Aesop, in Rhyme: Old Friends in a New Dress

A bard, whose pen had brought him more

Of fame than of the precious ore,

In Grub Street garret oft reposed

With eyes contemplative half-closed.

Cobwebs around in antique glory,

Chief of his household inventory,

Suggested to his roving brains

Amazing multitude of scenes.

"This batch," said he, "of murder-spinners

Who toil their brains out for their dinners,

Though base, too long unsung has lain

By kindred brethren of Duck Lane,

Unknowing that its little plan

Holds all the cyclopedia of man.

"This one, whose radiant thread

Is every where from centre spread,

Like orbs in planetary skies,

Enclosed with rounds of various size,

This curious frame I aptly call

A cobweb mathematical.

"In secret holes, that dirty line,

Where never sun presumes to shine,

With straws, and filth, and time beset,

Where all is fish that comes to net,

That musty film, the Muse supposes

Figures the web of Virtuosos.

"You, where the gaudy insect sings,

Are cobwebs of the court of kings,

Where gilded threads conceal the gin.

And broider'd knaves are caught therein.

"That holly, fix'd 'mid mildew'd panes,

Of cheerless Christmas the remains

(I only dream and sing its cheer,

My Muse keeps Lent throughout the year)

That holly, labor'd o'er and o'er,

Is cobwebs of the lawyer's lore,

Where frisky flies, on gambols borne,

Find out the snare, when lost, undone.

"These dangling webs, with dirt and age,

Display their tatter'd equipage,

So like the antiquarian crew,

That those in every thread I view.

"Here death disseminated lies,

In shrunk anatomies of flies;

And amputated limbs declare

What vermin lie in ambush there:

A baited lure with drugg'd perdition,

A cobweb, not misnamed physician.

"Those plaited webs, long pendent there,

Of sable bards a subtle snare,

Of all-collective disposition,

Which holds like gout of inquisition,

May well denominated be,

The trap-webs of divinity."

But whilst our bard described the scene,

A bee stole through a broken pane;

Fraught with the sweets of every flower,

In taking his adventurous tour,

Is there entrapp'd. Exert thy sting,

Bold bee, and liberate thy wing!

The poet kindly dropp'd his pen,

And freed the captive from its den;

Then musing o'er his empty table,

Forgot the moral of his fable.

Two hundred years ago, or more,

An heir possess'd a miser's store;

Rejoiced to find his father dead,

Till then on thrifty viands fed;

Unnumber'd dishes crown'd his board,

With each unwholesome trifle stored.

He ate—and long'd to eat again,

But sigh'd for appetite in vain:

His food, though dress'd a thousand ways,

Had lost its late accustom'd praise;

He relish'd nothing—sickly grew—

Yet long'd to taste of something new.

It chanced in this disastrous case,

One morn betimes he join'd the chase:

Swift o'er the plain the hunters fly,

Each echoing out a joyous cry;

A forest next before them lay;

He, left behind, mistook his way,

And long alone bewildered rode,

He found a peasant's poor abode;

But fasting kept, from six to four,

Felt hunger, long unfelt before;

The friendly swain this want supplied,

And Joan some eggs and bacon fried.

Not dainty now, the squire in haste

Fell to, and praised their savory taste;

Nay, said his meal had such a gout

He ne'er in tarts and olios knew.

Rejoiced to think he'd found a dish,

That crown'd his long unanswer'd wish,

With gold his thankful host he paid,

Who guides him back from whence he stray'd;

But ere they part, so well he dined,

His rustic host the squire enjoin'd

To send him home next day a stock

Of those same eggs and charming hock.

He hoped this dish of savory meat

Would prove that still 'twas bliss to eat;

But, ah! he found, like all the rest,

These eggs were tasteless things at best;

The bacon not a dog would touch,

So rank—he never tasted such!

He sent express to fetch the clown,

And thus address'd him with a frown:

"These eggs, this bacon, that you sent,

For Christian food were never meant;

As soon I'll think the moon's a cheese,

As those you dress'd the same with these.

Little I thought"—"Sir," says the peasant,

"I'm glad your worship is so pleasant:

You joke, I'm sure: for I can swear,

The same the fowls that laid them are!

And know as well that all the bacon

From one the self-same flitch was taken:

The air, indeed, about our green

Is known to make the stomach keen."

"Is that the case?" the squire replied;

"That air shall be directly tried."

He gave command—a house he hired,

And down he goes with hope inspired,

And takes his cooks—a favorite train;

But still they ply their art in vain.

Perhaps 'twas riding did the feat:

He rides,—but still he cannot eat.

At last a friend, to physic bred,

Perceived his case, and thus he said:

"Be ruled by me, you soon shall eat,

With hearty gust, the plainest meat;

A pint of milk each rising morn,

Procure from cow of sable horn;

Shake in three drops of morning dew

From twig of ever-verdant yew;

It must by your own hand be done,

Your face turn'd westward from the sun.

With this, ere half an hour is past,

Well crumb'd with biscuit, break your fast;

Which done, from food (or all is vain)

For twice three hours and one abstain—

Then dine on one substantial dish,

If plainly dress'd, of flesh or fish."

Grave look'd the doctor as he spake—

The squire concludes th' advice to take,

And, cheated into temperance, found

The bliss his former luxury drown'd.

Athens in freedom flourish'd long,

'Till licence seized the giddy throng.

Just laws grown weary to obey,

They sunk to tyranny a prey.

Pisistratus, though mild he sway'd,

Their turbulence had not allay'd.

Whilst they were cursing in despair,

The yoke they had not learn'd to bear,

Esop, their danger to describe,

Rehears'd this fable to the tribe:

"Some frogs, like you, of freedom tired,

From Jupiter a king desir'd:

One that should execute the law,

And keep the dissolute in awe.

Jove laugh'd, and threw them down a log,

That thundering fell and shook the bog.

Amongst the reeds the tremblers fled:

Till one more bold advanc'd his head,

And saw the monarch of the flood

Lying half smothered in the mud.

He calls the croaking race around:

"A wooden king!" the banks resound.

Fear once remov'd they swim about him,

And gibe and jeer and mock and flout him;

And messengers to Jove depute,

Effectively to grant their suit.

A hungry stork he sent them then,

Who soon had swallow'd half the fen.

Their woes scarce daring to reveal,

To Mercury by night they steal,

And beg him to entreat of Jove

The direful tyrant to remove.

'No,' says the God, 'they chose their lot,

And must abide what they have got:'

So you, my friends, had best go home

In peace, lest something worse should come."

A hare, closely pursued, thought it prudent and meet

To a bramble for refuge awhile to retreat;

He enter'd the covert, but entering, found

That briers and thorns did on all sides abound;

And that, though he was safe, yet he never could stir,

But his sides they would wound, or would tear off his fur:

He shrugg'd up his shoulders, but would not complain:

"To repine at small evils," quoth puss, "is in vain:

That no bliss can be perfect, I very well knew—

But from the same source good and evil doth flow—

And full sorely my skin though these briers may rend,

Yet they keep off the dogs, and my life will defend:

For the sake of the good, then, let evil be borne—

For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its thorn."

Within a certain pasture,

There lived some creatures wild.

The sky was blue, the grass was green,

The air was very mild.

Now though this field was large and fine,

They could not live in love:

But for the grass in one large spot

A horse and stag once strove.

The stag was strongest in the strife,

And so the battle won;

And from the field the horse was sent

And with chagrin was stung.

So to the man the horse applied,

For help, the stag to beat,

And so effectual was his help,

The stag had to retreat.

But when to go away he tried,

The man held to him fast:

"Now that you are of use," he cried,

"You'll serve me to the last."

The mice o'errun a certain house—

In every spot was found a mouse.

So for a cat the mistress went,

And to the kitchen puss was sent.

With diligence were many caught,

And eaten up. The mice were taught

That they some cunning must devise

To keep the prey from pussy's eyes.

So on a certain shelf so high,

To reach which puss in vain might try,

There all the mice together got,

And they resolved to leave it not.

So pussy found that to eat them,

She must resort to stratagem.

And holding fast by means of pegs,

She hung suspended by the legs.

And downward she then hung her head,

And looked as though she were quite dead—

And thus she sought to cheat the mice,

And from their dwellings them entice.

A cunning mouse, well "up to trap,"

On pussy her two eyes did clap.

"Aha!" she cried, "puss are you there?

Within your reach, I would not dare—

Not e'en though it were proved by law,

That your whole skin were stuffed with straw."

A fox while walking out one day,

Into a toy shop chanced to stray;

Among the toys that stood arrayed,

A vizor mask was there displayed,

With rosy cheeks, complexion fair,

And ruby lips and auburn hair,

And eyes of blue, and Grecian nose;

And many beauties to disclose,

It seemed made. The fox, with sighs,

Gazed on. "Ah, ah!" he cries,

"Look at this head it naught contains,

It has rare beauty, but no brains."

The accomplished beau, in air and mien how blest.

His hat well fashioned, and his hair well dress'd—

But still undress'd within: to give him brains

Exceeds his hatter's or his barber's pains.

A man once had a goose I'm told,

Which had laid each day an egg of gold.

Now if this treasure were well spent,

It might make any one content.

But no! this man desired more;

And though of eggs he had rich store;

He thought one day the goose he'd kill,

And then at once his pockets fill.

So chasing goosey round and round,

She soon was caught and firmly bound

He opened her from neck to tail

And then his folly did bewail.

For not a single egg was there,

And thus he lost this treasure rare.

A fox once took it in his pate,

To go beyond a garden gate,

To see if there grew on the trees,

Some food his hunger to appease.

So in he went and there he spied

Some grapes. To reach them hard he tried.

Now they were large and luscious too,

Quite purple, and beautiful to view.

So up he jumps with many a bound,

Until exhausted to the ground,

He falls. The grapes hang o'er his head,

In clusters large, "Well! well!" he said,

"You are but green, and hard as stone,

And all my time away is thrown.

I'll leave you to your solitude,

You are not fit to make me food."

A very thin and hungry mouse,

Into a granary stole,

Where stood a basket full of grain,

In which was a small hole.

After much squeezing he got in,

And there he ate his fill;

But when he tried to issue out,

The hole seemed smaller still.

A weasel who stood looking on,

Cried out in sneering tone,

"You can't come out, my little dear,

Until you've smaller grown.

"You were half-starved when you crept in,

And now you are quite stout;

So cease to eat until you can,

As you got in, get out."

In a retired spot,

A miser had got

A very large treasure in store.

And it was his delight,

Each morn and each night,

To count it and add to it more.

He had made the hole deep,

And he thought none would peep,

To find out his secret retreat.

But a servant so sly,

His master did spy,

And thought that his cunning he'd beat.

So one dark winter night,

He took out his light,

And to the field hastened away;

And he laughed in his sleeve,

To think how 'twould grieve

His master to miss it next day.

And indeed the distress

Of his lord you may guess,

For words can't describe it, I'm sure.

He tore out his hair,

Clasp'd his hands in despair

And cried he was ruined and poor.

A man passing by,

His grief chanced to spy;

And told him, "'tis useless to mourn.

You can look at the hole,

To solace your soul,

Although all the money is gone."

Thus Esop has the folly shown,

To build on merits not your own.

A jackdaw, empty, pert and vain,

Who held his equals in disdain,

One day some beauteous feathers found,

Left by a peacock on the ground.

When in the gaudy plumage dress'd,

The shallow thing his fortune bless'd;

With stately gesture strode along,

And boldly join'd the peacock throng;

Who, his impertinence to pay,

First stripp'd him, and then chas'd away.

The crest-fall'n coxcomb homeward sneaks,

And his forsaken comrades seeks;

Where'er he comes, with scorn they leave him,

And not a jackdaw will receive him.

Says one he had disdain'd, at last,

"Such as thou art, thou mightst have pass'd,

And hadst not now been cast behind,

The scorn and scandal of thy kind."

Who dares another's ills deride,

Had best against his own provide.

An eagle pouncing on a hare,

With piercing cries puss rends the air;

When a pert sparrow from a tree,

Insulted thus her misery:

"Ho, ho! poor puss, thy boasted speed

Has failed thee, then, in time of need!"

Scarce had she spoke, when, like an arrow,

A vulture darted on the sparrow.

Ere the poor hare resign'd her breath,

"This sight," she cried, "consoles in death

—That thou, who hast my woes derided,

My last of miseries hast divided!"

Vain boasters credit may surprise,

Till known; who knows them will despise.

A lion once a hunting took

An ass, and hid him in a nook.

To drive the forest made him bray,

That he might seize the passing prey.

Long-ears set up such horrid cries,

That every creature trembling flies;

The lion, practised in his trade,

Had soon abundant carnage made;

Satiate with spoil, the ass he calls,

And bid him cease his hideous brawls.

The king he found with slaughter weary,

Surrounded by his noble quarry,

And, puffed with self-importance, said:

"Sir, to some purpose I have bray'd!"

"No ass more famously could do,"

The lion says, "but thee I knew,

Or I might have been frightened too."

That good from bad men rarely know,

This apologue may serve to show:

A stag upon a fountain's side,

Beheld his branching horns with pride;

While of his spindle-shanks asham'd,

Their disproportioned form he blam'd.

Sudden he hears the hunter's cries,

And to the forest nimbly flies.

The woods receive their well-known guest.

His tangled horns, his feet arrest;

The hounds approach, and seize their prey;

Who, dying, thus was heard to say:

"Wretch that I am! too late I learn,

How little we the truth discern!

What would have saved me, I despis'd,

And what has been my ruin, priz'd!"

Her nest on high an eagle made

Lower a cat her kittens laid;

And at the bottom of the tree

A sow dispos'd her progeny.

Vile puss to gain her wicked ends,

Much love for both of them pretends.

First to the eagle's aerie mounts,

And thus to her false alarms recounts:

"Madam, in truth our dangerous state,

'Tis with reluctance I relate;

But things are really gone so far,

Conceal them I no longer dare.

Night after night the treacherous sow

Our tree has undermined below;

Ere long it cannot choose but fall,

And then she hopes to eat us all."

Successful when she saw her lies,

Down to the bristly sow she hies;

"My worthy neighbor!" crying out,

"I pray you, mind what you're about,

For to a certainty I know,

The eagle waits but till you go,

(The thing with great concern I say,)

To make your little ones her prey."

Suspicious dread when thus inspir'd,

Puss to her hole all day retir'd;

Stealing at night on silent paw,

To stuff her own and kittens' maw.

To stir nor sow nor eagle dare.

What more? fell hunger ends their care;

And long the mischief-making beast

With her base brood on carrion feast.

Learn hence, ye simples, ere too late,

What ills the double-tongued create.

Who in their foe united find

Force, art, and a remorseless mind,

Whate'er their strength and prowess be,

To perish stand in jeopardy.

An eagle once a tortoise held,

Safe in his horny house concealed,

Which he in vain essayed to break

With all the fury of his beak.

As with his prey he wing'd the air,

A wily raven ventur'd near:

"Your prize is excellent," says she,

"And if you'll give a share to me,

I know, for all his iron hide,

How we the dainty may divide."

The bargain made, "On yonder wall,

Down," says the raven, "let him fall."

He listen'd to the hoary sinner;

And they on turtle made their dinner.

Thus fraud and force their purpose gain,

And nature fortifies in vain.

A fly upon a coach-box seated,

With arrogance the horses rated.

"Advance!" cries out the paltry thing,

"Unless you mean to feel my sting."

"Not thee we heed," a horse replied,

"But him whose skilful hand can guide

The rein and whip. We better know

Than thee when we should stop or go."

Thus men without or sense or weight,

Think themselves born to rule the state.

When an Athenian Esop saw,

Playing with school-boys once at taw,

The man with laughter shook his sides;

Esop the laughter thus derides:

"Of this slack bow before you laid,

The meaning, sprightly sir," he said,

"Explain!" (A crowd had gather'd round.)

Surpris'd, the man no answer found:

He puzzled long, but all his wit

Could on no explanation hit.

The laugh on Esop's side; says he,

"Why you this bow unbended see,

It is because it needs must break,

If always bent; so we must take

Due relaxation, that the mind

Its vigor may when wanted find."

He who in harmless sport employs

A vacant hour, is not unwise.

To one complaining of his fate,

Esop this fable did relate.

A ship by raging tempests toss'd,

The seamen, giving all for lost,

'Twas who should weep and pray the most.

Grown calm at once the sky and sea,

They shout in joyful extacy.

The pilot, from experience wise,

The giddy crew did thus advise:

"Nor much rejoice, nor over grieve,

But decently what comes receive;

Since good and ill succeed so near,

Meet ill with hope and good with fear."

Not what they hear, but what they see,

Will children and domestics be.

A crab one day her daughter chid;

"You never do as you are bid,

Have I not told you o'er and o'er,

That awkward gait to use no more?

Learn, ninny, once for all to know,

Folks forward and not backward go."

"Mamma," says Miss, "how strange you talk!

Have I not learn'd from you to walk?

Were I to move the other way,

How could I follow you I pray?"

Phebus and Boreas from on high

Upon the road a traveller spy,

Wearing a cloak for fear of rain.

Says Boreas, "his precaution's vain

'Gainst me, I'll show you for a joke

How soon I'll make him quit his cloak."

"Come on," says Phebus, "let us see

Who best succeeds, or you or me."

The wind to blow so fierce began,

He almost had upset his man;

But still his cloak, for all his roar,

Was wrapp'd more closely than before.

When Boreas what he could had done,

"Now for my trial," says the Sun,

And with his beams so warm'd the air,

The man his mantle could not bear,

But open'd first, then threw aside.

Learn hence, unbending sons of pride

Persuasive manners will prevail,

When menaces and bluster fail.

Forc'd on a stream to make their way,

To pot of brass says pot of clay:

"Since brass is stout and clay is frail,

Pray let us at a distance sail.

Not your intention that I fear

Sir Brass," adds humble Earthenware,

"While the winds leave you to yourself;

But woe betide my ribs of delf,

If it should dash our sides together;

For mine would be the damage, whether

Their force should you or I impel;

To pray proceed, and fare you well."

Learn hence, ye folks of low estate,

To keep due distance from the great.

His cart bemired, a carter pray'd

To Hercules to come and aid.

"Up!" says the God, "thou lazy dog.

And lift the axle from the bog;

Think'st thou Gods nothing have to do

But listen to such knaves as you?"

From a wise emmet, well sustain'd

On what her industry had gain'd,

A grasshopper some aid desir'd.

"What was his trade?" the ant inquir'd.

"I've none," the grasshopper replied;

"I range the country far and wide,

Singing all day from door to door,

And have no time to form a store."

Shutting her granaries, says the ant,

"No wonder, friend, you are in want;

He who all summer sings, may chance

In winter to be forc'd to dance."

To spend his time in idle song,

The thoughtless grasshopper was wrong;

And not to give a small supply,

The emmet mean and niggardly.

Patience and ingenuity

The want of natural means supply.

A thirsty crow some water found,

But in a vessel so profound,

That with her neck at utmost stretch,

A single drop she could not reach.

Then stones she in the pitcher places,

Which to the top the water raises;

And by this innocent device

Her thirst at leisure satisfies.

An angler a small salmon caught,

Who with much earnestness besought

That he would let her go: says she,

"What can you do with such as me!

Next year when grown a little bigger,

I in your bag might make a figure."

The prudent man replied, "No, no;

Into my pouch, though small, you go.

A bird in hand is better far,

Than two that in the bushes are."