Chapter 3

By some strange fancy led, The same wise blunderhead, But two or three days later, Had chosen for her rest Another weasel's nest, This last, of birds a special hater. New peril brought this step absurd: Without a moment's thought or puzzle, Dame weasel opened her peaked muzzle To eat th' intruder as a bird. "Hold! do not wrong me," cried the bat; "I'm truly no such thing as that. Your eyesight strange conclusions gathers. What makes a bird, I pray? Its feathers. I'm cousin of the mice and rats. Great Jupiter confound the cats!" The bat, by such adroit replying, Twice saved herself from dying.

_And many a human stranger_ _Thus turns his coat in danger;_ _And sings, as suits, where'er he goes,_ _"God save the king!"--or "save his foes!"_

The Bird wounded by an Arrow.

A bird, with plumèd arrow shot, In dying case deplored her lot: "Alas!" she cried, "the anguish of the thought! This ruin partly by myself was brought! Hard-hearted men! from us to borrow What wings to us the fatal arrow! But mock us not, ye cruel race, For you must often take our place."

_The work of half the human brothers_ _Is making arms against the others._

The Lion and the Gnat.

"Go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!" Thus said the royal lion to the gnat. The gnat declared immediate war. "Think you," said he, "your royal name To me worth caring for? Think you I tremble at your power or fame? The ox is bigger far than you; Yet him I drive, and all his crew." This said, as one that did no fear owe, Himself he blew the battle charge, Himself both trumpeter and hero. At first he play'd about at large, Then on the lion's neck, at leisure, settled, And there the royal beast full sorely nettled. With foaming mouth, and flashing eye, He roars. All creatures hide or fly,-- Such mortal terror at The work of one poor gnat! With constant change of his attack, The snout now stinging, now the back, And now the chambers of the nose; The pigmy fly no mercy shows. The lion's rage was at its height; His viewless foe now laugh'd outright, When on his battle-ground he saw, That every savage tooth and claw Had got its proper beauty By doing bloody duty; Himself, the hapless lion, tore his hide, And lash'd with sounding tail from side to side. Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse! He beat the harmless air, and worse; For, though so fierce and stout, By effort wearied out, He fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel; The gnat retires with verdant laurel.

_We often have the most to fear_ _From those we most despise;_ _Again, great risks a man may clear,_ _Who by the smallest dies._

The Ass Loaded with Sponges.

A man, whom I shall call an ass-eteer, His sceptre like some Roman emperor bearing, Drove on two coursers of protracted ear, The one, with sponges laden, briskly faring; The other lifting legs As if he trod on eggs, With constant need of goading, And bags of salt for loading. O'er hill and dale our merry pilgrims pass'd, Till, coming to a river's ford at last, They stopp'd quite puzzled on the shore. Our asseteer had cross'd the stream before; So, on the lighter beast astride, He drives the other, spite of dread, Which, loath indeed to go ahead, Into a deep hole turns aside, And, facing right about, Where he went in, comes out; For duckings, two or three Had power the salt to melt, So that the creature felt His burden'd shoulders free. The sponger, like a sequent sheep, Pursuing through the water deep, Into the same hole plunges Himself, his rider, and the sponges. All three drank deeply: asseteer and ass For boon companions of their load might pass; Which last became so sore a weight, The ass fell down, Belike to drown His rider risking equal fate. A helper came, no matter who.

_The moral needs no more ado--_ _That all can't act alike,--_ _The point I wish'd to strike._

The Dove and the Ant.

A dove came to a brook to drink, When, leaning o'er its crumbling brink, An ant fell in, and vainly tried, In this, to her, an ocean tide, To reach the land; whereat the dove, With every living thing in love, Was prompt a spire of grass to throw her, By which the ant regain'd the shore.

A barefoot scamp, both mean and sly, Soon after chanced this dove to spy; And, being arm'd with bow and arrow, The hungry codger doubted not The bird of Venus, in his pot, Would make a soup before the morrow. Just as his deadly bow he drew, Our ant just bit his heel. Roused by the villain's squeal, The dove took timely hint, and flew Far from the rascal's coop;-- And with her flew his soup.

The Cock and the Fox.

Upon a tree there mounted guard A veteran cock, adroit and cunning; When to the roots a fox up running, Spoke thus, in tones of kind regard:-- "Our quarrel, brother, 's at an end; Henceforth I hope to live your friend; For peace now reigns Throughout the animal domains. I bear the news:--come down, I pray, And give me the embrace fraternal; And please, my brother, don't delay. So much the tidings do concern all, That I must spread them far to-day. Now you and yours can take your walks Without a fear or thought of hawks. And should you clash with them or others, In us you'll find the best of brothers;-- For which you may, this joyful night, Your merry bonfires light. But, first, let's seal the bliss With one fraternal kiss." "Good friend," the cock replied, "upon my word, A better thing I never heard; And doubly I rejoice To hear it from your voice; And, really there must be something in it, For yonder come two greyhounds, which I flatter Myself are couriers on this very matter. They come so fast, they'll be here in a minute. I'll down, and all of us will seal the blessing With general kissing and caressing." "Adieu," said fox; "my errand's pressing; I'll hurry on my way, And we'll rejoice some other day." So off the fellow scamper'd, quick and light, To gain the fox-holes of a neighbouring height, Less happy in his stratagem than flight. The cock laugh'd sweetly in his sleeve;-- 'Tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive.

The Lion beaten by the Man.

A picture once was shown, In which one man, alone, Upon the ground had thrown A lion fully grown. Much gloried at the sight the rabble. A lion thus rebuked their babble:-- "That you have got the victory there, There is no contradiction. But, gentles, possibly you are The dupes of easy fiction: Had we the art of making pictures, Perhaps our champion had beat yours!"

Philomel and Progne.

From home and city spires, one day, The swallow Progne flew away, And sought the bosky dell Where sang poor Philomel. "My sister," Progne said, "how do you do? 'Tis now a thousand years since you Have been conceal'd from human view; I'm sure I have not seen your face Once since the times of Thrace. Pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?" "Where could I find," said Philomel, "so sweet?" "What! sweet?" cried Progne--"sweet to waste Such tones on beasts devoid of taste Or on some rustic, at the most! Should you by deserts be engross'd? Come, be the city's pride and boast. Besides, the woods remind of harms That Tereus in them did your charms." "Alas!" replied the bird of song, "The thought of that so cruel wrong Makes me, from age to age, Prefer this hermitage; For nothing like the sight of men Can call up what I suffer'd then."

The Camel and the Floating Sticks.

The first who saw the humpback'd camel Fled off for life; the next approach'd with care; The third with tyrant rope did boldly dare The desert wanderer to trammel. Such is the power of use to change The face of objects new and strange; Which grow, by looking at, so tame, They do not even seem the same. And since this theme is up for our attention, A certain watchman I will mention, Who, seeing something far Away upon the ocean, Could not but speak his notion That 'twas a ship of war. Some minutes more had past,-- A bomb-ketch 'twas without a sail, And then a boat, and then a bale, And floating sticks of wood at last!

_Full many things on earth, I wot,_ _Will claim this tale,--and well they may;_ _They're something dreadful far away,_ _But near at hand--they're not._

The Wolf, the Goat, and the Kid.

As went a goat of grass to take her fill, And browse the herbage of a distant hill, She latch'd her door, and bid, With matron care, her kid; "My daughter, as you live, This portal don't undo To any creature who This watchword does not give: 'Deuce take the wolf and all his race!'" The wolf was passing near the place By chance, and heard the words with pleasure, And laid them up as useful treasure; And hardly need we mention, Escaped the goat's attention. No sooner did he see The matron off, than he, With hypocritic tone and face, Cried out before the place, "Deuce take the wolf and all his race!" Not doubting thus to gain admission. The kid, not void of all suspicion, Peer'd through a crack, and cried, "Show me white paw before You ask me to undo the door." The wolf could not, if he had died, For wolves have no connection With pains of that complexion. So, much surprised, our gourmandiser Retired to fast till he was wiser.

_How would the kid have been undone_ _Had she but trusted to the word?_ _The wolf by chance had overheard!_ _Two sureties better are than one;_ _And caution's worth its cost,_ _Though sometimes seeming lost._

The Rat Retired from the World.

The sage Levantines have a tale About a rat that weary grew Of all the cares which life assail, And to a Holland cheese withdrew. His solitude was there profound, Extending through his world so round. Our hermit lived on that within; And soon his industry had been With claws and teeth so good, That in his novel hermitage, He had in store, for wants of age, Both house and livelihood. One day this personage devout, Whose kindness none might doubt, Was ask'd, by certain delegates That came from Rat-United-States, For some small aid, for they To foreign parts were on their way, For succour in the great cat-war. Ratopolis beleaguer'd sore, Their whole republic drain'd and poor, No morsel in their scrips they bore. Slight boon they craved, of succour sure In days at utmost three or four. "My friends," the hermit said, "To worldly things I'm dead. How can a poor recluse To such a mission be of use? What can he do but pray That God will aid it on its way? And so, my friends, it is my prayer That God will have you in his care." His well-fed saintship said no more, But in their faces shut the door.

_What think you, reader, is the service_ _For which I use this niggard rat?_ _To paint a monk? No, but a dervise._ _A monk, I think, however fat,_ _Must be more bountiful than that._

The Cunning Fox.

A fox once practised, 'tis believed, A stratagem right well conceived. The wretch, when in the utmost strait By dogs of nose so delicate, Approach'd a gallows, where, A lesson to like passengers, Or clothed in feathers or in furs, Some badgers, owls, and foxes, pendent were. Their comrade, in his pressing need, Arranged himself among the dead. I seem to see old Hannibal Outwit some Roman general, And sit securely in his tent, The legions on some other scent. But certain dogs, kept back To tell the errors of the pack, Arriving where the traitor hung, A fault in fullest chorus sung. Though by their bark the welkin rung, Their master made them hold the tongue. Suspecting not a trick so odd, Said he, "The rogue's beneath the sod. My dogs, that never saw such jokes, Won't bark beyond these honest folks."

The rogue would try the trick again. He did so to his cost and pain. Again with dogs the welkin rings; Again our fox from gallows swings; But though he hangs with greater faith This time, he does it to his death.

_So uniformly is it true,_ _A stratagem is best when new._

The Ape.

There is an ape in Paris, To which was given a wife: Like many a one that marries, This ape, in brutal strife, Soon beat her out of life. Their infant cries,--perhaps not fed,-- But cries, I ween, in vain; The father laughs: his wife is dead, And he has other loves again, Which he will also beat, I think,-- Return'd from tavern drown'd in drink.

_For aught that's good, you need not look_ _Among the imitative tribe;_ _A monkey be it, or what makes a book--_ _The worse, I deem--the aping scribe._

The Fox, the Flies, and the Hedgehog.

A fox, old, subtle, vigilant, and sly,-- By hunters wounded, fallen in the mud,-- Attracted by the traces of his blood, That buzzing parasite, the fly. He blamed the gods, and wonder'd why The Fates so cruelly should wish To feast the fly on such a costly dish. "What! light on me! make me its food! Me, me, the nimblest of the wood! How long has fox-meat been so good? What serves my tail? Is it a useless weight? Go,--Heaven confound thee, greedy reprobate!-- And suck thy fill from some more vulgar veins!" A hedgehog, witnessing his pains, (This fretful personage Here graces first my page,) Desired to set him free From such cupidity. "My neighbour fox," said he, "My quills these rascals shall empale, And ease thy torments without fail." "Not for the world, my friend!" the fox replied. "Pray let them finish their repast. These flies are full. Should they be set aside, New hungrier swarms would finish me at last."

_Consumers are too common here below,_ _In court and camp, in church and state, we know._ _Old Aristotle's penetration_ _Remark'd our fable's application;_ _It might more clearly in our nation._ _The fuller certain men are fed,_ _The less the public will be bled._

The Eagle and the Magpie.

The eagle, through the air a queen, And one far different, I ween, In temper, language, thought, and mien,-- The magpie,--once a prairie cross'd. The by-path where they met was drear, And Madge gave up herself for lost; But having dined on ample cheer, The eagle bade her, "Never fear; You're welcome to my company; For if the king of gods can be Full oft in need of recreation,-- Who rules the world,--right well may I, Who serve him in that high relation: Amuse me, then, before you fly." Our cackler, pleased, at quickest rate Of this and that began to prate. No fool, or babbler for that matter, Could more incontinently chatter. At last she offer'd to make known-- A better spy had never flown-- All things, whatever she might see, In travelling from tree to tree. But, with her offer little pleased-- Nay, gathering wrath at being teased,-- For such a purpose, never rove,-- Replied th' impatient bird of Jove. "Adieu, my cackling friend, adieu; My court is not the place for you: Heaven keep it free from such a bore!" Madge flapp'd her wings, and said no more.

_'Tis far less easy than it seems_ _An entrance to the great to gain._ _The honour oft hath cost extremes_ _Of mortal pain._ _The craft of spies, the tattling art,_ _And looks more gracious than the heart,_ _Are odious there;_ _But still, if one would meet success,_ _Of different parishes the dress_ _He, like the pie, must wear._

The Lion and the Hunter.

A braggart, lover of the chase, Had lost a dog of valued race, And thought him in a lion's maw. He ask'd a shepherd whom he saw, "Pray show me, man, the robber's place, And I'll have justice in the case." "'Tis on this mountain side," The shepherd man replied. "The tribute of a sheep I pay, Each month, and where I please I stray." Out leap'd the lion as he spake, And came that way with agile feet. The braggart, prompt his flight to take, Cried, "Jove, O grant a safe retreat!"

_A danger close at hand_ _Of courage is the test._ _It shows us who will stand--_ _Whose legs will run their best._

The Fox, the Monkey, and the Animals

Left kingless by the lion's death, The beasts once met, our story saith, Some fit successor to install. Forth from a dragon-guarded, moated place, The crown was brought, and, taken from its case, And being tried by turns on all, The heads of most were found too small; Some hornèd were, and some too big; Not one would fit the regal gear. For ever ripe for such a rig, The monkey, looking very queer, Approach'd with antics and grimaces, And, after scores of monkey faces, With what would seem a gracious stoop, Pass'd through the crown as through a hoop. The beasts, diverted with the thing, Did homage to him as their king. The fox alone the vote regretted, But yet in public never fretted. When he his compliments had paid To royalty, thus newly made, "Great sire, I know a place," said he, "Where lies conceal'd a treasure, Which, by the right of royalty, Should bide your royal pleasure." The king lack'd not an appetite For such financial pelf, And, not to lose his royal right, Ran straight to see it for himself. It was a trap, and he was caught. Said Renard, "Would you have it thought, You ape, that you can fill a throne, And guard the rights of all, alone, Not knowing how to guard your own?"

_The beasts all gather'd from the farce,_ _That stuff for kings is very scarce._

The Sun and the Frogs.

Rejoicing on their tyrant's wedding-day, The people drown'd their care in drink; While from the general joy did Æsop shrink, And show'd its folly in this way. "The sun," said he, "once took it in his head To have a partner: so he wed. From swamps, and ponds, and marshy bogs, Up rose the wailings of the frogs. "What shall we do, should he have progeny?" Said they to Destiny; 'One sun we scarcely can endure, And half-a-dozen, we are sure, Will dry the very sea. Adieu to marsh and fen! Our race will perish then, Or be obliged to fix Their dwelling in the Styx!' For such an humble animal, The frog, I take it, reason'd well."

The Countryman and the Serpent.

A countryman, as Æsop certifies, A charitable man, but not so wise, One day in winter found, Stretch'd on the snowy ground, A chill'd or frozen snake, As torpid as a stake, And, if alive, devoid of sense. He took him up, and bore him home, And, thinking not what recompense For such a charity would come, Before the fire stretch'd him, And back to being fetch'd him. The snake scarce felt the genial heat Before his heart with native malice beat. He raised his head, thrust out his forkèd tongue, Coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung. "Ungrateful wretch!" said he, "is this the way My care and kindness you repay? Now you shall die." With that his axe he takes, And with two blows three serpents makes. Trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes; And, leaping up with all their might, They vainly sought to reunite.

_'Tis good and lovely to be kind;_ _But charity should not be blind;_ _For as to wretchedness ingrate,_ _You cannot raise it from its wretched state._

The Carter in the Mire.