Part 4

Two asses tracking, t'other day, Of which each in his turn, Did incense to the other burn, Quite in the usual way,-- I heard one to his comrade say, "My lord, do you not find The prince of knaves and fools To be this man, who boasts of mind Instructed in his schools? With wit unseemly and profane, He mocks our venerable race-- On each of his who lacketh brain Bestows our ancient surname, ass! And, with abusive tongue portraying, Describes our laugh and talk as braying! These bipeds of their folly tell us, While thus pretending to excel us." "No, 'tis for you to speak, my friend, And let their orators attend. The braying is their own, but let them be: We understand each other, and agree, And that's enough. As for your song, Such wonders to its notes belong, The nightingale is put to shame, The Sirens lose one half their fame." "My lord," the other ass replied, "Such talents in yourself reside, Of asses all, the joy and pride." These donkeys, not quite satisfied With scratching thus each other's hide, Must needs the cities visit, Their fortunes there to raise, By sounding forth the praise, Each, of the other's skill exquisite.

The Shepherd and his Dog.

A shepherd, with a single dog, Was ask'd the reason why He kept a dog, whose least supply Amounted to a loaf of bread For every day. The people said He'd better give the animal To guard the village seignior's hall; For him, a shepherd, it would be A thriftier economy To keep small curs, say two or three, That would not cost him half the food, And yet for watching be as good. The fools, perhaps, forgot to tell If they would fight the wolf as well. The silly shepherd, giving heed, Cast off his dog of mastiff breed, And took three dogs to watch his cattle, Which ate far less, but fled in battle.

Not vain our tale, if it convinces Small states that 'tis a wiser thing To trust a single powerful king, Than half a dozen petty princes.

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 Heifer, the Goat, and the Sheep.

The heifer, the goat, and their sister the sheep, Compacted their earnings in common to keep, 'Tis said, in time past, with a lion, who sway'd Full lordship o'er neighbours, of whatever grade. The goat, as it happen'd, a stag having snared, Sent off to the rest, that the beast might be shared. All gather'd; the lion first counts on his claws, And says, "We'll proceed to divide with our paws The stag into pieces, as fix'd by our laws." This done, he announces part first as his own; "'Tis mine," he says, "truly, as lion alone." To such a decision there's nought to be said, As he who has made it is doubtless the head. "Well, also, the second to me should belong; 'Tis mine, be it known, by the right of the strong. Again, as the bravest, the third must be mine. To touch but the fourth whoso maketh a sign, I'll choke him to death In the space of a breath!"

The Two Rats, the Fox, and the Egg.

Two rats in foraging fell on an egg,-- For gentry such as they A genteel dinner every way; They needed not to find an ox's leg. Brimful of joy and appetite, They were about to sack the box, So tight without the aid of locks, When suddenly there came in sight A personage--Sir Pullet Fox. Sure, luck was never more untoward Since Fortune was a vixen froward! How should they save their egg--and bacon? Their plunder couldn't then be bagg'd; Should it in forward paws be taken, Or roll'd along, or dragg'd? Each method seem'd impossible, And each was then of danger full. Necessity, ingenious mother, Brought forth what help'd them from their pother. As still there was a chance to save their prey,-- The sponger yet some hundred yards away,-- One seized the egg, and turn'd upon his back, And then, in spite of many a thump and thwack, That would have torn, perhaps, a coat of mail, The other dragg'd him by the tail. Who dares the inference to blink, That beasts possess wherewith to think?

Were I commission'd to bestow This power on creatures here below, The beasts should have as much of mind As infants of the human kind.

The Man and his Image.

A man, who had no rivals in the love Which to himself he bore, Esteem'd his own dear beauty far above What earth had seen before. More than contented in his error, He lived the foe of every mirror. Officious fate, resolved our lover From such an illness should recover, Presented always to his eyes The mute advisers which the ladies prize;-- Mirrors in parlours, inns, and shops,-- Mirrors the pocket furniture of fops,-- Mirrors on every lady's zone, From which his face reflected shone. What could our dear Narcissus do? From haunts of men he now withdrew, On purpose that his precious shape From every mirror might escape. But in his forest glen alone, Apart from human trace, A watercourse, Of purest source, While with unconscious gaze He pierced its waveless face, Reflected back his own. Incensed with mingled rage and fright, He seeks to shun the odious sight; But yet that mirror sheet, so clear and still, He cannot leave, do what he will.

Ere this, my story's drift you plainly see. From such mistake there is no mortal free. That obstinate self-lover The human soul doth cover; The mirrors' follies are of others, In which, as all are genuine brothers, Each soul may see to life depicted Itself with just such faults afflicted; And by that charming placid brook, Needless to say, I mean your Maxim Book.

The Dragon with Many Heads.

An envoy of the Porte Sublime, As history says, once on a time, Before th' imperial German court Did rather boastfully report, The troops commanded by his master's firman, As being a stronger army than the German: To which replied a Dutch attendant, "Our prince has more than one dependant Who keeps an army at his own expense." The Turk, a man of sense, Rejoin'd, "I am aware What power your emperor's servants share. It brings to mind a tale both strange and true, A thing which once, myself, I chanced to view. I saw come darting through a hedge, Which fortified a rocky ledge, A hydra's hundred heads; and in a trice My blood was turning into ice. But less the harm than terror,-- The body came no nearer; Nor could, unless it had been sunder'd, To parts at least a hundred. While musing deeply on this sight, Another dragon came to light, Whose single head avails To lead a hundred tails: And, seized with juster fright, I saw him pass the hedge,-- Head, body, tails,--a wedge Of living and resistless powers.-- The other was your emperor's force; this ours."

Death and the Woodman

A poor wood-chopper, with his fagot load, Whom weight of years, as well as load, oppress'd, Sore groaning in his smoky hut to rest, Trudged wearily along his homeward road. At last his wood upon the ground he throws, And sits him down to think o'er all his woes. To joy a stranger, since his hapless birth, What poorer wretch upon this rolling earth? No bread sometimes, and ne'er a moment's rest; Wife, children, soldiers, landlords, public tax, All wait the swinging of his old, worn axe, And paint the veriest picture of a man unblest. On Death he calls. Forthwith that monarch grim Appears, and asks what he should do for him. "Not much, indeed; a little help I lack-- To put these fagots on my back."

Death ready stands all ills to cure; But let us not his cure invite. Than die, 'tis better to endure,-- Is both a manly maxim and a right.

The Hornets and the Bees.

"The artist by his work is known." A piece of honey-comb, one day, Discover'd as a waif and stray, The hornets treated as their own. Their title did the bees dispute, And brought before a wasp the suit. The judge was puzzled to decide, For nothing could be testified Save that around this honey-comb There had been seen, as if at home, Some longish, brownish, buzzing creatures, Much like the bees in wings and features. But what of that? for marks the same, The hornets, too, could truly claim. Between assertion, and denial, The wasp, in doubt, proclaim'd new trial; And, hearing what an ant-hill swore, Could see no clearer than before. "What use, I pray, of this expense?" At last exclaim'd a bee of sense. "We've labour'd months in this affair, And now are only where we were. Meanwhile the honey runs to waste: 'Tis time the judge should show some haste. The parties, sure, have had sufficient bleeding, Without more fuss of scrawls and pleading. Let's set ourselves at work, these drones and we And then all eyes the truth may plainly see, Whose art it is that can produce The magic cells, the nectar juice." The hornets, flinching on their part, Show that the work transcends their art. The wasp at length their title sees, And gives the honey to the bees.

Would God that suits at law with us Might all be managed thus!

The Oak and the Reed.

The oak one day address'd the reed:-- "To you ungenerous indeed Has nature been, my humble friend, With weakness aye obliged to bend. The smallest bird that flits in air Is quite too much for you to bear; The slightest wind that wreathes the lake Your ever-trembling head doth shake. The while, my towering form Dares with the mountain top The solar blaze to stop, And wrestle with the storm. What seems to you the blast of death, To me is but a zephyr's breath. Beneath my branches had you grown, Less suffering would your life have known, Unhappily you oftenest show In open air your slender form, Along the marshes wet and low, That fringe the kingdom of the storm. To you, declare I must, Dame Nature seems unjust." Then modestly replied the reed: "Your pity, sir, is kind indeed, But wholly needless for my sake. The wildest wind that ever blew Is safe to me compared with you. I bend, indeed, but never break. Thus far, I own, the hurricane Has beat your sturdy back in vain; But wait the end." Just at the word, The tempest's hollow voice was heard. The North sent forth her fiercest child, Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild. The oak, erect, endured the blow; The reed bow'd gracefully and low. But, gathering up its strength once more, In greater fury than before, The savage blast O'erthrew, at last, That proud, old, sky-encircled head, Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead!

The Council held by the Rats.

Old Rodilard, a certain cat, Such havoc of the rats had made, 'Twas difficult to find a rat With nature's debt unpaid. The few that did remain, To leave their holes afraid, From usual food abstain, Not eating half their fill. And wonder no one will That one who made of rats his revel, With rats pass'd not for cat, but devil. Now, on a day, this dread rat-eater, Who had a wife, went out to meet her; And while he held his caterwauling, The unkill'd rats, their chapter calling, Discuss'd the point, in grave debate, How they might shun impending fate. Their dean, a prudent rat, Thought best, and better soon than late, To bell the fatal cat; That, when he took his hunting round, The rats, well caution'd by the sound, Might hide in safety under ground; Indeed he knew no other means. And all the rest At once confess'd Their minds were with the dean's. No better plan, they all believed, Could possibly have been conceived. No doubt the thing would work right well, If any one would hang the bell. But, one by one, said every rat, "I'm not so big a fool as that." The plan knock'd up in this respect, The council closed without effect.

And many a council I have seen, Or reverend chapter with its dean, That, thus resolving wisely, Fell through like this precisely.

To argue or refute Wise counsellors abound; The man to execute Is harder to be found.