Part 3

The Man and the Wooden God.

A pagan kept a god of wood,-- A sort that never hears, Though furnish'd well with ears,-- From which he hoped for wondrous good. The idol cost the board of three; So much enrich'd was he With vows and offerings vain, With bullocks garlanded and slain: No idol ever had, as that, A kitchen quite so full and fat. But all this worship at his shrine Brought not from this same block divine Inheritance, or hidden mine, Or luck at play, or any favour. Nay, more, if any storm whatever Brew'd trouble here or there, The man was sure to have his share, And suffer in his purse, Although the god fared none the worse. At last, by sheer impatience bold, The man a crowbar seizes, His idol breaks in pieces, And finds it richly stuff'd with gold. "How's this? Have I devoutly treated," Says he, "your godship, to be cheated? Now leave my house, and go your way, And search for altars where you may."

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 answer'd; "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 Old Woman and Her Servants.

A beldam kept two spinning maids, Who plied so handily their trades, Those spinning sisters down below Were bunglers when compared with these. No care did this old woman know But giving tasks as she might please. No sooner did the god of day His glorious locks enkindle, Than both the wheels began to play, And from each whirling spindle Forth danced the thread right merrily, And back was coil'd unceasingly. Soon as the dawn, I say, its tresses show'd, A graceless cock most punctual crow'd. The beldam roused, more graceless yet, In greasy petticoat bedight, Struck up her farthing light, And then forthwith the bed beset, Where deeply, blessedly did snore Those two maid-servants tired and poor. One oped an eye, an arm one stretch'd, And both their breath most sadly fetch'd, This threat concealing in the sigh-- "That cursed cock shall surely die!" And so he did:--they cut his throat, And put to sleep his rousing note. And yet this murder mended not The cruel hardship of their lot; For now the twain were scarce in bed Before they heard the summons dread. The beldam, full of apprehension Lest oversleep should cause detention, Ran like a goblin through her mansion.

Thus often, when one thinks To clear himself from ill, His effort only sinks Him in the deeper still. The beldam acting for the cock, Was Scylla for Charybdis' rock.

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 honour'd for his robe of state.

The Hare and the Partridge.

A field in common share A partridge and a hare, And live in peaceful state, Till, woeful to relate! The hunters' mingled cry Compels the hare to fly. He hurries to his fort, And spoils almost the sport By faulting every hound That yelps upon the ground. At last his reeking heat Betrays his snug retreat. Old Tray, with philosophic nose, Snuffs carefully, and grows So certain, that he cries, "The hare is here; bow wow!" And veteran Ranger now,-- The dog that never lies,-- "The hare is gone," replies. Alas! poor, wretched hare, Back comes he to his lair, To meet destruction there! The partridge, void of fear, Begins her friend to jeer:-- "You bragg'd of being fleet; How serve you, now, your feet?" Scarce has she ceased to speak,-- The laugh yet in her beak,-- When comes her turn to die, From which she could not fly. She thought her wings, indeed, Enough for every need; But in her laugh and talk, Forgot the cruel hawk!

The Lion Going to War.

The lion had an enterprise in hand; Held a war-council, sent his provost-marshal, And gave the animals a call impartial-- Each, in his way, to serve his high command. The elephant should carry on his back The tools of war, the mighty public pack, And fight in elephantine way and form; The bear should hold himself prepared to storm; The fox all secret stratagems should fix; The monkey should amuse the foe by tricks. "Dismiss," said one, "the blockhead asses, And hares, too cowardly and fleet." "No," said the king; "I use all classes; Without their aid my force were incomplete. The ass shall be our trumpeter, to scare Our enemy. And then the nimble hare Our royal bulletins shall homeward bear."

A monarch provident and wise Will hold his subjects all of consequence, And know in each what talent lies. There's nothing useless to a man of sense.

The Old Man and the Ass.

An old man, riding on his ass, Had found a spot of thrifty grass, And there turn'd loose his weary beast. Old Grizzle, pleased with such a feast, Flung up his heels, and caper'd round, Then roll'd and rubb'd upon the ground, And frisk'd and browsed and bray'd, And many a clean spot made. Arm'd men came on them as he fed: "Let's fly," in haste the old man said. "And wherefore so?" the ass replied; "With heavier burdens will they ride?" "No," said the man, already started. "Then," cried the ass, as he departed "I'll stay, and be--no matter whose; Save you yourself, and leave me loose But let me tell you, ere you go, (I speak plain English, as you know,) My master is my only foe."

The Ass and his Masters.

A gardener's ass complain'd to Destiny Of being made to rise before the dawn. "The cocks their matins have not sung," said he, "Ere I am up and gone. And all for what? To market herbs, it seems. Fine cause, indeed, to interrupt my dreams!" Fate, moved by such a prayer, Sent him a currier's load to bear, Whose hides so heavy and ill-scented were, They almost choked the foolish beast. "I wish me with my former lord," he said: "For then, whene'er he turn'd his head, If on the watch, I caught A cabbage-leaf, which cost me nought. But, in this horrid place, I find No chance or windfall of the kind;-- Or if, indeed, I do, The cruel blows I rue." Anon it came to pass He was a collier's ass. Still more complaint. "What now?" said Fate, Quite out of patience. "If on this jackass I must wait, What will become of kings and nations? Has none but he aught here to tease him? Have I no business but to please him?" And Fate had cause;--for all are so Unsatisfied while here below. Our present lot is aye the worst. Our foolish prayers the skies infest. Were Jove to grant all we request, The din renew'd, his head would burst.

The Wax-Candle.

From bowers of gods the bees came down to man. On Mount Hymettus, first, they say, They made their home, and stored away The treasures which the zephyrs fan. When men had robb'd these daughters of the sky, And left their palaces of nectar dry,-- Or, in English as the thing's explain'd, When hives were of their honey drain'd-- The spoilers 'gan the wax to handle, And fashion'd from it many a candle. Of these, one, seeing clay, made brick by fire, Remain uninjured by the teeth of time, Was kindled into great desire For immortality sublime. And so this new Empedocles Upon the blazing pile one sees, Self-doom'd by purest folly To fate so melancholy. The candle lack'd philosophy: All things are made diverse to be. To wander from our destined tracks-- There cannot be a vainer wish; But this Empedocles of wax, That melted in chafing-dish Was truly not a greater fool Than he of whom we read at school.

The Shepherd and his Flock.

"What! shall I lose them one by one, This stupid coward throng? And never shall the wolf have done? They were at least a thousand strong, But still they've let poor Robin fall a prey! Ah, woe's the day! Poor Robin Wether lying dead! He follow'd for a bit of bread His master through the crowded city, And would have follow'd, had he led, Around the world. Oh! what a pity! My pipe, and even step, he knew; To meet me when I came, he flew; In hedge-row shade we napp'd together; Alas, alas, my Robin Wether!" When Willy thus had duly said His eulogy upon the dead, And unto everlasting fame Consign'd poor Robin Wether's name, He then harangued the flock at large, From proud old chieftain rams Down to the smallest lambs, Addressing them this weighty charge,-- Against the wolf, as one, to stand, In firm, united, fearless band, By which they might expel him from their land. Upon their faith, they would not flinch, They promised him, a single inch. "We'll choke," said they, "the murderous glutton Who robb'd us of our Robin Mutton." Their lives they pledged against the beast, And Willy gave them all a feast. But evil Fate, than Phoebus faster, Ere night had brought a new disaster: A wolf there came. By nature's law, The total flock were prompt to run; And yet 'twas not the wolf they saw, But shadow of him from the setting sun.

Harangue a craven soldiery, What heroes they will seem to be! But let them snuff the smoke of battle, Or even hear the ramrods rattle, Adieu to all their boast and mettle: Your own example will be vain, And exhortations, to retain The timid cattle.

The Tortoise and the Two Ducks.

A light-brain'd tortoise, anciently, Tired of her hole, the world would see. Prone are all such, self-banish'd, to roam-- Prone are all cripples to abhor their home. Two ducks, to whom the gossip told The secret of her purpose bold, Profess'd to have the means whereby They could her wishes gratify. "Our boundless road," said they, "behold! It is the open air; And through it we will bear You safe o'er land and ocean. Republics, kingdoms, you will view, And famous cities, old and new; And get of customs, laws, a notion,-- Of various wisdom, various pieces, As did, indeed, the sage Ulysses." The eager tortoise waited not To question what Ulysses got, But closed the bargain on the spot. A nice machine the birds devise To bear their pilgrim through the skies. Athwart her mouth a stick they throw: "Now bite it hard, and don't let go," They say, and seize each duck an end, And, swiftly flying, upward tend. It made the people gape and stare Beyond the expressive power of words, To see a tortoise cut the air, Exactly poised between two birds. "A miracle," they cried, "is seen! There goes the flying tortoise queen!" "The queen!" ('twas thus the tortoise spoke;) "I'm truly that, without a joke." Much better had she held her tongue, For, opening that whereby she clung, Before the gazing crowd she fell, And dash'd to bits her brittle shell.

Imprudence, vanity, and babble, And idle curiosity, An ever-undivided rabble, Have all the same paternity.

The Two Asses.