Part 9

Two tables hath our Maker set For all that in this world are met. To seats around the first The skilful, vigilant, and strong are beckon'd: Their hunger and their thirst The rest must quell with leavings at the second.

The Dog whose Ears were Cropped.

"What have I done, I'd like to know, To make my master maim me so? A pretty figure I shall cut! From other dogs I'll keep, in kennel shut. Ye kings of beasts, or rather tyrants, ho! Would any beast have served you so?" Thus Growler cried, a mastiff young;-- The man, whom pity never stung, Went on to prune him of his ears. Though Growler whined about his losses, He found, before the lapse of years, Himself a gainer by the process; For, being by his nature prone To fight his brethren for a bone, He'd oft come back from sad reverse With those appendages the worse. All snarling dogs have ragged ears.

The less of hold for teeth of foe, The better will the battle go. When, in a certain place, one fears The chance of being hurt or beat, He fortifies it from defeat. Besides the shortness of his ears, See Growler arm'd against his likes With gorget full of ugly spikes. A wolf would find it quite a puzzle To get a hold about his muzzle.

The Lioness and the Bear.

The lioness had lost her young; A hunter stole it from the vale; The forests and the mountains rung Responsive to her hideous wail. Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose, Could still the loud lament that rose From that grim forest queen. No animal, as you might think, With such a noise could sleep a wink. A bear presumed to intervene. "One word, sweet friend," quoth she, "And that is all, from me. The young that through your teeth have pass'd, In file unbroken by a fast, Had they nor dam nor sire?" "They had them both." "Then I desire, Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot, While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat, To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?" "I quiet!--I!--a wretch bereaved! My only son!--such anguish be relieved! No, never! All for me below Is but a life of tears and woe!"-- "But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?"-- "Alas! 'tis Destiny that is my foe."

Such language, since the mortal fall, Has fallen from the lips of all. Ye human wretches, give your heed; For your complaints there's little need. Let him who thinks his own the hardest case, Some widowed, childless Hecuba behold, Herself to toil and shame of slavery sold, And he will own the wealth of heavenly grace.

The Mice and the Owl.

A pine was by a woodman fell'd, Which ancient, huge, and hollow tree An owl had for his palace held-- A bird the Fates had kept in fee, Interpreter to such as we. Within the caverns of the pine, With other tenants of that mine, Were found full many footless mice, But well provision'd, fat, and nice. The bird had bit off all their feet, And fed them there with heaps of wheat. That this owl reason'd, who can doubt? When to the chase he first went out, And home alive the vermin brought, Which in his talons he had caught, The nimble creatures ran away. Next time, resolved to make them stay, He cropp'd their legs, and found, with pleasure, That he could eat them at his leisure; It were impossible to eat Them all at once, did health permit. His foresight, equal to our own, In furnishing their food was shown. Now, let Cartesians, if they can, Pronounce this owl a mere machine. Could springs originate the plan Of maiming mice when taken lean, To fatten for his soup-tureen? If reason did no service there, I do not know it anywhere. Observe the course of argument: These vermin are no sooner caught than gone: They must be used as soon, 'tis evident; But this to all cannot be done. Hence, while their ribs I lard, I must from their elopement guard. But how?--A plan complete!-- I'll clip them of their feet! Now, find me, in your human schools, A better use of logic's tools!

The Cat and the Two Sparrows.

Contemporary with a sparrow tame There lived a cat; from tenderest age, Of both, the basket and the cage Had household gods the same. The bird's sharp beak full oft provoked the cat, Who play'd in turn, but with a gentle pat, His wee friend sparing with a merry laugh, Not punishing his faults by half. In short, he scrupled much the harm, Should he with points his ferule arm. The Sparrow, less discreet than he, With dagger beak made very free. Sir Cat, a person wise and staid, Excused the warmth with which he play'd: For 'tis full half of friendship's art To take no joke in serious part. Familiar since they saw the light, Mere habit kept their friendship good; Fair play had never turn'd to fight, Till, of their neighbourhood, Another sparrow came to greet Old Ratto grave and Saucy Pete. Between the birds a quarrel rose, And Ratto took his side. "A pretty stranger, with such blows To beat our friend!" he cried. "A neighbour's sparrow eating ours! Not so, by all the feline powers." And quick the stranger he devours. "Now, truly," saith Sir Cat, "I know how sparrows taste by that. Exquisite, tender, delicate!" This thought soon seal'd the other's fate.-- But hence what moral can I bring? For, lacking that important thing, A fable lacks its finishing: I seem to see of one some trace, But still its shadow mocks my chase.

The Two Goats.

Two goats, who self-emancipated,-- The white that on their feet they wore Look'd back to noble blood of yore,-- Once quit the lowly meadows, sated, And sought the hills, as it would seem: In search of luck, by luck they met Each other at a mountain stream. As bridge a narrow plank was set, On which, if truth must be confest, Two weasels scarce could go abreast. And then the torrent, foaming white, As down it tumbled from the height, Might well those Amazons affright. But maugre such a fearful rapid, Both took the bridge, the goats intrepid! I seem to see our Louis Grand And Philip IV. advance To the Isle of Conference, That lies 'twixt Spain and France, Each sturdy for his glorious land. Thus each of our adventurers goes, Till foot to foot, and nose to nose, Somewhere about the midst they meet, And neither will an inch retreat. For why? they both enjoy'd the glory Of ancestors in ancient story. The one, a goat of peerless rank, Which, browsing on Sicilian bank, The Cyclop gave to Galatæa; The other famous Amalthæa, The goat that suckled Jupiter, As some historians aver. For want of giving back, in troth, A common fall involved them both.-- A common accident, no doubt, On Fortune's changeful route.

The Old Cat and the Young Mouse.

A young and inexperienced mouse Had faith to try a veteran cat,-- Raminagrobis, death to rat, And scourge of vermin through the house,-- Appealing to his clemency With reasons sound and fair. "Pray let me live; a mouse like me It were not much to spare. Am I, in such a family, A burden? Would my largest wish Our wealthy host impoverish? A grain of wheat will make my meal; A nut will fat me like a seal. I'm lean at present; please to wait, And for your heirs reserve my fate." The captive mouse thus spake. Replied the captor, "You mistake; To me shall such a thing be said? Address the deaf! address the dead! A cat to pardon!--old one too! Why, such a thing I never knew. Thou victim of my paw, By well-establish'd law, Die as a mousling should, And beg the sisterhood Who ply the thread and shears, To lend thy speech their ears. Some other like repast My heirs may find, or fast."

He ceased. The moral's plain. Youth always hopes its ends to gain, Believes all spirits like its own: Old age is not to mercy prone.

The Sick Stag

A stag, where stags abounded, Fell sick and was surrounded Forthwith by comrades kind, All pressing to assist, Or see, their friend, at least, And ease his anxious mind-- An irksome multitude. "Ah, sirs!" the sick was fain to cry, "Pray leave me here to die, As others do, in solitude. Pray, let your kind attentions cease, Till death my spirit shall release." But comforters are not so sent: On duty sad full long intent, When Heaven pleased, they went: But not without a friendly glass; That is to say, they cropp'd the grass And leaves which in that quarter grew, From which the sick his pittance drew. By kindness thus compell'd to fast, He died for want of food at last.

The men take off no trifling dole Who heal the body, or the soul. Alas the times! do what we will, They have their payment, cure or kill.

The Quarrel of the Dogs and Cats.

In mansion deck'd with frieze and column, Dwelt dogs and cats in multitudes; Decrees, promulged in manner solemn, Had pacified their ancient feuds. Their lord had so arranged their meals and labours, And threaten'd quarrels with the whip, That, living in sweet cousinship, They edified their wondering neighbours. At last, some dainty plate to lick, Or profitable bone to pick, Bestow'd by some partiality, Broke up the smooth equality. The side neglected were indignant At such a slight malignant. From words to blows the altercation Soon grew a perfect conflagration. In hall and kitchen, dog and cat Took sides with zeal for this or that. New rules upon the cat side falling Produced tremendous caterwauling. Their advocate, against such rules as these, Advised recurrence to the old decrees. They search'd in vain, for, hidden in a nook, The thievish mice had eaten up the book. Another quarrel, in a trice, Made many sufferers with the mice; For many a veteran whisker'd-face, With craft and cunning richly stored, And grudges old against the race, Now watch'd to put them to the sword; Nor mourn'd for this that mansion's lord.

Look wheresoever we will, we see No creature from opponents free. 'Tis nature's law for earth and sky; 'Twere vain to ask the reason why: God's works are good,--I cannot doubt it,-- And that is all I know about it.

The Wolf and the Fox.

"Dear wolf," complain'd a hungry fox, "A lean chick's meat, or veteran cock's, Is all I get by toil or trick: Of such a living I am sick. With far less risk, you've better cheer; A house you need not venture near, But I must do it, spite of fear. Pray, make me master of your trade. And let me by that means be made The first of all my race that took Fat mutton to his larder's hook: Your kindness shall not be repented." The wolf quite readily consented. "I have a brother, lately dead: Go fit his skin to yours," he said. 'Twas done; and then the wolf proceeded: "Now mark you well what must be done, The dogs that guard the flock to shun." The fox the lessons strictly heeded. At first he boggled in his dress; But awkwardness grew less and less, Till perseverance gave success. His education scarce complete, A flock, his scholarship to greet, Came rambling out that way. The new-made wolf his work began, Amidst the heedless nibblers ran, And spread a sore dismay. The bleating host now surely thought That fifty wolves were on the spot: Dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled, And left a single sheep in pawn, Which Renard seized when they were gone. But, ere upon his prize he fed, There crow'd a cock near by, and down The scholar threw his prey and gown, That he might run that way the faster-- Forgetting lessons, prize and master.

Reality, in every station, Will burst out on the first occasion.

The Lobster and her Daughter.

The wise, sometimes, as lobsters do, To gain their ends back foremost go. It is the rower's art; and those Commanders who mislead their foes, Do often seem to aim their sight Just where they don't intend to smite. My theme, so low, may yet apply To one whose fame is very high, Who finds it not the hardest matter A hundred-headed league to scatter. What he will do, what leave undone, Are secrets with unbroken seals, Till victory the truth reveals. Whatever he would have unknown Is sought in vain. Decrees of Fate Forbid to check, at first, the course Which sweeps at last the torrent force. One Jove, as ancient fables state, Exceeds a hundred gods in weight. So Fate and Louis would seem able The universe to draw, Bound captive to their law.-- But come we to our fable. A mother lobster did her daughter chide: "For shame, my daughter! can't you go ahead?" "And how go you yourself?" the child replied; "Can I be but by your example led? Head foremost should I, singularly, wend, While all my race pursue the other end." She spoke with sense: for better or for worse, Example has a universal force. To some it opens wisdom's door, But leads to folly many more. Yet, as for backing to one's aim, When properly pursued The art is doubtless good, At least in grim Bellona's game.

The Ploughman and his Sons.