Chapter 14

Along the road an Ass and Dog One master following, did jog. Their master slept: meanwhile, the Ass Applied his nippers to the grass, Much pleased in such a place to stop, Though there no thistle he could crop. He would not be too delicate, Nor spoil a dinner for a plate, Which, but for that, his favourite dish, Were all that any Ass could wish. "My dear companion," Towser said-- "'Tis as a starving Dog I ask it-- Pray lower down your loaded basket, And let me get a piece of bread." No answer--not a word!--indeed, The truth was, our Arcadian steed Fear'd lest, for every moment's flight, His nimble teeth should lose a bite. At last, "I counsel you," said he, "to wait Till master is himself awake, Who then, unless I much mistake, Will give his Dog the usual bait." Meanwhile, there issued from the wood A creature of the wolfish brood, Himself by famine sorely pinch'd. At sight of him the Donkey flinch'd, And begg'd the Dog to give him aid. The Dog budged not, but answer made, "I counsel thee, my friend, to run, Till master's nap is fairly done; There can, indeed, be no mistake That he will very soon awake; Till then, scud off with all your might; And should he snap you in your flight, This ugly Wolf--why, let him feel The greeting of your well-shod heel. I do not doubt, at all, but that Will be enough to lay him flat." But ere he ceased it was too late; The Ass had met his cruel fate.

The Monkey and the Leopard

A Monkey and a Leopard were The rivals at a country fair. Each advertised his own attractions. Said one, "Good sirs, the highest place My merit knows; for, of his grace, The King hath seen me face to face; And, judging by his looks and actions, I gave the best of satisfactions. When I am dead, 'tis plain enough, My skin will make his royal muff. So richly is it streak'd and spotted, So delicately waved and dotted, Its various beauty cannot fail to please." And, thus invited, everybody sees; But soon they see, and soon depart. The Monkey's show-bill to the mart His merits thus sets forth the while, All in his own peculiar style: "Come, gentlemen, I pray you, come; In magic arts I am at home. The whole variety in which My neighbour boasts himself so rich Is to his simple skin confined, While mine is living in the mind. For I can speak, you understand; Can dance, and practise sleight-of-hand; Can jump through hoops, and balance sticks; In short, can do a thousand tricks; One penny is my charge to you, And, if you think the price won't do, When you have seen, then I'll restore, Each man his money at the door."

_The Ape was not to reason blind; For who in wealth of dress can find Such charms as dwell in wealth of mind? One meets our ever-new desires, The other in a moment tires. Alas! how many lords there are, Of mighty sway and lofty mien, Who, like this Leopard at the fair, Show all their talents on the skin!_

The Rat and the Elephant

A Rat, of quite the smallest size, Fix'd on an Elephant his eyes, And jeer'd the beast of high descent Because his feet so slowly went. Upon his back, three stories high, There sat, beneath a canopy, A certain sultan of renown, His Dog, and Cat, and wife sublime, His parrot, servant, and his wine, All pilgrims to a distant town. The Rat profess'd to be amazed That all the people stood and gazed With wonder, as he pass'd the road, Both at the creature and his load. "As if," said he, "to occupy A little more of land or sky Made one, in view of common sense, Of greater worth and consequence! What see ye, men, in this parade, That food for wonder need be made? The bulk which makes a child afraid? In truth, I take myself to be, In all aspects, as good as he." And further might have gone his vaunt; But, darting down, the Cat Convinced him that a Rat Is smaller than an elephant.

The Acorn and the Pumpkin

God's works are good. This truth to prove Around the world I need not move; I do it by the nearest Pumpkin. "This fruit so large, on vine so small," Surveying once, exclaim'd a bumpkin-- "What could He mean who made us all? He's left this Pumpkin out of place. If I had order'd in the case, Upon that oak it should have hung---- A noble fruit as ever swung To grace a tree so firm and strong. Indeed, it was a great mistake, As this discovery teaches, That I myself did not partake His counsels whom my curate preaches. All things had then in order come; This Acorn, for example, Not bigger than my thumb, Had not disgraced a tree so ample. The more I think, the more I wonder To see outraged proportion's laws, And that without the slightest cause; God surely made an awkward blunder." With such reflections proudly fraught, Our sage grew tired of mighty thought, And threw himself on Nature's lap, Beneath an oak, to take his nap. Plump on his nose, by lucky hap, An Acorn fell: he waked, and in The scarf he wore beneath his chin, He found the cause of such a bruise As made him different language use. "Oh! Oh!" he cried; "I bleed! I bleed! And this is what has done the deed! But, truly, what had been my fate, Had this had half a Pumpkin's weight! I see that God had reasons good, And all His works were understood." Thus home he went in humbler mood.

The Cat and the Fox

The Cat and Fox, when saints were all the rage Together went upon pilgrimage. Our Pilgrims, as a thing of course, Disputed till their throats were hoarse. Then, dropping to a lower tone, They talk'd of this, and talk'd of that, Till Reynard whisper'd to the Cat, "You think yourself a knowing one: How many cunning tricks have you? For I've a hundred, old and new, All ready in my haversack." The Cat replied, "I do not lack, Though with but one provided; And, truth to honour, for that matter, I hold it than a thousand better." In fresh dispute they sided; And loudly were they at it, when Approach'd a mob of dogs and men. "Now," said the Cat, "your tricks ransack, And put your cunning brains to rack, One life to save; I'll show you mine-- A trick, you see, for saving nine." With that, she climb'd a lofty pine. The Fox his hundred ruses tried, And yet no safety found. A hundred times he falsified. The nose of every hound Was here, and there, and everywhere, Above, and under ground; But yet to stop he did not dare, Pent in a hole, it was no joke, To meet the terriers or the smoke. So, leaping into upper air, He met two dogs, that choked him there.

_Expedients may be too many, Consuming time to choose and try. On one, but that as good as any, 'Tis best in danger to rely._

The City Rat and the Country Rat

A city Rat, one night Did with a civil stoop A Country Rat invite To end a turtle soup.

Upon a Turkey carpet They found the table spread, And sure I need not harp it How well the fellows fed.

The entertainment was A truly noble one; But some unlucky cause Disturbed it when begun

It was a slight rat-tat, That put their Joys to rout; Out ran the City Rat; His guest, too, scampered out.

Our rats but fairly quit, The fearful knocking ceased, "Return we," said the cit, "To finish there our feast."

"No," said the Rustic Rat; "To-morrow dine with me. I'm not offended at Your feast so grand and free,

"For I've no fare resembling; But then I eat at leisure, And would not swap for pleasure So mixed with fear and trembling."

The Ploughman and His Sons

A wealthy Ploughman drawing near his end Call'd in his Sons apart from every friend, And said, "When of your sire bereft, The heritage our fathers left Guard well, nor sell a single field. A treasure in it is conceal'd: The place, precisely, I don't know, But industry will serve to show. The harvest past. Time's forelock take, And search with plough, and spade, and rake; Turn over every inch of sod, Nor leave unsearch'd a single clod." The father died. The Sons in vain-- Turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; That year their acres bore More grain than e'er before. Though hidden money found they none, Yet had their Father wisely done, To show by such a measure That toil itself is treasure.

_The farmer's patient care and toil Are oftener wanting than the soil._

The Fox, the Wolf, and the Horse

A Fox, though young, by no means raw, Had seen a Horse, the first he ever saw: "Ho! neighbour Wolf," said he to one quite green, "A creature in our meadow I have seen-- Sleek, grand! I seem to see him yet-- The finest beast I ever met." "Is he a stouter one than we?" The Wolf demanded, eagerly; "Some picture of him let me see." "If I could paint," said Fox, "I should delight T' anticipate your pleasure at the sight; But come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey By fortune offer'd in our way." They went. The Horse, turn'd loose to graze, Not liking much their looks and ways, Was just about to gallop off. "Sir," said the Fox, "your humble servants, we Make bold to ask you what your name may be." The Horse, an animal with brains enough, Replied, "Sirs, you yourselves may read my name; My shoer round my heel hath writ the same." The Fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge: "Me, sir, my parents did not educate, So poor, a hole was their entire estate. My friend, the Wolf, however, taught at college, Could read it, were it even Greek." The Wolf, to flattery weak, Approached to verify the boast; For which four teeth he lost. The high raised hoof came down with such a blow As laid him bleeding on the ground full low. "My brother," said the Fox, "this shows how just What once was taught me by a fox of wit-- Which on thy jaws this animal hath writ-- 'All unknown things the wise mistrust.'"

The Woodman and Mercury

A Man that laboured in the wood Had lost his honest livelihood; That is to say, His axe was gone astray. He had no tools to spare; This wholly earn'd his fare. Without a hope beside, He sat him down and cried, "Alas, my axe! where can it be? O Jove! but send it back to me, And it shall strike good blows for thee." His prayer in high Olympus heard, Swift Mercury started at the word. "Your axe must not be lost," said he: "Now, will you know it when you see? An axe I found upon the road." With that an axe of gold he show'd. "Is't this?" The Woodman answer'd, "Nay." An axe of silver, bright and gay, Refused the honest Woodman too. At last the finder brought to view An axe of iron, steel, and wood. "That's mine," he said, in joyful mood; "With that I'll quite contented be." The god replied, "I give the three, As due reward of honesty." This luck when neighbouring choppers knew, They lost their axes, not a few, And sent their prayers to Jupiter So fast, he knew not which to hear. His winged son, however, sent With gold and silver axes, went. Each would have thought himself a fool Not to have own'd the richest tool. But Mercury promptly gave, instead Of it, a blow upon the head.

_With simple truth to be contented, Is surest not to be repented: But still there are who would With evil trap the good, Whose cunning is but stupid, For Jove is never duped._

The Eagle and the Owl

The Eagle and the Owl, resolved to cease Their war, embraced in pledge of peace. On faith of King, on faith of Owl, they swore That they would eat each other's chicks no more. "But know you mine?" said Wisdom's bird. "Not I, indeed," the Eagle cried. "The worse for that," the Owl replied: "I fear your oath's a useless word; I fear that you, as king, will not Consider duly who or what: Adieu, my young, if you should meet them!" "Describe them, then, and I'll not eat them," The Eagle said. The Owl replied: "My little ones, I say with pride, For grace of form cannot be match'd-- The prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; By this you cannot fail to know them; 'Tis needless, therefore, that I show them." At length God gives the Owl some heirs, And while at early eve abroad he fares, In quest of birds and mice for food, Our Eagle haply spies the brood, As on some craggy rock they sprawl, Or nestle in some ruined wall, (But which it matters not at all,) And thinks them ugly little frights, Grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites. "These chicks," says he, "with looks almost infernal, Can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal. I'll sup of them." And so he did, not slightly: He never sups, if he can help it, lightly. The Owl return'd; and, sad, he found Nought left but claws upon the ground. He pray'd the gods above and gods below To smite the brigand who had caused his woe. Quoth one, "On you alone the blame must fall; Thinking your like the loveliest of all, You told the Eagle of your young ones' graces; You gave the picture of their faces: Had it of likeness any traces?"

The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot

An Iron Pot proposed To an Earthen Pot a journey. The latter was opposed, Expressing the concern he Had felt about the danger Of going out a ranger. He thought the kitchen hearth The safest place on earth For one so very brittle. "For thee, who art a kettle, And hast a tougher skin, There's nought to keep thee in." "I'll be thy bodyguard," Replied the Iron Pot; "If anything that's hard Should threaten thee a jot, Between you I will go, And save thee from the blow." This offer him persuaded. The Iron Pot paraded Himself as guard and guide Close at his cousin's side. Now, in their tripod way, They hobble as they may; And eke together bolt At every little jolt-- Which gives the crockery pain; But presently his comrade hits So hard, he dashes him to bits, Before he can complain.

_Take care that you associate With equals only, lest your fate Between these pots should find its mate._

The Wolf and the Lean Dog

A Troutling, some time since, Endeavoured vainly to convince A hungry fisherman Of his unfitness for the frying-pan. The fisherman had reason good-- The troutling did the best he could-- Both argued for their lives. Now, if my present purpose thrives, I'll prop my former proposition By building on a small addition. A certain Wolf, in point of wit The prudent fisher's opposite, A Dog once finding far astray, Prepared to take him as his prey. The Dog his leanness plead; "Your lordship, sure," he said, "Cannot be very eager To eat a dog so meagre. To wait a little do not grudge: The wedding of my master's only daughter Will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter; And then, as you yourself can judge, I cannot help becoming fatter." The Wolf, believing, waived the matter, And so, some days therefrom, Return'd with sole design to see If fat enough his Dog might be. The rogue was now at home: He saw the hunter through the fence. "My friend," said he, "please wait; I'll be with you a moment hence, And fetch our porter of the gate." This porter was a dog immense, That left to wolves no future tense. Suspicion gave our Wolf a jog-- It might not be so safely tamper'd. "My service to your porter dog," Was his reply, as off he scampered. His legs proved better than his head, And saved him life to learn his trade.

The Ears of the Hare

Some beast with horns did gore The Lion; and that sovereign dread, Resolved to suffer so no more, Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, All sorts of beasts with horns-- Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. Such brutes all promptly fled. A Hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, Could hardly help believing That some vile spy for horns would take them, And food for accusation make them. "Adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket; I take my foreign ticket. My ears, should I stay here, Will turn to horns, I fear; And were they shorter than a bird's, I fear the effect of words." "These horns!" the cricket answered; "why, God made them ears who can deny?" "Yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns, And horns, perhaps, of unicorns! In vain shall I protest, With all the learning of the schools: My reasons they will send to rest In th' Hospital of Fools."

The Ass Carrying Relics

An Ass, with relics for his load, Supposed the worship on the road Meant for himself alone, And took on lofty airs, Receiving as his own The incense and the prayers. Some one, who saw his great mistake, Cried, "Master Donkey, do not make Yourself so big a fool. Not you they worship, but your pack; They praise the idols on your back, And count yourself a paltry tool."

_'Tis thus a brainless magistrate Is honoured for his robe of state._

The Two Mules

Two Mules were bearing on their backs, One, oats; the other, silver of the tax. The latter glorying in his load, March'd proudly forward on the road; And, from the jingle of his bell, 'Twas plain he liked his burden well. But in a wild-wood glen A band of robber men Rush'd forth upon the twain. Well with the silver pleased, They by the bridle seized The treasure Mule so vain. Poor Mule! in struggling to repel His ruthless foes, he fell Stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing, He cried: "Is this the lot they promised me? My humble friend from danger free, While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?" "My friend," his fellow-mule replied, "It is not well to have one's work too high. If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I, Thou wouldst not thus have died."

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 Countryman and the Serpent

A Countryman, as Aesop certifies, A charitable man, but not so wise, One day in winter found, Stretched 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 forked 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 Dairywoman and the Pot of Milk

A Pot of Milk upon her cushioned crown, Good Peggy hastened to the market town; Short-clad and light, with step she went, Not fearing any accident; Indeed to be the nimbler tripper, Her dress that day, The truth to say, Was simply petticoat and slipper. And, thus bedight, Good Peggy, light, Her gains already counted, Laid out the cash At single dash, Which to a hundred eggs amounted. Three nests she made, Which, by the aid Of diligence and care, were hatched. "To raise the chicks, We'll easily fix," Said she, "beside our cottage thatched. The fox must get More cunning yet, Or leave enough to buy a pig. With little care, And any fare, He'll grow quite fat and big; And then the price Will be so nice For which the pork will sell! 'Twill go quite hard But in our yard I'll bring a cow and calf to dwell-- A calf to frisk among the flock!" The thought made Peggy do the same; And down at once the milk pot came, And perished with the shock. Calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu! Your mistress' face is sad to view-- She gives a tear to fortune spilt; Then, with the down-cast look of guilt, Home to her husband empty goes, Somewhat in danger of his blows.

Who buildeth not, sometimes, in air, His cots, or seats, or castles fair? From kings to dairywomen--all-- The wise, the foolish, great and small-- Each thinks his waking dream the best. Some flattering error fills the breast: The world, with all its wealth, is ours, Its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers. Instinct with valour, where alone, I hurl the monarch from his throne; The people glad to see him dead, Elect me monarch in his stead, And diadems rain on my head. Some accident then calls me back, And I'm no more than simple Jack!

The Monkey and the Cat