his father dead,

Till then on thrifty viands fed;

Unnumber'd dishes crown'd his board,

With each unwholesome trifle stored.

He ate—and long'd to eat again,

But sigh'd for appetite in vain:

His food, though dress'd a thousand ways,

Had lost its late accustom'd praise;

[97]He relish'd nothing—sickly grew—

Yet long'd to taste of something new.

It chanced in this disastrous case,

One morn betimes he join'd the chase:

Swift o'er the plain the hunters fly,

Each echoing out a joyous cry;

A forest next before them lay;

He, left behind, mistook his way,

And long alone bewildered rode,

He found a peasant's poor abode;

But fasting kept, from six to four,

Felt hunger, long unfelt before;

The friendly swain this want supplied,

And Joan some eggs and bacon fried.

Not dainty now, the squire in haste

Fell to, and praised their savory taste;

Nay, said his meal had such a gout

He ne'er in tarts and olios knew.

Rejoiced to think he'd found a dish,

That crown'd his long unanswer'd wish,

With gold his thankful host he paid,

Who guides him back from whence he stray'd;

[98]But ere they part, so well he dined,

His rustic host the squire enjoin'd

To send him home next day a stock

Of those same eggs and charming hock.

He hoped this dish of savory meat

Would prove that still 'twas bliss to eat;

But, ah! he found, like all the rest,

These eggs were tasteless things at best;

The bacon not a dog would touch,

So rank—he never tasted such!

He sent express to fetch the clown,

And thus address'd him with a frown:

"These eggs, this bacon, that you sent,

For Christian food were never meant;

As soon I'll think the moon's a cheese,

As those you dress'd the same with these.

Little I thought"—"Sir," says the peasant,

"I'm glad your worship is so pleasant:

You joke, I'm sure: for I can swear,

The same the fowls that laid them are!

And know as well that all the bacon

From one the self-same flitch was taken:

[99]The air, indeed, about our green

Is known to make the stomach keen."

"Is that the case?" the squire replied;

"That air shall be directly tried."

He gave command—a house he hired,

And down he goes with hope inspired,

And takes his cooks—a favorite train;

But still they ply their art in vain.

Perhaps 'twas riding did the feat:

He rides,—but still he cannot eat.

At last a friend, to physic bred,

Perceived his case, and thus he said:

"Be ruled by me, you soon shall eat,

With hearty gust, the plainest meat;

A pint of milk each rising morn,

Procure from cow of sable horn;

Shake in three drops of morning dew

From twig of ever-verdant yew;

It must by your own hand be done,

Your face turn'd westward from the sun.

With this, ere half an hour is past,

Well crumb'd with biscuit, break your fast;

[100]Which done, from food (or all is vain)

For twice three hours and one abstain—

Then dine on one substantial dish,

If plainly dress'd, of flesh or fish."

Grave look'd the doctor as he spake—

The squire concludes th' advice to take,

And, cheated into temperance, found

The bliss his former luxury drown'd.

Athens in freedom flourish'd long,

'Till licence seized the giddy throng.

Just laws grown weary to obey,

They sunk to tyranny a prey.

Pisistratus, though mild he sway'd,

Their turbulence had not allay'd.

Whilst they were cursing in despair,

The yoke they had not learn'd to bear,

[102]Esop, their danger to describe,

Rehears'd this fable to the tribe:

"Some frogs, like you, of freedom tired,

From Jupiter a king desir'd:

One that should execute the law,

And keep the dissolute in awe.

Jove laugh'd, and threw them down a log,

That thundering fell and shook the bog.

Amongst the reeds the tremblers fled:

Till one more bold advanc'd his head,

And saw the monarch of the flood

Lying half smothered in the mud.

He calls the croaking race around:

"A wooden king!" the banks resound.

Fear once remov'd they swim about him,

And gibe and jeer and mock and flout him;

And messengers to Jove depute,

Effectively to grant their suit.

A hungry stork he sent them then,

Who soon had swallow'd half the fen.

Their woes scarce daring to reveal,

To Mercury by night they steal,

[103]And beg him to entreat of Jove

The direful tyrant to remove.

'No,' says the God, 'they chose their lot,

And must abide what they have got:'

So you, my friends, had best go home

In peace, lest something worse should come."

A hare, closely pursued, thought it prudent and meet

To a bramble for refuge awhile to retreat;

He enter'd the covert, but entering, found

That briers and thorns did on all sides abound;

And that, though he was safe, yet he never could stir,

But his sides they would wound, or would tear off his fur:

[105]He shrugg'd up his shoulders, but would not complain:

"To repine at small evils," quoth puss, "is in vain:

That no bliss can be perfect, I very well knew—

But from the same source good and evil doth flow—

And full sorely my skin though these briers may rend,

Yet they keep off the dogs, and my life will defend:

For the sake of the good, then, let evil be borne—

For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its thorn."

Within a certain pasture,

There lived some creatures wild.

The sky was blue, the grass was green,

The air was very mild.

Now though this field was large and fine,

They could not live in love:

But for the grass in one large spot

A horse and stag once strove.

[107]The stag was strongest in the strife,

And so the battle won;

And from the field the horse was sent

And with chagrin was stung.

So to the man the horse applied,

For help, the stag to beat,

And so effectual was his help,

The stag had to retreat.

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 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.

[109]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."

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,

[111]"Look at this head it naught contains,

It has rare beauty, but no brains."

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.

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.

[113]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.

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.

[115]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."

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.

[117]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."

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,

[119]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."

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;

[121]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."

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!"

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;

[124]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."

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.

[126]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!"

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.

[128]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.

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:

[130]"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.

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.

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.

[133]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.

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."

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."

[136]"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?"

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;

[138]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.

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,

[140]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.

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?"

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;

[143]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.