Chapter 14

PROLOGUE, TO EUTYCHUS.

The tales of Phædrus would you read, O Eutychus, you must be freed From business, that the mind unbent May take the author’s full intent. You urge that this poetic turn Of mine is not of such concern, As with your time to interfere A moment’s space: ’tis therefore clear For those essays you have no call, Which suit not your affairs at all. A time may come, perhaps you’ll say, That I shall make a holiday, And have my vacant thoughts at large, The student’s office to discharge-- And can you such vile stuff peruse, Rather than serve domestic views, Return the visits of a friend, Or with your wife your leisure spend, Relax your mind, your limbs relieve, And for new toil new strength receive? From worldly cares you must estrange Your thoughts, and feel a perfect change, If to Parnassus you repair, And seek for your admission there, Me--(whom a Grecian mother bore On Hill Pierian, where of yore Mnemosyne in love divine Brought forth to Jove the tuneful Nine. Though sprung where genius reign’d with art, I grubb’d up av’rice from my heart, And rather for applause than pay, Embrace the literary way) Yet as a writer and a wit, With some abatements they admit. What is his case then, do you think, Who toils for wealth nor sleeps a wink, Preferring to the pleasing pain Of composition sordid gain? But hap what will (as Sinon said, When to king Priam he was led), I book the third shall now fulfil, With Æsop for my master still; Which book I dedicate to you, As both to worth and honour due. Pleased, if you read--if not, content As conscious of a sure event, That these my fables shall remain, And after-ages entertain. In a few words I now propose To point from whence the Fable rose. A servitude was all along Exposed to most oppressive wrong, The suff’rer therefore did not dare His heart’s true dictates to declare; But couch’d his meaning in the veil Of many an allegoric tale, And jesting with a moral aim, Eluded all offence and blame. This is the path that I pursue, Inventing more than Æsop knew; And certain topics by-the-by, To my own hindrence did I try. But was there any of mankind, Besides Sejanus, so inclined, Who was alone to work my fall, Informer, witness, judge and all; I would confess the slander true, And own such hardships were my due; Nor would I fly, my grief to ease, To such poor lenitives as these. If any through suspicion errs, And to himself alone refers, What was design’d for thousands more He’ll show too plainly, where he’s sore. Yet ev’n from such I crave excuse, For (far from personal abuse) My verse in gen’ral would put down True life and manners of the town. But here, perhaps, some one will ask Why I, forsooth, embraced this task? If Esop, though a Phrygian, rose, And ev’n derived from Scythian snows; If Anacharsis could devise By wit to gain th’ immortal prize; Shall I, who to learn’d Greece belong, Neglect her honour and her song, And by dull sloth myself disgrace? Since we can reckon up in Thrace, The authors that have sweetest sung, Where Linus from Apollo sprung; And he whose mother was a muse, Whose voice could tenderness infuse To solid rocks, strange monsters quell’d, And Hebrus in his course withheld. Envy, stand clear, or thou shalt rue Th’ attack, for glory is my due. Thus having wrought upon your ear, I beg that you would be sincere, And in the poet’s cause avow That candor, all the world allow.

FABLE I. THE OLD WOMAN AND EMPTY CASK.

An ancient dame a firkin sees, In which the rich Falernian lees Send from the nobly tinctured shell A rare and most delicious smell! There when a season she had clung With greedy nostrils to the bung, “O spirit exquisitely sweet!” She cried, “how perfectly complete Were you of old, and at the best, When ev’n your dregs have such a zest!” They’ll see the drift of this my rhyme, Who knew the author in his prime.

II. THE PANTHER AND SHEPHERDS.

Their scorn comes home to them again Who treat the wretched with disdain. A careless Panther long ago Fell in a pit, which overthrow The Shepherds all around alarm’d; When some themselves with cudgels arm’d; Others threw stones upon its head; But some in pity sent her bread, As death was not the creature’s due. The night came on--the hostile crew Went home, not doubting in the way To find the Panther dead next day. But she, recovering of her strength, Sprang from the pit and fled at length. But rushing in a little space From forth her den upon the place, She tears the flock, the Shepherd slays, And all the region round dismays. Then they began to be afraid Who spared the beast and lent their aid; They reck not of the loss, but make Their pray’r for life, when thus she spake: “I well remember them that threw The stones, and well remember you Who gave me bread--desist to fear, For ’twas the oppressor brought me here.”

III. THE APE’S HEAD.

A certain person, as he stood Within the shambles buying food, Amongst the other kitchen fare Beheld an Ape suspended there; And asking how ’twould taste, when dress’d, The butcher shook his head in jest; “If for such prog your fancy is, Judge of the flavour by the phiz.” This speech was not so true as keen, For I in life have often seen Good features with a wicked heart, And plainness acting virtue’s part.

IV. ESOP AND THE INSOLENT FELLOW.

Fools from success perdition meet. An idle wretch about the street At Esop threw a stone in rage. “So much the better,” quoth the sage, And gives three farthings for the job; “I’ve no more money in my fob; But if you’ll follow my advice, More shall be levied in a trice.” It happen’d that the selfsame hour Came by a man of wealth and pow’r. “There, throw your pellet at my lord, And you shall have a sure reward!” The fellow did as he was told; But mark the downfall of the bold; His hopes are baulk’d, and, lo! he gains A rope and gibbet for his pains.

V. THE FLY AND THE MULE.

A Fly that sat upon the beam Rated the Mule: “Why, sure you dream? Pray get on faster with the cart Or I shall sting you till you smart!” She answers: “All this talk I hear With small attention, but must fear Him who upon the box sustains The pliant whip, and holds the reins. Cease then your pertness--for I know When to give back, and when to go.” This tale derides the talking crew, Whose empty threats are all they do.

VI. THE DOG AND THE WOLF.

I will, as briefly as I may, The sweets of liberty display. A Wolf half famish’d, chanced to see A Dog, as fat as dog could be: For one day meeting on the road, They mutual compliments bestowed: “Prithee,” says Isgrim, faint and weak, “How came you so well fed and sleek? I starve, though stronger of the two.” “It will be just as well with you,” The Dog quite cool and frank replied, “If with my master you’ll abide.” “For what?” “Why merely to attend, And from night thieves the door defend.” “I gladly will accept the post, What! shall I bear with snow and frost And all this rough inclement plight, Rather than have a home at night, And feed on plenty at my ease?” “Come, then, with me” --the Wolf agrees. But as they went the mark he found, Where the Dog’s collar had been bound: “What’s this, my friend?” “Why, nothing.” “Nay, Be more explicit, sir, I pray.” “I’m somewhat fierce and apt to bite, Therefore they hold me pretty tight, That in the day-time I may sleep, And night by night my vigils keep. At evening tide they let me out, And then I freely walk about: Bread comes without a care of mine. I from my master’s table dine; The servants throw me many a scrap, With choice of pot-liquor to lap; So, I’ve my bellyful, you find.” “But can you go where you’ve a mind?” “Not always, to be flat and plain.” “Then, Dog, enjoy your post again, For to remain this servile thing, Old Isgrim would not be a king.”

VII. THE BROTHER AND SISTER.

Warn’d by our council, oft beware, And look into yourself with care. There was a certain father had A homely girl and comely lad. These being at their childish play Within their mother’s room one day, A looking-glass was in the chair, And they beheld their faces there. The boy grows prouder as he looks; The girl is in a rage, nor brooks Her boasting brother’s jests and sneers, Affronted at each word she hears: Then to her father down she flies, And urges all she can devise Against the boy, who could presume To meddle in a lady’s room. At which, embracing each in turn, With most affectionate concern, “My dears,” he says, “ye may not pass A day without this useful glass; You, lest you spoil a pretty face, By doing things to your disgrace; You, by good conduct to correct Your form, and beautify defect.”

VIII. A SAYING OF SOCRATES.

Though common be the name of friend, Few can to faithfulness pretend, That Socrates (whose cruel case, I’d freely for his fame embrace, And living any envy bear To leave my character so fair) Was building of a little cot, When some one, standing on the spot, Ask’d, as the folks are apt to do, “How comes so great a man as you Content with such a little hole?”-- “I wish,” says he, “with all my soul That this same little house I build Was with true friends completely fill’d.”

IX. OF DOUBT AND CREDULITY.

’Tis frequently of bad event To give or to withhold assent. Two cases will th’ affair explain-- The good Hippolytus was slain; In that his stepdame credit found, And Troy was levell’d with the ground; Because Cassandra’s prescious care Sought, but obtain’d no credence there. The facts should then be very strong, Lest the weak judge determine wrong: But that I may not make too free With fabulous antiquity, I now a curious tale shall tell, Which I myself remember well. An honest man, that loved his wife, Was introducing into life A son upon the man’s estate. One day a servant (whom, of late, He with his freedom had endu’d) Took him aside, and being shrewd, Supposed that he might be his heir When he’d divulged the whole affair. Much did he lie against the youth, But more against the matron’s truth: And hinted that, which worst of all Was sure a lover’s heart to gall, The visits of a lusty rake, And honour of his house at stake. He at this scandal taking heat, Pretends a journey to his seat; But stopp’d at hand, while it was light, Where, on a sudden, and by night, He to his wife’s apartment sped, Where she had put the lad to bed, As watchful of his youthful bloom. While now they’re running to the room, And seek a light in haste, the sire, No longer stifling of his ire, Flies to the couch, where grouping round, A head, but newly shaved, he found; Then, as alone, he vengeance breath’d, The sword within his bosom sheath’d-- The candle ent’ring, when he spied The bleeding youth, and by his side The spotless dame, who being fast Asleep, knew nothing that had pass’d, Instant in utmost grief involved, He vengeance for himself resolved; And on that very weapon flew, Which his too cred’lous fury drew. Th’ accusers take the woman straight, And drag to the centumvirate; Th’ ill-natured world directly built A strong suspicion of her guilts, As she th’ estate was to enjoy-- The lawyers all their skill employ; And a great spirit those exert Who most her innocence assert. The judges then to Cæsar pray’d That he would lend his special aid; Who, as they acted upon oath, Declared themselves extremely loth To close this intricate affair-- He, taking then himself the chair, The clouds of calumny displaced. And Truth up to her fountain traced. “Let the freedman to vengeance go, The cause of all this scene of woe: For the poor widow, thus undone, Deprived of husband and of son, To pity has a greater plea Than condemnation, I decree-- But if the man, with caution due, Had rather blamed than listen’d to The vile accuser, and his lie Had strictly search’d with Reason’s eye, This desp’rate guilt he had not known, Nor branch and root his house o’erthrown.” Nor wholly scorn, nor yet attend Too much at what the tatlers vend, Because there’s many a sad neglect. Where you have little to suspect; And treach’rous persons will attaint Men, against whom there’s no complaint. Hence simple folks too may be taught How to form judgments as they ought, And not see with another’s glass; For things are come to such a pass, That love and hate work diff’rent ways, As int’rest or ambition sways. Them you may know, in them confide, Whom by experience you have tried. Thus have I made a long amends For that brief style which some offends.

XI. THE COCK AND THE PEARL.

A Cock, while scratching all around, A Pearl upon the dunghill found: “O splendid thing in foul disgrace, Had there been any in the place That saw and knew thy worth when sold, Ere this thou hadst been set in gold. But I, who rather would have got A corn of barley, heed thee not; No service can there render’d be From me to you, and you to me.” I write this tale to them alone To whom in vain my pearls are thrown.

XII. THE BEES AND THE DRONES.

Up in a lofty oak the Bees Had made their honey-combs: but these The Drones asserted they had wrought. Then to the bar the cause was brought Before the wasp, a learned chief, Who well might argue either brief, As of a middle nature made. He therefore to both parties said: “You’re not dissimilar in size, And each with each your color vies, That there’s a doubt concerning both: But, lest I err, upon my oath, Hives for yourselves directly choose, And in the wax the work infuse, That, from the flavor and the form, We may point out the genuine swarm.” The Drones refuse, the Bees agree-- Then thus did Justice Wasp decree: “Who can, and who cannot, is plain, So take, ye Bees, your combs again.” This narrative had been suppress’d Had not the Drones refused the test.

XIII. ESOP PLAYING.

As Esop was with boys at play, And had his nuts as well as they, A grave Athenian, passing by, Cast on the sage a scornful eye, As on a dotard quite bereaved: Which, when the moralist perceived, (Rather himself a wit profess’d Than the poor subject of a jest) Into the public way he flung A bow that he had just unstrung: “There solve, thou conjurer,” he cries, “The problem, that before thee lies.” The people throng; he racks his brain, Nor can the thing enjoin’d explain. At last he gives it up--the seer Thus then in triumph made it clear: “As the tough bow exerts its spring, A constant tension breaks the string; But if ’tis let at seasons loose, You may depend upon its use.” Thus recreative sports and play Are good upon a holiday, And with more spirit they’ll pursue The studies which they shall renew.

XIV. THE DOG AND THE LAMB.

A Dog bespoke a sucking Lamb, That used a she-goat as her dam, “You little fool, why, how you baa! This goat is not your own mamma:” Then pointed to a distant mead, Where several sheep were put to feed. “I ask not,” says the Lamb, “for her Who had me first at Nature’s spur, And bore me for a time about, Then, like a fardel, threw me out; But her that is content to bilk Her own dear kids, to give me milk.” “Yet she that yean’d you sure,” says Tray, “Should be preferr’d” --“I tell thee nay-- Whence could she know that what she hid Was black or white?--but grant she did-- I being thus a male begot ’Twas no great favor, since my lot Was hour by hour, throughout my life, To dread the butcher and his knife. Why should I therefore give my voice For her who had no pow’r or choice In my production, and not cleave To her so ready to relieve, When she beheld me left alone, And has such sweet indulgence shown?” Kind deeds parental love proclaim, Not mere necessity and name.

XV. THE OWL AND THE GRASSHOPPER.

Those who will not the forms obey To be obliging in their way, Must often punishment abide For their ill-nature, and their pride. A Grasshopper, in rank ill-will, Was very loud and very shrill Against a sapient Owl’s repose, Who was compelled by day to doze Within a hollow oak’s retreat, As wont by night to quest for meat-- She is desired to hold her peace. But at the word her cries increase; Again requested to abate Her noise, she’s more importunate. The Owl perceiving no redress, And that her words were less and less Accounted of, no longer pray’d, But thus an artifice essay’d: “Since ’tis impossible to nod, While harping like the Delphian god, You charm our ears, stead of a nap, A batch of nectar will I tap, Which lately from Minerva came; Now if you do not scorn the same, Together let us bumpers ply.” The Grasshopper, extremely dry, And, finding she had hit the key That gain’d applause, approach’d with glee; At which the Owl upon her flew, And quick the trembling vixen slew. Thus by her death she was adjudged To give what in her life she grudged.

XVI. THE TREES PROTECTED.

The gods took certain trees (th’ affair Was some time since) into their care. The oak was best approved by Jove, The myrtle by the queen of love; The god of music and the day Vouchsafed to patronise the bay; The pine Cybele chanced to please, And the tall poplar Hercules. Minerva upon this inquired Why they all barren trees admired? “The cause,” says Jupiter, “is plain, Lest we give honour up for gain.” “Let every one their fancy suit, I choose the olive for its fruit.” The sire of gods and men replies, “Daughter, thou shalt be reckon’d wise By all the world, and justly too; For whatsover things we do, If not a life of useful days, How vain is all pretence to praise!” Whate’er experiments you try, Have some advantage in your eye.

XVII. JUNO AND THE PEACOCK.

Her fav’rite bird to Juno came, And was in dudgeon at the dame, That she had not attuned her throat With Philomela’s matchless note; “She is the wonder of all ears; But when I speak the audience sneers.” The goddess to the bird replied, (Willing to have him pacified,) “You are above the rest endued With beauty and with magnitude; Your neck the em’rald’s gloss outvies, And what a blaze of gemmeous dies Shines from the plumage of your tail!” “All this dumb show will not avail,” Cries he, “if I’m surpass’d in voice.” “The fates entirely have the choice Of all the lots--fair form is yours; The eagle’s strength his prey secures; The nightingale can sing an ode; The crow and raven may forebode: All these in sheer contentment crave No other voice than Nature gave.” By affectation be not sway’d, Where Nature has not lent her aid; Nor to that flatt’ring hope attend, Which must in disappointment end.

XVIII. ESOP AND THE IMPORTUNATE FELLOW.

Esop (no other slave at hand) Received himself his lord’s command An early supper to provide. From house to house he therefore tried To beg the favor of a light; At length he hit upon the right. But as when first he sallied out He made his tour quite round about, On his return he took a race Directly, cross the market-place: When thus a talkative buffoon, “Esop, what means this light at noon?” He answer’d briefly, as he ran, “Fellow, I’m looking for a man.” Now if this jackanapes had weigh’d The true intent of what was said, He’d found that Esop had no sense Of manhood in impertinence.

XIX. THE ASS AND PRIESTS OF CYBELE.

The luckless wretch that’s born to woe Must all his life affliction know-- And harder still, his cruel fate Will on his very ashes wait. Cybele’s priests, in quest of bread, An Ass about the village led, With things for sale from door to door; Till work’d and beaten more and more, At length, when the poor creature died, They made them drums out of his hide. Then question’d “how it came to pass They thus could serve their darling Ass?” The answer was, “He thought of peace In death, and that his toils would cease; But see his mis’ry knows no bounds, Still with our blows his back resounds.”