Part 7

Three sorts of persons can't he praised too much: The Gods, the King, and her on whom we doat. So said Malherbe, and well he said, for such Are maxims wise, and worthy of all note. Praise is beguiling, and disliked by none: A lady's favour it has often won. Let's see whate'en the gods have ere this done To those who praised them. Once, the eulogy Of a rough athlete was in verse essayed. Simonides, the ice well broken, made A plunge into a swamp of flattery. The athlete's parents were poor folk unknown; The man mere lump of muscle and of bone-- No merit but his thews, A barren subject for the muse. The poet praised his hero all he could, Then threw him by, as others would. Castor and Pollux bringing on the stage, He points out their example to such men, And to all strugglers in whatever age; Enumerates the places where they fought, And why they vanished from our mortal ken. In fact, two-thirds of all his song was fraught With praise of them, page after page. A Talent had the athlete guaranteed, But when he read he grudged the meed, And gave a third: frank was his jest,-- "Castor and Pollux pay the rest; Celestial pair! they'll see you righted,-- Still I will feast you with the best; Sup with me, you will be delighted; The guests are all select, you'll see, My parents, and friends loved by me; Be thou, too, of the company." Simonides consents, partly, perhaps, in fear To lose, besides his due, the paltry praise. He goes--they revel and discuss the cheer; A merry night prepares for jovial days. A servant enters, tells him at the door Two men would see him, and without delay. He leaves the table, not a bit the more Do jaws and fingers cease their greedy play. These two men were the Gemini he'd praised. They thanked him for the homage he had paid; Then, for reward, told him the while he stayed The doom'd house would be rased, And fall about the ears Of the big boxer and his peers. The prophecy came true--yes, every tittle; Snap goes a pillar, thin and brittle. The roof comes toppling down, and crashes The feast--the cups, the flagons smashes. Cupbearers are included in the fall; Nor is that all: To make the vengeance for the bard complete, The athlete's legs are broken too. A beam snapped underneath his feet, While half the guests exclaim, "Lord help us! we are lame." Fame, with her trumpet, heralds the affair; Men cry, "A miracle!" and everywhere They give twice over, without scoff or sneer, To poet by the gods held dear. No one of gentle birth but paid him well, Of their ancestors' deeds to nobly tell.

Let me return unto my text: it pays The gods and kings to freely praise; Melpomene, moreover, sometimes traffic makes Of the ingenious trouble that she takes. Our art deserves respect, and thus The great do honour to themselves who honour us. Olympus and Parnassus once, you see, Were friends, and liked each other's company.

FABLE XVI.

DEATH AND THE UNHAPPY MAN.

A Miserable Man incessant prayed To Death for aid. "Oh, Death!" he cried. "I love thee as a friend! Come quickly, and my life's long sorrows end!" Death, wishing to oblige him, ran, Knocked at the door, entered, and eyed the man. "What do I see? begone, thou hideous thing! The very sight Strikes me with horror and affright! Begone, old Death!--Away, thou grisly King!" Mecænas (hearty fellow) somewhere said; "Let me be gouty, crippled, impotent and lame, 'Tis all the same. So I but keep on living. Death, thou slave! Come not at all, and I shall be content." And that was what the man I mention meant.

FABLE XVII.

THE WOLF TURNED SHEPHERD.

A Wolf who found in cautious flocks His tithes beginning to be few, Thought that he'd play the part of Fox, A character at least quite new. A Shepherd's hat and coat he took, And from a branch he made a hook; Nor did the pastoral pipe forget. To carry out his schemes he set, He would have liked to write upon his hat, "I'm Guillot, Shepherd of these sheep!"

And thus disguised, he came, pit-pat, And softly stole where fast asleep Guillot himself lay by a stack, His dog close cuddling at his back; His pipe too slept; and half the number Of the plump sheep was wrapped in slumber. He's got the dress--could he but mock The Shepherd's voice, he'd lure the flock: He thought he could. That spoiled the whole affair--he'd spoken; His howl re-echoed through the wood. The game was up--the spell was broken! They all awake, dog, Shepherd, sheep. Poor Wolf, in this distress And pretty mess, In clumsy coat bedight, Could neither run away nor fight.

At last the bubble breaks; There's always some mistake a rascal makes. The Wolf like Wolf must always act; That is a very certain fact.

FABLE XVIII.

THE CHILD AND THE SCHOOLMASTER.

This fable serves to tell, or tries to show A fools remonstrance often is in vain. A child fell headlong in the river's flow, While playing on the green banks of the Seine: A willow, by kind Providence, grew there, The branches saved him (rather, God's good care); Caught in the friendly boughs, he clutched and clung. The master of the school just then came by. "Help! help! I'm drowning!" as he gulping hung, He shouts. The master, with a pompous eye, Turns and reproves him with much gravity. "You little ape," he said, "now only see What comes of all your precious foolery; A pretty job such little rogues to guard. Unlucky parents who must watch and thrash. Such helpless, hopeless, good-for-nothing trash. I pity them; their woes I understand." Having said this, he brought the child to land.

In this I blame more people than you guess-- Babblers and censors, pedants, all the three; Such creatures grow in numbers to excess, Some blessing seems to swell their progeny. In every crisis theories they shape, And exercise their tongues with perfect skill; Ha! my good friends, first save me from the scrape, Then make your long speech after, if you will.

FABLE XIX.

THE PULLET AND THE PEARL.

A Fowl, while scratching in the straw, Finding a pearl without a flaw, Gave it a lapidary of the day. "It's very fine, I must repeat; And yet a single grain of wheat Is very much more in my way."

A poor uneducated lad A manuscript as heirloom had. He took it to a bookseller one day: "I know," said he, "it's very rare; But still, a guinea as my share Is very much more in my way."

FABLE XX.

THE DRONES AND THE BEES.

A Workman by his work you always know. Some cells of honey had been left unclaimed. The Drones were first to go The Bees, to try and show That they to take the mastership were not ashamed. Before a Wasp the cause at last they bring; It is not easy to decide the thing. The witnesses deposed that round the hive They long had seen wing'd, buzzing creatures fly, Brown, and like bees. "Yes, true; but, man alive, The Drones are also brown; so do not try To prove it so." The Wasp, on justice bent, Made new investigations (Laws of all nations). To throw more light upon the case, Searched every place, Heard a whole ants' nest argue face to face, Still it grew only darker; that's a fact (Lease or contract?) "Oh, goodness gracious! where's the use, my son?" Cried a wise Bee; "Why, only see, For six months now the cause is dragging on, And we're no further than we were at first; But what is worst, The honey's spoiling, and the hive is burst. 'Tis time the judge made haste, The matter's simmered long enough to waste, Without rebutters or fi, fa , Without rejoinders or ca, sa , John Doe, Or Richard Roe. Let's go to work, the wasps and us, We'll see who best can build and store The sweetest juice." It's settled thus. The Drones do badly, as they've done of yore; The art's beyond their knowledge, quite beyond. The Wasp adjudges that the honey goes Unto the Bees: would those of law so fond Could thus decide the cases justice tries. Good common sense, instead of Coke and code, (The Turks in this are really very wise,) Would save how many a debtor's heavy load. Law grinds our lives away With sorrow and delay. In vain we groan, and grudge The money given to our long-gowned tutors. Always at last the oyster's for the judge, The shells for the poor suitors.

FABLE XXI.

THE OAK AND THE REED.

The Oak said one day to a river Reed, "You have a right with Nature to fall out. Even a wren for you's a weight indeed; The slightest breeze that wanders round about Makes you first bow, then bend; While my proud forehead, like an Alp, braves all, Whether the sunshine or the tempest fall-- A gale to you to me a zephyr is. Come near my shelter: you'll escape from this; You'll suffer less, and everything will mend. I'll keep you warm From every storm; And yet you foolish creatures needs must go, And on the frontiers of old Boreas grow. Nature to you has been, I think, unjust." "Your sympathy," replied the Reed, "is kind, And to my mind Your heart is good; and yet dismiss your thought. For us, no more than you, the winds are fraught With danger, for I bend, but do not break. As yet, a stout resistance you can make, And never stoop your back, my friend; But wait a bit, and let us see the end." Black, furious, raging, swelling as he spoke, The fiercest wind that ever yet had broke From the North's caverns bellowed through the sky. The Oak held firm, the Reed bent quietly down. The wind blew faster, and more furiously, Then rooted up the tree that with its head Had touched the high clouds in its majesty, And stretched far downwards to the realms of dead.

FABLE XXII.

AGAINST THOSE WHO ARE HARD TO PLEASE.

Had I when born, from fair Calliope Received a gift such as she can bestow Upon her lovers, it should pass from me To Æsop, and that very soon, I know; I'd consecrate it to his pleasant lies. Falsehood and verse have ever been allies; Far from Parnassus, held in small esteem, I can do little to adorn his theme, Or lend a fresher lustre to his song. I try, that's all--and plan what one more strong May some day do-- And carry through. Still, I have written, by-the-bye, The wolf's speech and the lamb's reply. What's more, there's many a plant and tree Were taught to talk, and all by me. Was that not my enchantment, eh? "Tut! Tut!" our peevish critics say, "Your mighty work all told, no more is Than half-a-dozen baby stories. Write something more authentic then, And in a higher tone."--Well, list, my men!-- After ten years of war around their towers, The Trojans held at bay the Grecian powers; A thousand battles on Scamander's plain, Minings, assaults, how many a hero slain! Yet the proud city stoutly held her own. Till, by Minerva's aid, a horse of wood, Before the gates of the brave city stood. Its flanks immense the sage Ulysses hold, Brave Diomed, and Ajax, churlish, bold; These, with their squadrons, will the vast machine Bear into fated Troy, unheard, unseen-- The very gods will be their helpless prey. Unheard-of stratagem; alas! the day, That will the workmen their long toil repay.-- "Enough, enough!" our critics quickly cry, "Pause and take breath; you'll want it presently. Your wooden horse is hard to swallow, With foot and cavalry to follow. Why this is stranger stuff, now, an' you please, Than Reynard cheating ravens of their cheese; What's more, this grand style does not suit you well, That way you'll never bear away the bell." Well, then, we'll lower the key, if such your will is.-- Pensive, alone, the jealous Amaryllis Sighed for Alcippus--in her care, She thinks her sheep and dog alone will share. Tircis, perceiving her, slips all unseen Behind the willows' waving screen, And hears the shepherdess the zephyrs pray, To bear her words to lover far away.-- "I stop you at that rhyme," Cries out my watchful critic, Of phrases analytic; "It's not legitimate; it cannot pass this time. And then I need not show, of course, The line wants energy and force; It must be melted o'er again, I say." You paltry meddler, prate no more, I write my stories at my ease. Easier to sit and plan a score, Than such a one as you to please.

Fastidious men and overwise, There's nothing ever satisfies.

FABLE XXIII.

THE COUNCIL HELD BY THE RATS.

A Tyrant Cat, by surname Nibblelard, Through a Rat kingdom spread such gloom By waging war and eating hard, Only a few escaped the tomb; The rest, remaining in their hiding-places, Like frightened misers crouching on their pelf, Over their scanty rations made wry faces, And swore the Cat was old King Nick himself. One day, the terror of their life Went on the roof to meet his wife: During the squabbling interview (I tell the simple truth to you), The Rats a chapter called. The Dean, A cautious, wise, old Rat, Proposed a bell to fasten on the Cat. "This should be tried, and very soon, I mean; So that when war was once begun, Safe underground their folk could run,-- This was the only thing that could be done." With the wise Dean no one could disagree; Nothing more prudent there could be: The difficulty was to fix the bell! One said, "I'm not a fool; you don't catch me:" "I hardly seem to see it!" so said others. The meeting separated--need I tell, The end was words--but words. Well, well, my brothers, There have been many chapters much the same; Talking, but never doing--there's the blame. Chapters of monks, not rats--just so! Canons who fain would bell the cats, you know.

To talk, and argue, and refute, The court has lawyers in long muster-roll; But when you want a man who'll execute, You cannot find a single soul.

FABLE XXIV.

THE WOLF PLEADING AGAINST THE FOX BEFORE THE APE.

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

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

FABLE XXV.

THE MIDDLE-AGED MAN AND THE TWO WIDOWS.

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

FABLE XXVI.

THE FOX AND THE STORK.

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

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

FABLE XXVII.

THE LION AND THE GNAT.

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

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

FABLE XXVIII.

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

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

FABLE XXIX.

THE LION AND THE RAT.

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

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

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

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

FABLE XXX.

THE DOVE AND THE ANT.