Part 11

A Man amass'd. The thing, we know, Doth often to a frenzy grow. No thought had he but of his minted gold-- Stuff void of worth when unemploy'd, I hold. Now, that this treasure might the safer be, Our miser's dwelling had the sea As guard on every side from every thief. With pleasure, very small in my belief, But very great in his, he there Upon his hoard bestow'd his care. No respite came of everlasting Recounting, calculating, casting; For some mistake would always come To mar and spoil the total sum. A monkey there, of goodly size,-- And than his lord, I think, more wise,-- Some doubloons from the window threw, And render'd thus the count untrue. The padlock'd room permitted Its owner, when he quitted, To leave his money on the table. One day, bethought this monkey wise To make the whole a sacrifice To Neptune on his throne unstable. I could not well award the prize Between the monkey's and the miser's pleasure Derived from that devoted treasure. One day, then, left alone, That animal, to mischief prone, Coin after coin detach'd, A gold jacobus snatch'd, Or Portuguese doubloon, Or silver ducatoon, Or noble, of the English rose, And flung with all his might Those discs, which oft excite The strongest wishes mortal ever knows. Had he not heard, at last, The turning of his master's key, The money all had pass'd The same short road to sea; And not a single coin but had been pitch'd Into the gulf by many a wreck enrich'd.

Now, God preserve full many a financier Whose use of wealth may find its likeness here!

The Vultures and the Pigeons.

Mars once made havoc in the air: Some cause aroused a quarrel there Among the birds;--not those that sing, The courtiers of the merry Spring, But naughty hawk and vulture folks, Of hooked beak and talons keen. The carcass of a dog, 'tis said, Had to this civil carnage led. Blood rain'd upon the swarded green, And valiant deeds were done, I ween. Suffice to say, that chiefs were slain, And heroes strow'd the sanguine plain. 'Twas sport to see the battle rage, And valiant hawk with hawk engage; 'Twas pitiful to see them fall,-- Torn, bleeding, weltering, gasping, all. Force, courage, cunning, all were plied; Intrepid troops on either side No effort spared to populate The dusky realms of hungry Fate. This woful strife awoke compassion Within another feather'd nation, Of iris neck and tender heart. They tried their hand at mediation-- To reconcile the foes, or part. The pigeon people duly chose Ambassadors, who work'd so well As soon the murderous rage to quell, And stanch the source of countless woes. A truce took place, and peace ensued. Alas! the people dearly paid Who such pacification made! Those cursed hawks at once pursued The harmless pigeons, slew and ate, Till towns and fields were desolate.

The safety of the rest requires The bad should flesh each other's spears: Whoever peace with them desires Had better set them by the ears.

The Stag and the Vine.

A stag, by favour of a vine, Which grew where suns most genial shine, And form'd a thick and matted bower Which might have turn'd a summer shower, Was saved from ruinous assault. The hunters thought their dogs at fault, And call'd them off. In danger now no more The stag, a thankless wretch and vile, Began to browse his benefactress o'er. The hunters, listening the while, The rustling heard, came back, With all their yelping pack, And seized him in that very place. "This is," said he, "but justice, in my case. Let every black ingrate Henceforward profit by my fate." The dogs fell to--'twere wasting breath To pray those hunters at the death. They left, and we will not revile 'em A warning for profaners of asylum.

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 body-guard," 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 Bear and the Two Companions.

Two fellows, needing funds, and bold, A bearskin to a furrier sold, Of which the bear was living still, But which they presently would kill-- At least they said they would, And vow'd their word was good. The bargain struck upon the skin, Two days at most must bring it in. Forth went the two. More easy found than got, The bear came growling at them on the trot. Behold our dealers both confounded, As if by thunderbolt astounded! Their bargain vanish'd suddenly in air; For who could plead his interest with a bear? One of the friends sprung up a tree; The other, cold as ice could be, Fell on his face, feign'd death, And closely held his breath,-- He having somewhere heard it said The bear ne'er preys upon the dead. Sir Bear, sad blockhead, was deceived-- The prostrate man a corpse believed; But, half suspecting some deceit, He feels and snuffs from head to feet, And in the nostrils blows. The body's surely dead, he thinks. "I'll leave it," says he, "for it stinks;" And off into the woods he goes. The other dealer, from his tree Descending cautiously, to see His comrade lying in the dirt, Consoling, says, "It is a wonder That, by the monster forced asunder, We're, after all, more scared than hurt. But," addeth he, "what of the creature's skin? He held his muzzle very near; What did he whisper in your ear?" "He gave this caution,--'Never dare Again to sell the skin of bear Its owner has not ceased to wear.'"

The Lion, the Wolf, and the Fox

A Lion, old, and impotent with gout, Would have some cure for age found out. This king, from every species,-- Call'd to his aid the leeches. They came, from quacks without degree To doctors of the highest fee. Advised, prescribed, talk'd learnedly; But with the rest Came not Sir Cunning Fox, M.D. Sir Wolf the royal couch attended, And his suspicions there express'd. Forthwith his majesty, offended, Resolved Sir Cunning Fox should come, And sent to smoke him from his home. He came, was duly usher'd in, And, knowing where Sir Wolf had been, Said, "Sire, abused your royal ear Has been by rumours insincere; To wit, that I've been self-exempt From coming here, through sheer contempt. But, sire, your royal health to aid, I vow'd to make a pilgrimage, And, on my way, met doctors sage, In skill the wonder of the age, Whom carefully I did consult About that great debility Term'd in the books senility, Of which you fear, with reason, the result. You lack, they say, the vital heat, By age extreme become effete. Drawn from a living wolf, the hide Should warm and smoking be applied. Sir Wolf, here, won't refuse to give His hide to cure you, as I live." The king was pleased with this advice. Flay'd, jointed, served up in a trice, Sir Wolf first wrapped the monarch up, Then furnish'd him whereon to sup.

Beware, ye courtiers, lest ye gain, By slander's arts, less power than pain.

The Battle of the Rats and Weasels.

The weasels live, no more than cats, On terms of friendship with the rats; And, were it not that these Through doors contrive to squeeze Too narrow for their foes, The animals long-snouted Would long ago have routed, And from the planet scouted Their race, as I suppose.

One year it did betide, When they were multiplied, An army took the field Of rats, with spear and shield, Whose crowded ranks led on A king named Ratapon. The weasels, too, their banner Unfurl'd in warlike manner. As Fame her trumpet sounds, The victory balanced well; Enrich'd were fallow grounds Where slaughter'd legions fell; But by said trollop's tattle, The loss of life in battle Thinn'd most the rattish race In almost every place;

And finally their rout Was total, spite of stout Artarpax and Psicarpax, And valiant Meridarpax, Who, cover'd o'er with dust, Long time sustain'd their host Down sinking on the plain. Their efforts were in vain; Fate ruled that final hour, (Inexorable power!) And so the captains fled As well as those they led; The princes perish'd all. The undistinguish'd small In certain holes found shelter; In crowding, helter-skelter; But the nobility Could not go in so free, Who proudly had assumed Each one a helmet plumed; We know not, truly, whether For honour's sake the feather, Or foes to strike with terror; But, truly, 'twas their error. Nor hole, nor crack, nor crevice Will let their head-gear in; While meaner rats in bevies An easy passage win;-- So that the shafts of fate Do chiefly hit the great.

A feather in the cap Is oft a great mishap. An equipage too grand Comes often to a stand Within a narrow place. The small, whate'er the case, With ease slip through a strait, Where larger folks must wait.

The Animals Sick of the Plague.

The sorest ill that Heaven hath Sent on this lower world in wrath,-- The plague (to call it by its name,) One single day of which Would Pluto's ferryman enrich,-- Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame. They died not all, but all were sick: No hunting now, by force or trick, To save what might so soon expire. No food excited their desire; Nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slay The innocent and tender prey. The turtles fled; So love and therefore joy were dead. The lion council held, and said: "My friends, I do believe This awful scourge, for which we grieve, Is for our sins a punishment Most righteously by Heaven sent. Let us our guiltiest beast resign, A sacrifice to wrath divine. Perhaps this offering, truly small, May gain the life and health of all. By history we find it noted That lives have been just so devoted. Then let us all turn eyes within, And ferret out the hidden sin. Himself let no one spare nor flatter, But make clean conscience in the matter. For me, my appetite has play'd the glutton Too much and often upon mutton. What harm had e'er my victims done? I answer, truly, None. Perhaps, sometimes, by hunger press'd, I've eat the shepherd with the rest. I yield myself, if need there be; And yet I think, in equity, Each should confess his sins with me; For laws of right and justice cry, The guiltiest alone should die." "Sire," said the fox, "your majesty Is humbler than a king should be,

And over-squeamish in the case. What! eating stupid sheep a crime? No, never, sire, at any time. It rather was an act of grace, A mark of honour to their race. And as to shepherds, one may swear, The fate your majesty describes, Is recompense less full than fair For such usurpers o'er our tribes."

Thus Renard glibly spoke, And loud applause from flatterers broke. Of neither tiger, boar, nor bear, Did any keen inquirer dare To ask for crimes of high degree; The fighters, biters, scratchers, all From every mortal sin were free; The very dogs, both great and small, Were saints, as far as dogs could be.

The ass, confessing in his turn, Thus spoke in tones of deep concern:-- "I happen'd through a mead to pass; The monks, its owners, were at mass; Keen hunger, leisure, tender grass, And add to these the devil too, All tempted me the deed to do. I browsed the bigness of my tongue; Since truth must out, I own it wrong."

On this, a hue and cry arose, As if the beasts were all his foes: A wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise. Denounced the ass for sacrifice-- The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, By whom the plague had come, no doubt. His fault was judged a hanging crime. "What? eat another's grass? O shame! The noose of rope and death sublime, For that offence, were all too tame!" And soon poor Grizzle felt the same.

Thus human courts acquit the strong, And doom the weak, as therefore wrong.