The animals, on the death of the lion,

During his life, prince of the country,

Resolved to elect a king to try on

The regal crown, and chose a monkey.

Because after the animals had all

Tried on the regal crown, or let it fall,

Because their heads were all too big,

Or too small, too horned, or too thick,

The monkey slipped through it;

And with it cut up many a trick,

Which they all thought refined,

And chose him with one mind.

Only the fox regretted the election,

And swore to reign in his defection.

He came and made his compliment;

"Sire," said he, "I know a treasure meant

For your high majesty. I will show

The spot where it lies hid."

The monkey went at Reynard's bid—

And was caught in a trap.

The fox exclaimed,

"How do you think to govern us,

When, after all, with all your fuss,

You cannot well, do what you may,

Keep e'en yourself out of harm's way."

The animals agreed,

That royal power suits very few indeed.

An ass accompanied by a horse uncourteous,

Who only had his harness on his back;

And the poor jackass staggered

'Neath the load of vegetable and a pack;

He begged the horse to help him,

If he could—

But not a single bit,

The other would.

"I ask," said the poor beast,

"A little pity—

Help me at least,

To reach the city."

The horse refused,

And got his due,

For the ass died.

The farmer's man

Stripped off the skin of honest Ben,

And made the horse, whom they espied,

Drag on the skin and the cart beside.

'Tis wise to lend our aid

To others in distress,

We often thus are made

The means of happiness.

The churlish, unkind man

His neighbor's death may cause,

And have to help his family,

Through taxes and the laws.

An astrologer, of high ambition,

While star-gazing fell down

Into a well. "Sage gentleman,"

Remarked the people of the town,

"How did you think to read the stars, old man,

When you cannot preserve your own position."

This adventure in itself, without going further,

Might serve as a lesson, to most of mankind,

For of us mortals, a certain part inclines,

To the belief, that, with the help of mind,

The book of Destiny may easily be read,

But this book, by Homer and his disciples sung,

What is it called but Chance, by ancients,

And by us Christians named Providence instead.

Now in Chance there can no science be,

Or why should it be called by them Chance—

And things uncertain, who knows in advance?

If all depends upon the fixed decree,

Of Him who does all things, and nothing does unwisely.

How should we read his will,

And know that which from us he would conceal?

Wherefore watch the stars so nicely,

To know how to avoid inevitable woe;

Or how, in future times, our fate will go;

To make us, in the midst of pleasure, sad,

Or with predicted evil, drive us mad,

Convert all blessings into curses dire?

Is this the knowledge to which we aspire,

Is it an error or a crime thus to believe

That future destiny can thus be known?

In place of star-gazing above our head,

Let us confide ourselves to the Great One.

The firmament exists, the stars go on their way,

And the sun shines upon us every day;

And every day, the day is lost in night,

Without our knowing aught else from the sight.

That the seasons come, the crops are ripe,

And in what wood we should look out for snipe,

And some few other things, but for the change

Of day to night, by which the world doth range,

It has not aught to do with Destiny.

Quacks, and ye compilers of horoscopes,

Quit all the courts of princes in Europe,

And take with you all mischief makers

You deserve belief no more than they do.

This astrologer in the well,

Resembles all of his false art,

Who while they are in danger, dream

That in the stars, they read the happiest theme.

A scourge which spread terror,

Invented by heaven to punish earth—

The plague (if to name it be no error)

Was making every animal

To curse his birth.

In one day it might have enriched Acheron,

And upon beasts made busy war.

Amongst them all there was not one,

But, sick and ailing, was complaining sore;

All did not die, but each was ill—

Not one strove now to eat his fill,

No meat excited them to taste,

Nor did the wolves again lay waste,

The innocent prey.

Even the doves fled from each other,

And cooed no more the live-long day.

The lion held war counsel—"My brother,"

Said he, addressing each in turn,

"I think that heaven hath allowed

This punishment on us to fall

For the sins we have disavowed.

Now I for one will confess all,

And let him who is most to blame,

Be slaughtered in the others' name.

Perhaps he may obtain a common cure,

For history tells us that in like cases,

The guilty die in others' places;

Let us not then be false to Nature,

Let us confess our faults—in fine

I will the first acknowledge mine;

And I avow, that oft I keep

A serious tax on harmless sheep.

What had they done,

In naught offended—

Yet I their quiet lives have ended.

Sometimes, with sorrow be it heard,

I e'en have eaten the shepherd,

And I acknowledge all—

And I will die like a quiet bird—

If my death keep you from your fall.

It must be hoped now in all justice,

That he who is most guilty perish."

"Sire," said the fox, "you are too good a king

To die for any trivial thing;

Your simples are too nice.

Eat sheep, and why not?

Is it a sin? is it a vice?

No, sire, you did them honor;

And as for shepherds, I desire,

That over us their false empire

Should cease, and we have all we want

Of sheep and fleece."

So said the fox, flatterers applaud,

The tiger, bear, and other powers they laud,

Even for their most violent offence.

All quarrelsome people,

Down to the mastiffs,

Were little saints.

But when the donkey's turn came on,

They heard him with many ifs.

He said, "I now remember

That by a monk's garden passing,

(It was late in December,

And my strength soon faints,)

I ate a leaf of some dry plant,

And e'en now I with terror pant."

They seized upon him and devoured,

And said he was the cause

Of heaven's anger being lowered.

With interested judges, right

Is always on the side of might.

It was in the home of the Olympian gods,

That bees first lodged, 'tis said,

On Mount Hymettus; and thitherwards

Came zephyrs with light tread.

When from the hives, the honey,

Had all been taken out,

As there remained naught but wax,

Some candles were, for money,

Carefully made and sold in packs.

One of these candles on a certain day

Seeing that clay by fire was turned to brick,

Thought he could harden his body the same;

And getting near the fire to try the trick,

This new Empedocles to flame condemned

Soon found of his philosophy the end.

A goat, a sheep, and a fat hog,

On the same cart were bound for the fair.

They lay as quietly as any log,

But were not seeking their amusement there.

They were to be sold, so says the story.

The carter, who his business knows,

Don't take them into town to see the shows.

Dame porker was inclined to squeal,

As though the butcher's knife she 'gan to feel.

Her grunts, and squeals, and cries

Were loud enough to deafen one,

The other animals more wise,

And better tempered, with surprise

Exclaimed, "have done!"

The carter to the porker turned,

"Where have you manners learned,

Why stun us all? Do you not see

That you're the noisiest of the three?

That sheep says not a word,

Nor can the young goat's voice be heard."

"But," said the hog, "they both are fools.

If like me they knew their fate,

They'd halloo out at greater rate,

The goat will only lose her milk,

The sheep his wool, but here, poor me,

I'm to be eaten, and know my destiny."

The porker was quite right,

But hallooing with all her might,

Was all too late,

And could not alter her sad fate.

By the bank of a river,

A heron walked out,

And in it were sporting,

Pike, mackerel and trout.

Now these fish with great ease,

Our bird might have caught,

But I'll wait till I'm hungry

The silly bird thought.

At last came his appetite,

"Now I'll eat," the bird cries,

And some tench from the bottom,

Just then he saw rise.

"But these are not good enough

At this time of day,"

And he waited for better

Till all swam away.

At eve almost starved

When all other means fail,

He was right glad to sup

On a poor little snail.

A foolish young lady,

Took one of her maids,

Who chanced to be black

As the ace of spades,

And said she'd have her washed white,

By the other maids;

She was put in a tub,

And with water and towels

Her skin they did rub,

Through a long summer day till the night;

But the more they did rub her,

The blacker she got;

And while they did scrub her,

She mourned her hard lot.

So the maids threw away

All their labor and care,

And the mistress gave up

Her fine scheme in despair.

A bear and gardener,

Who mutually tired

Of solitary life,

And were inspired,

With a warm friendship for each other,

Promised to be to one another,

Excellent friends, and so they were.

As for the death of the poor man

I'll tell you how it happened,

If I can.

The bear watching the gardener in his sleep—

Beholding on his head a fly,

And thinking it bad company,

Took up a stone and dropped it down,

Upon the fly 'tis true,

But broke the gardener's crown.

To make our fortunes or to mend,

A most malignant enemy

Is better than a foolish friend.

The wing'd inhabitants of air

Waged on a time a direful war.

Not those, in budding groves who sing,

To usher in the amorous spring;

Nor those, with Venus' car who fly

Through the light clouds and yielding sky

But the rapacious vulture brood,

With crooked beak that thirsts for blood,

And iron fangs. Their war, 'tis said,

For a dog's carrion corse was made.

Shrill shrieks resound from shore to shore;

The earth beneath is sanguin'd o'er;

Versed in the science to destroy,

Address and valor they employ.

'Twould take a hundred tongues to tell,

The heroes from the air who fell.

The dovecote race, a gentle nation,

Made offers of their mediation.

Prudent ambassadors are sent;

The vultures with the terms content,

Agree their guarantee to take,

And armistice and treaty make.

This kind desire to interfere,

Cost the poor peace-makers full dear.

To rapine bred, the ruthless crew,

Nor gratitude nor faith who knew,

On the defenceless pigeons fall,

And shortly had devoured them all.

When tyrants from their quarrels cease,

Some weaker neighbor pays their peace.

His safety in their warfare lies;

Their feuds, not he should compromise.

When Joseph, Frederick, and Kate,

Tired of unprofitable hate,

Their animosities would heel,

They swallowed Poland at a meal.

A bear once rambled from his home,

Chanced through a garden trim to roam,

Where, 'neath the shelter of the trees,

The farmer had his hives of bees.

Bruin loved honey. "Now," said he,

"I'll rob your store-house, Master Bee.

You'll buz, and hum about my ears,

But noise a brave bear never fears."

So saying, bear o'erturns a hive,

And straight the air is all alive,

With angry enemies, who sting

As well as buz; and make bear sing,

A lively tune of growls and roars,

And cover him with smarting sores.