Chapter 2

A RUMOUR once prevailed that a neighbouring mountain was in labour; it was affirmed that she had been heard to utter prodigious groans; and a general expectation had been raised that some extraordinary birth was at hand.

Multitudes flocked in much eagerness to be witnesses of the wonderful event, one expecting her to be delivered of a giant, another of some enormous monster, and all were in earnest expectation of something grand and astonishing; when, after waiting with great impatience a considerable time, behold, out crept a Mouse.

MORAL.

To raise uncommon expectations renders an ordinary event ridiculous.

FABLE XVIII.

THE FOX AND THE STORK.

THE FOX, though in general more inclined to roguery than wit, had once a strong inclination to play the wag with his neighbour the Stork. He accordingly invited her to dinner in due form. But when she came to the table, the Stork found it consisted entirely of different soups, served in broad, shallow dishes, so that she could only dip the end of her bill in them, but could not possibly satisfy her hunger. The Fox lapped them up very readily, and every now and then addressing himself to his guest, desired to know how she liked her entertainment, hoped that everything was to her liking, and protested he was very sorry to see her eat so sparingly.

The Stork, perceiving she was jested with, took no notice, but pretended to like every dish extremely; and, at parting, pressed the Fox so earnestly to return her visit that he could not, in civility, refuse.

The day arrived, and he repaired to his appointment. But, to his great dismay, he found the dinner was composed of minced meat, served up in long, narrow-necked bottles; so that he was only tantalized with the sight of what it was impossible for him to taste. The Stork thrust in her long bill, and helped herself very plentifully; then, turning to Reynard, who was eagerly licking the outside of a jar where some sauce had been spilled, "I am very glad," said she, smiling, "that you appear to have so good an appetite. I hope you will make as hearty a dinner at my table as I did the other day at yours." The Fox hung down his head, and looked very much displeased. "Nay, nay!" said the Stork; "don't pretend to be out of humour about the matter; they that cannot take a jest should never make one."

FABLE XIX.

THE HORSE AND THE STAG.

The Stag, with his sharp horns, got the better of the Horse, and drove him clear out of the pasture where they used to feed together. So the latter craved the assistance of man, and, in order to receive the benefit of it, suffered him to put a bridle into his mouth, and a saddle upon his back. By this means he entirely defeated his enemy, but was mightily disappointed when, upon returning thanks, and desiring to be dismissed, he received this answer: "No; I never knew before how useful a drudge you were; now I have found out what you are good for, you may depend upon it, I will keep you to it."

MORAL.

Help yourself, if you can do so; but at any rate, before you seek the assistance of a powerful man, be sure that the help he gives you will be disinterested, or you may find that in helping you he may put you under obligations fatal to liberty.

FABLE XX.

THE LION WOUNDED.

A MAN, who was very skilful with his bow, went up into the forest to hunt. At his approach, there was a great consternation and rout among the wild beasts, the Lion alone showing any determination to fight. "Stop," said the Archer to him, "and await my messenger, who has somewhat to say to you." With that, he sent an arrow after the Lion, and wounded him in the side. The Lion, smarting with anguish, fled into the depths of the forest; but a Fox, seeing him run, bade him take courage, and face his enemy. "No," said the Lion, "you will not persuade me to that; for if the messenger he sends is so sharp, what must be the power of him who sends it?"

MORAL.

It is better to yield to a superior force than foolishly brave its power.

FABLE XXI.

THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.

An Ass, finding a Lion's skin, disguised himself with it, and ranged about the forest, putting all the beasts that saw him into bodily fear. After he had diverted himself thus for some time, he met a Fox, and, being desirous to frighten him too, as well as the rest, he leapt at him with some fierceness, and endeavoured to imitate the roaring of the Lion.

"Your humble servant," says the Fox, "if you had held your tongue, I might have taken you for a Lion, as others did; but now you bray I know who you are."

MORAL.

A silent man may pass for a wise man, but when we hear him speak we are able to form an estimate of his value.

FABLE XXII.

JUPITER AND THE FARMER.

'Tis said, that Jove had once a farm to let, And sent down Mercury, his common crier, To make the most that he could get; Or sell it to the highest buyer.

To view the premises the people flocked: And, as 'tis usual in such case, Began to run them down apace; The soil was poor, the farm ill stocked: In short, a barren, miserable place, Scarce worth th' expense to draw a lease.

One bolder, tho' not wiser than the rest, Offered to pay in so much rent, Provided he had Jove's consent To guide the weather just as he thought best; Or wet, or dry; or cold, or hot; Whate'er he asked should be his lot;

To all which Jove gave a consenting nod. The seasons now obsequious stand, Quick to obey their lord's command, And now the Farmer undertakes the god; Now calls for sunshine, now for rains, Dispels the clouds, the wind restrains;

But still confined within his farm alone, He makes a climate all his own; For when he sheds, or when he pours, Refreshing dews, or soaking showers,

His neighbours never share a drop; So much the better for their crop; Each glebe a plenteous harvest yields; Whilst our director spoils his fields.

Next year, he tries a different way; New moulds the seasons, and directs again; But all in vain: His neighbour's grounds still thrive while his decay.

What does he do in this sad plight? For once he acted right: He to the god his fate bemoaned, Asked pardon, and his folly owned. Jove, like a tender master, fond to save, His weakness pityed, and his fault forgave.

MORAL.

He, who presumes the ways of heaven to scan, Is not a wise, nor yet a happy man: In this firm truth securely we may rest,-- Whatever Providence ordains is best; Had man the power, he'd work his own undoing; To grant his will would be to cause his ruin.

FABLE XXIII.

THE VAIN JACKDAW.

A CERTAIN Jackdaw was so proud and ambitious that, not contented to live within his own sphere, he picked up the feathers which fell from the Peacocks, stuck them among his own, and very confidently introduced himself into an assembly of those beautiful birds. They soon found him out, stripped him of his borrowed plumes, and falling upon him with their sharp bills, punished him as his presumption deserved.

Upon this, full of grief and affliction, he returned to his old companions, and would have flocked with them again; but they, knowing his late life and conversation, industriously avoided him, and refused to admit him into their company; and one of them, at the same time, gave him this serious reproof: "If, friend, you could have been contented with your station, and had not disdained the rank in which nature had placed you, you had not been used so scurvily by those amongst whom you introduced yourself, nor suffered the notorious slight which we now think ourselves obliged to put upon you."

MORAL.

Great evils arise from vanity; for when we try to place ourselves in a position for which we are not fit, we are liable to be laughed at, and, when we would return to our former state, we find we have lost the esteem of our former friends.

FABLE XXIV.

THE VIPER AND THE FILE.

A VIPER, crawling into a smith's shop to seek for something to eat, cast her eyes upon a File, and darting upon it in a moment, "Now I have you," said she, "and so you may help yourself how you can; but you may take my word for it that I shall make a fine meal of you before I think of parting with you." "Silly wretch!" said the File, as gruff as could be, "you had much better be quiet, and let me alone; for, if you gnaw for ever, you will get nothing but your trouble for your pains. Make a meal of me, indeed! why, I myself can bite the hardest iron in the shop; and if you go on with your foolish nibbling I shall tear all the teeth out of your spiteful head before you know where you are."

MORAL.

Take care that you never strive with those who are too strong for you, nor do spiteful things, lest you suffer for it.

FABLE XXV.

THE WOLF AND THE LAMB.

One hot, sultry day, a Wolf and a Lamb happened to come just at the same time to quench their thirst in the stream of a clear, silver brook, that ran tumbling down the side of a rocky mountain. The Wolf stood upon the higher ground, and the Lamb at some distance from him down the current. However, the Wolf, having a mind to pick a quarrel with him, asked him what he meant by disturbing the water, and making it so muddy that he could not drink, and at the same time demanded satisfaction. The Lamb, frightened at this threatening charge, told him, in a tone as mild as possible, that, with humble submission, he could not conceive how that could be, since the water which he drank ran down from the Wolf to him, and therefore it could not be disturbed so far up the stream. "Be that as it will," replies the Wolf, "you are a rascal; and I have been told that you treated me with ill-language behind my back about half a year ago." "Upon my word," says the Lamb, "the time you mention was before I was born." The Wolf finding it to no purpose to argue any longer against truth, fell into a great passion, snarling and foaming at the mouth, as if he had been mad; and, drawing nearer to the Lamb, "Sirrah," said he, "if it was not you, it was your father, and that's all one." So he seized the poor innocent, helpless thing, tore it to pieces, and made a meal of it.

MORAL.

Bad men, who wish to quarrel, will always find a pretence; if they can find no true grounds, they will resort to those which are false.

FABLE XXVI.

THE OLD BULLFINCH AND YOUNG BIRDS.

It chanced, that, on a winter's day, But warm and bright, and calm as May, The birds, conceiving a design To forestall sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove, Assembled on affairs of love; And with much twitter and much chatter, Began to agitate the matter.

At length, a Bullfinch, who could boast More years and wisdom than the most, Entreated, opening wide his beak, A moment's liberty to speak; And, silence publicly enjoined, Delivered briefly thus his mind:

"My friends, be cautious how ye treat The subject upon which we meet; I fear we shall have winter yet."

A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, With golden wing, and satin poll, A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried What marriage means, thus pert replied:

"Methinks, the gentleman," quoth she, "Opposite, in the apple-tree, By his good will, would keep us single, 'Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle; Or (which is likelier to befall) 'Till death exterminate us all. I marry without more ado; My dear Dick Redcap, what say you?"

Dick heard; and tweedling, ogling, bridling, Turning short round, strutting, and sidling, Attested glad his approbation Of an immediate conjugation. Their sentiments so well express'd, Influenced mightily the rest; All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.

But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast; And destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man's affairs, Not altogether smil'd on theirs.

The wind, that late breath'd gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow; Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled; Soon every father bird, and mother, Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other; Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met; And learn'd in future to be wiser Than to neglect a good adviser.

MORAL.

Young folks, who think themselves so wise, That old folks' counsel they despise, Will find, when they too late repent, Their folly prove their punishment.

FABLE XXVII.

THE MOUSE AND THE WEASEL.

A LITTLE starveling rogue of a Mouse had, with much pushing application, made his way through a small hole in a corn-basket, where he stuffed and crammed so plentifully, that, when he would have retired the way he came, he found himself too plump, with all his endeavours, to accomplish it. A Weasel, who stood at some distance, and had been diverting himself with beholding the vain efforts of the little fat thing, called to him, and said, "Harkee, honest friend; if you have a mind to make your escape, there is but one way for it: contrive to grow as poor and lean as you were when you entered, and then, perhaps, you may get off."

MORAL.

If evil habits have got a man into difficulties, there is no surer way to extricate himself than, by God's help, to cast those habits off.

FABLE XXVIII.

THE OLD HOUND.

An old Hound, who had been an excellent good one in his time, and given his master great sport and satisfaction in many a chase, at last, by the effect of years, became feeble and unserviceable.

However, being in the field one day when the Stag was almost run down, he happened to be the first that came in with him, and seized him by one of his haunches; but his decayed and broken teeth not being able to keep their hold, the deer escaped and threw him quite out. Upon which his master, being in a great passion, and going to strike him, the honest old creature is said to have barked out this apology. "Ah! do not strike your poor old servant; it is not my heart and inclination, but my strength and speed that fail me. If what I now am displeases you, pray don't forget what I have been."

MORAL.

Past services should never be forgotten.

FABLE XXIX.

THE CHARGER AND THE ASS

The Horse, adorned with his great war-saddle, and champing his foaming bridle, came thundering along the way, and made the mountains echo with his loud, shrill neighing. He had not gone far before he overtook an Ass, who was labouring under a heavy burthen, and moving slowly on in the same track with himself. Immediately he called out to him, in a haughty, imperious tone, and threatened to trample him in the dirt, if he did not make way for him. The poor, patient Ass, not daring to dispute the matter, quietly got out of his way as fast as he could, and let him go by. Not long after this, the same Horse, in an engagement with the enemy, happened to be shot in the eye, which made him unfit for show or any military business; so he was stript of his fine ornaments, and sold to a carrier. The Ass, meeting him in this forlorn condition, thought that now it was his time to speak; and so, says he, "Heyday, friend, is it you? Well, I always believed that pride of yours would one day have a fall."

MORAL.

Pride and haughtiness are foreign to really great men. Those who show it, when in their high estate, if the wheel of fortune should change, instead of friendship or pity, will meet with nothing but contempt.

FABLE XXX.

THE COLT AND THE FARMER.

A COLT, for blood and mettled speed, The choicest of the running breed, Of youthful strength and beauty vain, Refused subjection to the rein.

In vain the groom's officious skill Opposed his pride, and checked his will; In vain the master's forming care Restrained with threats, or soothed with prayer: Of freedom proud, and scorning man, Wild o'er the spacious plain he ran.

Where'er luxuriant Nature spread Her flowery carpet o'er the mead, Or bubbling stream's soft gliding pass To cool and freshen up the grass, Disdaining bounds, he cropped the blade, And wantoned in the spoil he made.

In plenty thus the summer passed; Revolving winter came at last: The trees no more a shelter yield; The verdure withers from the field: Perpetual snows invest the ground; In icy chains the streams are bound: Cold, nipping winds, and rattling hail, His lank, unsheltered sides assail.

As round he cast his rueful eyes, He saw the thatched-roof cottage rise: The prospect touched his heart with cheer, And promised kind deliverance near. A stable, erst his scorn and hate, Was now become his wished retreat; His passion cool, his pride forgot, A Farmer's welcome yard he sought.

The master saw his woful plight, His limbs, that tottered with his weight, And, friendly, to the stable led, And saw him littered, dressed, and fed. In slothful ease all night he lay; The servants rose at break of day; The market calls. Along the road His back must bear the pond'rous load;

In vain he struggles or complains, Incessant blows reward his pains. To-morrow varies but his toil: Chained to the plough, he breaks the soil; While scanty meals at night repay The painful labours of the day.

Subdued by toil, with anguish rent, His self-upbraidings found a vent. "Wretch that I am!" he sighing said, "By arrogance and folly led; Had but my restive youth been brought To learn the lesson nature taught, Then had I, like my sires of yore, The prize from every courser bore. Now, lasting servitude's my lot, My birth contemned, my speed forgot; Doomed am I, for my pride, to bear A living death from year to year."

MORAL.

He who disdains control, will only gain A youth of pleasure for an age of pain.

FABLE XXXI.

THE LARK AND HER YOUNG ONES.

A LARK, who had young ones in a field of corn almost ripe, was under some fear lest the reapers should come to reap it before her young brood was fledged and able to remove from that place. She, therefore, upon flying abroad to look for food, left this charge with them--to take notice what they heard talked of in her absence, and tell her of it when she came back again.

When she was gone, they heard the owner of the corn call to his son: "Well," says he, "I think this corn is ripe enough. I would have you go early to-morrow, and desire our friends and neighbours to come and help us to reap it." When the old Lark came home, the young ones fell a quivering and chirping round her, and told her what had happened, begging her to remove them as fast as she could. The mother bid them be easy: "For," said she, "if the owner depends on his friends and neighbours, I am pretty sure the corn will not be reaped to-morrow."

Next day, she went out again, leaving the same orders as before. The owner came, and staid, expecting his friends; but the sun grew hot, and nothing was done, for not a soul came to help them. Then says he to his son, "I perceive these friends of ours are not to be depended upon; so you must go to your uncles and cousins, and tell them I desire they would be here betimes to-morrow morning, to help us to reap." Well, this the young ones, in a great fright, reported also to their mother. "If that be all," says she, "do not be frightened, dear children; for kindred and relations are not so very forward to serve one another; but take particular notice what you hear said next time, and be sure you let me know it."

She went abroad next day, as usual; and the owner, finding his relations as slack as the rest of his neighbours, said to his son, "Harkee, George; get a couple of good sickles ready against to-morrow morning, and we will even reap the corn ourselves." When the young ones told their mother this, "Then," said she, "we must be gone indeed; for, when a man undertakes to do his business himself, it is not so likely he will be disappointed." So she removed her young ones at once, and the corn was reaped next day by the good man and his son.

MORAL.

Never depend on the assistance of others. No business is so sure to be done as that which a man sets about doing himself.

FABLE XXXII.

THE FOX AND THE CROW.

A CROW, having taken a piece of cheese out of a cottage window, flew up with it into a high tree in order to eat it; which the Fox observing, came and sat underneath, and began to compliment the Crow upon the subject of her beauty. "I protest," says he, "I never observed it before, but your feathers are of a more delicate white than any that ever I saw in my life! Ah! what a fine shape and graceful turn of body is there! And I make no question but you have a tolerable voice. If it is but as fine as your complexion, I do not know a bird that can pretend to stand in competition with you." The Crow foolishly believed all that the Fox said was true; but, thinking the Fox a little dubious as to her vocal powers, and having a mind to set him right in that matter, opened her mouth, and, in the same instant, let the cheese drop out of her mouth. This being what the Fox wanted, he caught it up in a moment, and trotted away, laughing to himself at the easy credulity of the Crow.

MORAL.

When anyone is flattered as possessing qualities he ought to feel conscious he does not possess, let him beware lest the flatterers wish either to deprive him of some solid good, or to make him appear ridiculous in the eyes of others.

FABLE XXXIII.

THE PEACOCK'S COMPLAINT.

The Peacock presented a memorial to Juno, importing how hardly he thought he was used, in not having so good a voice as the Nightingale; how that bird was agreeable to every ear that heard it, while he was laughed at for his ugly, screaming noise, if he did but open his mouth.

The goddess, concerned at the uneasiness of her favourite bird, answered him very kindly to this purpose:--"If the Nightingale is blest with a fine voice, you have the advantage in point of beauty and size." "Ah!" says he, "but what avails my silent, unmeaning beauty, when I am so far excelled in voice?"

The goddess dismissed him, bidding him consider that the properties of every creature were appointed by the decree of Fate; to him beauty, to the Eagle strength, to the Nightingale a voice of melody, to the Parrot the faculty of speech, and to the Dove innocence; that each of these was contented with his own peculiar quality; and, unless he wished to be miserable, he must also learn to be equally satisfied.

MORAL.

The man who to his lot's resigned True happiness is sure to find; While envy ne'er can mend the ill, But makes us feel it keener still.

FABLE XXXIV.

THE STAG IN THE OX-STALL.

A STAG, roused from his thick covert in the midst of the forest, and driven hard by the hounds, made towards a farm-house, and, seeing the door of an ox-stall open, entered therein, and hid himself under a heap of straw. One of the oxen, turning his head about, asked him what he meant by venturing himself in such a place, where he was sure to meet his doom. "Ah!" said the Stag, "if you will but be so good as to favour me with your concealment, I hope I shall do well enough; I intend to make off again the first opportunity."