Part 13

Two Friends, in want, resolved to sell A Bear-skin, though the Bear was well, And still alive. The Furrier paid Them willingly; the bargain's made. It was the King of Bears, they said: They'd kill him in an hour or two, And what more could they hope to do? "The merchant has not such a skin, A guarantee through thick and thin, To fence from e'en the keenest cold With warm, soft, pliant fold on fold: Better to make two cloaks than one." The bargain's made, the business done, The Bear, in two days, was to die That they agreed on, presently. They found the Bear, who, at full trot, Came down upon them, raging hot. The men were thunder-struck; soon done With bargain-making, how they run! Life against money: they are mute. One climbs a tree, to shun the brute; The other, cold as marble, lies Upon his stomach--shuts his eyes; For he has heard that Bears, instead Of eating fear to touch the dead. The trap deceives the foolish Bear: He sees the body lying there, Suspects a trick, turns, smells, and sniffs, With many nuzzling cautious whiffs. "He's dead," said he, "and rather high;" Then seeks the forest that's hard by. The merchant, from the tree descending Quickly, to his companion's lending The aid he needs. "A wondrous sight, To think you've only had a fright. But where's his skin?--and did he say Aught in your ear, as there you lay? For he came, as I plainly saw, And turned you over with his paw." "He said, 'Another time, at least, Before you sell, first kill the beast."

FABLE CVII.

JUPITER AND THE FARMER.

Jupiter had a farm to give away; Mercury told the world the chosen day. The people came to offer, rough they were, And listened grimly. One said it was bare And stubborn land; another half agreed. While they thus haggled, churlishly indeed, One bolder than the rest--but wiser?--no-- Consents to take it, if Jove only grant The climate that he wishes; he will plant, And sow, and reap, if but the heat and cold May come and go, like slaves, as they are told. The seasons wait his nod: the wet and dry Obey his bidding from a servile sky. Jove grants his wish--our foolish fellow sways His sceptre bravely--rains and blows for days; Makes his own climate just as he may please: His neighbours, no more than Antipodes, Share his good weather. Still as well they fare; Their barns are teeming full; but his art bare. The next year quite a change; another way He sets the seasons, watching day by day: Still, there's some flaw--his crops are thin and poor, While loaded waggons crowd his neighbour's door. What can he do?--he falls before Jove's throne, Confesses all his folly: he alone Has been to blame. Jove, with much gentleness, Like a mild master, pities his distress. It is agreed that Providence is kind, And knows far better than a human mind What's good for us, and calmly bids us do it: We seldom see our way till we are through it.

FABLE CVIII.

THE STAG VIEWING HIMSELF IN THE STREAM.

Beside a fountain in the wood A royal Stag admiring stood: His antlers pleased him well. But one thing vexed him to the heart: His slender legs ill matched the part On which he loved to dwell.

"Nature has shaped them ill," said he, Watching their shadows peevishly: "Here is a disproportion! My horns rise branching, tall, and proud; My legs disgrace them, 'tis allowed, And are but an abortion."

Just then a deer-hound frightened him, And lent a wing to every limb. O'er bush and brake--he's off! At those adornments on his brow The foolish creature praised just now He soon begins to scoff.

Upon his legs his life depends: They are his best and only friends. He unsays every word, And curses Heaven, that has sent A dangerous gift. We all repent Speeches that are absurd.

We prize too much the beautiful, And useful things spurn (as a rule); Yet fast will beauty fleet. The Stag admired the antlers high, That brought him into jeopardy, And blamed his kindly feet.

FABLE CIX.

THE COCKEREL, THE CAT, AND THE LITTLE RAT.

A Rat, so very young that it had seen Nothing at all, was at his setting out Almost snapped up; and what his fears had been He told his mother. Thus it came about-- "I crossed the mountains bordering our land, Bold as a Rat that has his way to make; When two great animals, you understand, Before my eyes, their way towards me take. The one was gentle, tender, and so mild; The other restless, wild, and turbulent; A screeching voice, some flesh upon its head, A sort of arm, raised as for punishment. His tail a plume, a fiery plume displayed (It was a capon that the creature drew Like a wild beast new come from Africa); And with his arms he beat his sides, it's true, With such a frightful noise, that in dismay, E'en I, who pride myself on courage, ran And fled for fear, cursing the evil creature; As, but for him, I should have found a plan To make acquaintance with that gentle nature-- So soft and sweet, and with a skin like ours; Long tail, and spotted, with a face so meek; And yet a glittering eye, of such strange powers: A sympathiser, sure as I can speak, With us the Rats, for he has just such ears. I was about to make a little speech, When, all at once, as if to rouse my fears, The other creature gave a dreadful screech, And I took flight." "My child," exclaimed the Rat, "That gentle hypocrite you liked so well, Was our malignant enemy--the Cat. The other, on whose form so foul you fell, Is simply harmless, and will be our meal, Perhaps, some day; while, as for that meek beast, On us he dearly loves to leap and steal, And crunch and munch us for his cruel feast. Take care, my child, in any case, Judge no one by their look or face."

FABLE CX.

THE FOX, THE MONKEY, AND THE OTHER ANIMALS.

The Animals (the Lion dead) Resolved to choose a King instead; The crown was taken from its case-- A dragon guarded well the place. They tried the crown, but, when they'd done, It would not fit a single one. Some heads too large, and some too small; Many had horns,--defects in all. The Monkey, laughing, tried it, too, And got his mocking visage through, With many wild, fantastic faces; And twisting gambols and grimaces. A hoop, at last, around his waist He wore it, and they cried, "Well placed!" He was elected. Each one paid Their homage to the King they'd made. The Fox alone laments the choice, But chokes it down with flattering voice. Paving his little compliments, To hide his secret sentiments. "Sire," to the King, he said, "I've pleasure To tell you I have found a treasure; A secret, but to me alone-- All treasures fall unto the throne." The young King, eager at finance, Ran fast himself, to catch the chance. It was a trap, and he was caught. The Fox said, when his aid he sought, "You think to govern us and rule; You cannot save yourself, you fool!" They turned him out, and, with some wit, Agreed that few a crown will fit.

FABLE CXI.

THE MULE THAT BOASTED OF HIS FAMILY.

An Episcopal Mule, of its family proud, Would not keep his ancestry under a cloud, But chattered, and bragged of his mother the mare: Of her having done this, and her having been there; And vowed that so famous a creature ignored, Was a shame and disgrace to historian's record. He frankly disdained on a doctor to wait, And patiently stand at a poor patient's gate. At last, growing old, in the mill he's confined, Then his father, the donkey, came into his mind. A misfortune is useful, if only to bring A fool to his senses--a very good thing-- It's sent for a purpose, and always will be Useful to some one or something, you see.

FABLE CXII.

THE OLD MAN AND THE ASS.

An Old Man, riding on a Donkey, saw A meadow thick with flowers, and full of grass. He instantly unbridled the poor Ass, And let him roam for twenty minutes' law. It scratch'd, and scratch'd, and munch'd, and chew'd, and bray'd Nipping the best, and kicking, for sheer fun: The meal refreshing was betimes begun. Just then the enemy came, all arrayed: "Fly," said the Old Man. "Wherefore?" said the beast; "Am I to carry double burden--double load? Am I to tramp once more upon the road?" "No," said the Old Man; "I'll stop here, at least." "To whom I may belong is no great matter. Go, save yourself from an unlucky blow; My master is my enemy, I know: I tell you in the best French I can patter."

FABLE CXIII.

THE COUNTRYMAN AND THE SERPENT.

Æsop describes, as he's well able, A Peasant, wise and charitable, Who, walking on a winter day Around his farm, found by the way A snake extended on the snow, Frozen and numb--half dead, you know. He lifts the beast, with friendly care, And takes him home to warmer air-- Not thinking what reward would be Of such an unwise charity. Beside the hearth he stretches him, Warms and revives each frozen limb. The creature scarcely feels the glow, Before its rage begins to flow: First gently raised its head, and rolled Its swelling body, fold on fold; Then tried to leap, and spring, and bite Its benefactor;--was that right? "Ungrateful!" cried the man; "then I Will give you now your due--you die!" With righteous anger came the blow From the good axe. It struck, and, lo! Two strokes--three snakes--its body, tail, And head; and each, without avail, Trying to re-unite in vain, They only wriggle in long pain.

It's good to lavish charity; But then on whom? Well, that's just it. As for ungrateful men, they die In misery, and as 'tis fit.

FABLE CXIV.

THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.

It's not enough that you run fleet; Start early,--that's the way to beat.

The Tortoise said unto the Hare, "I'll bet you, free, and frank, and fair, You do not reach a certain place So soon as I, though quick your pace." "So soon?" the nimble creature cries; "Take physic for your brains;--be wise"-- "Fool or no fool, I make the bet." The bet is made, the stakes are set; But who the sporting judges were Is neither your nor my affair. Our Hare had but a bound to make, From him the swiftest hounds to shake. They run themselves almost to death, Yet he is scarcely out of breath; Plenty of time for him to browse, To sleep, and then again to rouse; Or boldly turn the while he's going, And mark which way the wind is blowing. Careless, he lets the Tortoise pace, Grave as a senator. To race With such a thing is but disgrace. She, in the meanwhile, strives and strains, And takes most meritorious pains; Slow, yet unceasing. Still the Hare Holds it a very mean affair To start too soon; but when, at last, The winning-post is almost past By his dull rival, then, 'tis true, He quicker than the arrow flew. Alas! his efforts failed to win, The Tortoise came the first one in. "Well," she said then, "now, was I right? What use was all your swiftness: light I held your speed, and won the prize; Where would you be, can you surmise, If with my house upon your shoulders, You tried to startle all beholders?"

FABLE CXV.

THE SICK LION AND THE FOX.

The King of Beasts was sick to death, And, almost with his latest breath, Made known to all his vassals he Needed their deepest sympathy. As in his cave he lay, he stated, For friendly visitors he waited. With every guarantee insured, The deputies went, quite secured; Upon the Lion's passport writ, In fair round hand, each word of it-- A promise good, in eyes of law,

Whether against tooth or claw. The Prince's will to execute Goes every class of beast and brute. The Foxes only kept at home; One gave the reason he'd not come: "The footprints of the courtiers, see, Are all one way, that's plain to me: But none point homeward. It is just If I feel somewhat of distrust. Our sick King's courtiers may dispense With passports, for they're full of sense. Granted, no doubt; and yet I crave They'll show me how to leave the cave.-- I clearly see they enter. Well! But how they leave it who can tell?"

FABLE CXVI.

THE ASS AND HIS MASTERS.

A Gardener's Donkey once complained to Fate Of having to rise earlier than the sun. "The cocks," he said, "are certainly not late; But I have got to rise ere they've begun. And all for what?--to carry herbs to sell: A pretty cause to break one's morning sleep!" Fate, touched by this appeal, determined well To give the beast to other hands to keep: The Gardener to a Tanner yields him next. The weight of hides, and their distressing fume, Soon shock our friend; he is far worse perplexed: His mind again begins to lower and gloom. "I much regret," he said, "my first good man, For when he turned his head I always got A bite of cabbage;--that was just my plan: It cost me not a single sous, or jot; But here no, no rewards but kick and cuff."-- His fortune shifts; a Charcoal-dealer's stall Receives him. Still complaints, and quantum suff. "What! not content yet," Fate cries, "after all? This Ass is worse than half a hundred kings. Does he, forsooth, think he's the only one That's not content? Have I no other things To fill my mind but this poor simpleton?" And Fate was right. No man is satisfied: Our fortune never fits our wayward minds; The present seems the worst we've ever tried; We weary Heaven with outcries of all kinds. And yet, if Jupiter gave each his will, We should torment his ear with wishes still.

FABLE CXVII.

THE SUN AND THE FROGS.

A Monarch's wedding gave his people up, The whole day long, to dances and the cup; But Æsop found their doings in bad taste, And thought their joy decidedly misplaced.

"The Sun," said he, "once thought about a wife, And fancied he could shine in married life; But instantly there came petitions loud From all the Frogs on earth--a noisy crowd. 'Suppose,' they said, 'the Queen should be prolific, Our situation will become terrific. A single sun is quite enough to bear; The little ones will drive us to despair. Parched as we are, in sultry summer weather, The extra heat will roast us altogether. Let us entreat your mercy on our race; The river Styx is not a pleasant place!'"

Considering that Frogs are very small, I think the argument not bad at all.

FABLE CXVIII.

THE CARTER STUCK IN THE MUD.

A Phaeton, who drove a load of hay, Found himself in the mud stuck hard and fast: Poor man! from all assistance far away. (In Lower Brittany he had been cast, Near Quimper-Corentin, and all may know 'Tis there that Destiny sends folks she hates. God keep us from such journey here below!) But to return. The Carter, in the mire, Rages and swears, and foams and execrates-- His eyes wild rolling, and his face on fire; Curses the holes, the horses, every stone,

The cart, and then himself. The god he prays, Whose mighty labours through the world are known: "O Hercules! send present aid," he says; "If thy broad back once bore this mighty sphere, Thy arm can drag me out." His prayer he ends. Then came a voice from out a cloud quite near: "To those who strive themselves he succour lends. Work, and find out where the obstruction lies; Remove this bird-lime mud you curse so hot; Clear axle-tree and wheel--be quick and wise; Take up the pick, and break that flint--why not? Fill up that yawning rut. Now, is it done?" "Yes," said the man; and then the voice replied, "Now I can help you; take your whip, my son." "I've got it. Hallo! here; what's this?" he cried; "My cart goes nicely--praise to Hercules." And then the voices--"You see how readily Your horses got clear out of jeopardy." To those who help themselves the gods send help and ease.

FABLE CXIX.

THE DOG AND THE SHADOW.

We all deceive ourselves, and so we fall; We all run after shadows, in our way: So many madmen, one can't count them all; Send them to Æsop's Dog,--I beg and pray. The Dog, who saw the shadow of the meat He carried, dark upon the liquid tide, Dropping his prey, snapped at the counterfeit: The river rose, and washed him from the side. True, with much danger, he regained the shore, But neither meat nor shadow saw he more.

FABLE CXX.

THE BIRD-CATCHER, THE HAWK, AND THE SKYLARK.

Injustice, and false people's wilful crimes, Serve others as excuses, oftentimes, For fresh injustice. Nature's law's planned so; If you wish to be spared, then give no blow.

A Countryman, with glittering looking-glass, Was catching birds. The brilliant phantom lured A Lark; when, suddenly, it came to pass A Sparrow Hawk, of its sweet prey assured, Dropped from the cloud, and struck swift to the ground The gentlest bird that sings; though near the tomb, She had escaped the trap; yet now she found Beneath that cruel beak at last her doom. Whilst stripping her, eager and all intent, The Hawk itself beneath the net was caught. "Fowler," he cried, "no harm I ever meant: I never did thee ill, nor ever sought To do." The man replied, "This helpless thing Had done no more to thee;--no murmuring!"

FABLE CXXI.

THE HORSE AND THE ASS.

In this world every one must help his brother. If your poor neighbour dies, his weary load On you, perhaps, may fall, and on no other.

An Ass and Horse were travelling on the road: The last had but the harness on his back. The first, borne down unto the very ground, Besought the Horse to help him, or, alack! He'd never reach the town. In duty bound, Apologies he made for this request: "To you," he said, "the load will be mere sport." The Horse refused, and snorted at the jest. Just as he sneered, the Donkey died. In short, He soon perceived he had not acted right, And had his friend ill treated; for that night They made him drag the cart through thick and thin, And in the cart his injured comrade's skin.

FABLE CXXII.

THE CHARLATAN.

Of Charlatans the world has never lack: This science of professors has no want. Only the other day one made his vaunt He could cheat Acheron; in white and black Another boasted o'er the town that, lo! He was another Cicero.

One of these fellows claimed a mastery Of eloquence; swore he could make an ass, "A peasant, rustic, booby, d'ye see?-- Yes, gentlemen, a dolt of basest class-- Eloquent. Bring me an ass," he cried, "The veriest ass, and I will teach him so, He shall the cassock wear with proper pride." The Prince resolved the truth of this to know. "I have," he to the rhetorician one day said, "A fine ass from Arcadia in my stable; Make him an orator, if you are able." "Sire, you do what you will." The man they made Accept a sum, for twenty years to teach The ass the proper use of speech; And if he failed, he in the market-place, With halter round his neck, was to be hung; Upon his back his rhetoric books all strung, And asses' ears above his frightened face. One of the courtiers said that he would go And see him at the gibbet; he'd such grace And presence, he'd become the hangman's show; There, above all, his art would come in well: A long-extended speech--with pathos, too-- Would fit the great occasion, so it fell In the one form of those grand Ciceros Vulgarly known as thieves. "Yes, that is true," The other said; "but ere I try, The king, the ass, and you will die."

FABLE CXXIII.

THE YOUNG WIDOW.

A Husband isn't lost without a sigh; We give a groan, then are consoled again; Swift on Time's wings we see our sorrow fly; Fleet Time brings sunshine's pleasure after rain. The widow of a year, the widow of a day, Are very different, I say: One finds it almost hard to trust one's eyes, Or the same face to recognise. One flies the world, the other plans her wiles; In true or untrue sighs the one pours forth her heart,

Yet the same note they sing, or tears or smiles-- "Quite inconsolable," they say; but, for my part, I don't heed that. This fable shows the truth: Yet why say fiction?--it is sooth.

The husband of a beauty, young and gay, Unto another world was call'd away. "My soul, wait for me!" was the Widow's moan. The husband waited not, but went alone. The Widow had a father--prudent man! He let her tears flow; 'twas the wisest plan. Then to console, "My child," he said, "this way Of weeping will soon wash your charms away. There still live men: think no more of the dead; I do not say at once I would be wed; But after a short time you'll see, I know, A husband young and handsome that I'll show, By no means like the sorry one you mourn." "A cloister is my husband--ah! forlorn." The father let these foolish groans go by; A month pass'd--every moment tear or sigh. Another month, and ribbons load her table; She changed her dress, and cast away her sable. The flock of Cupids to the dovecot back Came flying, now unscared by scarecrow black. Smiles, sports, and dances follow in their train, She bathes in youth's bright fountain once again. No more the father fears the dear deceased; But, as his silence not one whit decreased, The angry widow cries impatiently, "Where's the young husband that you promised me?"

FABLE CXXIV.

DISCORD.

Discord, who had the gods entangled About an apple--how they wrangled!-- Was driven from the skies at last, And to that animal came fast That they call Man; her brother, too, "Whether or no," who long'd to view Our ball of earth. Her father came-- Old "Thine and Mine"--the very same. She did much honour to our sphere By longing so much to be here; She cared not for the other race Who watch us from aerial space-- We were gross folk, not tamed the least, Who married without law or priest-- Discord no business had at all: The proper places where to call Scandal has orders to find out; She, a right busy, active scout, Falls quick to quarrel and debates, And always Peace anticipates: Blows up a spark into a blaze, Not to burn out for many days. Scandal, at length, complain'd she found No refuge certain above ground, And often lost her precious time: She must have shelter in this clime-- A point from whence she could send forth Discord, west, east, or south, or north. There were no nunneries then, you see: That made it difficult, may be. The inn of Wedlock was assign'd At last, and suited Scandal's mind.

FABLE CXXV.

THE ANIMALS SICK OF THE PLAGUE.