A wolf there was, whose scanty fare

Had made his person lean and spare;

A dog there was, so amply fed,

His sides were plump and sleek; 'tis said

The wolf once met this prosp'rous cur,

And thus began: "Your servant, sir;

I'm pleased to see you look so well,

Though how it is I cannot tell;

I have not broke my fast to-day;

Nor have I, I'm concern'd to say,

One bone in store or expectation,

And that I call a great vexation."

"Indeed it is," the dog replied:

"I know no ill so great beside;

But if you do not like to be

So poorly fed, come live with me."

"Agreed," rejoined the wolf, "I'll go:

But pray, what work am I to do?"

"Oh, guard the house, and do not fail

To bark at thieves, and wag your tail."

So off they jogg'd, and soon arrived

At where the friendly mastiff lived.

"Well," said the wolf, "I can't deny

You have a better house than I."

"Not so," the other then replied,

"If you with me will hence abide."

"Oh," said the wolf, "how kind you are!

But what d'ye call that, hanging there?

Is it an iron chain, or what?"

"Friend," said the dog, "I quite forgot

To mention that; sometimes, you see,

They hook that little chain to me;

But it is only meant to keep

Us dogs from walking in our sleep,

And should you wear it, you would find,

It's nothing that you need to mind."

"I'll take your word," the wolf replied.

"It's truth by me shall ne'er be tried;

I'll have my liberty again,

And you your collar and your chain."

Our neighbors sometimes seem to be

A vast deal better off than we;

Yet seldom 'tis they really are,

Since they have troubles too to bear,

Which, if the truth were really known,

Are quite as grievous as our own.

A herdsman, who lived at a time and a place

Which, should you not know, is but little disgrace,

Discover'd one morning, on counting his stock,

That a sheep had been stolen that night from the flock.

"Oh, I wish I had caught ye, whoever ye be,

I'd have soon let you know, I'd have soon let ye see,

What he had to expect," said the herdsman, "I trow;

But I've thought of a scheme that will trouble you now."

So what did he do, sir, but put up a board,

Describing the thief, and proposed a reward

Of a lamb, to the man who would give information

Concerning the thief, and his true designation.

The project succeeded; for soon there applied

A certain near neighbor, with others beside.

"But tell me the thief," said the herdsman, "at least;"

"Come hither," said they, "and we'll show you the beast!"

"The beast!" said the rustic, who thought he should die on

The spot, when he found that the thief was a lion!

"Ill luck to my hurry, what now shall I do?

I promised a lamb to detect you 'tis true;

But now I'd consent all my substance to pay,

If I could but with safety get out of your way."

Silly people ask things that would ruin, if sent;

They demand them in haste, and at leisure repent.

Some boys, beside a pond or lake,

Were playing once at duck and drake?

When, doubtless to their heart's content,

Volleys of stones were quickly sent.

But there were some (there will be such)

Who did not seem amused so much;

These were the frogs, to whom the game,

In point of sport was not the same.

For scarce a stone arrived, 'tis said,

But gave some frog a broken head;

And scores in less than half an hour,

Perished beneath the dreadful shower.

At last, said one, "You silly folks, I say,

Do fling your stones another way;

Though sport to you, to throw them thus,

Remember, pray, 'tis death to us!"

From hence this moral may be learn'd:

Let play be play to all concern'd.

A cock there was: a sage was he

(If Esop we may trust,)

Who wish'd to make a meal, you see,

As other sages must.

With this intent, as heretofore,

When on the hunt for grain;

Our hero scratch'd the litter o'er

With all his might and main.

But scarce a minute had he scratch'd,

When, to his great surprise,

A gem, with golden chain attach'd,

He saw with both his eyes.

"Alack!" quoth he, "what have we here?

A diamond, I protest!

Which lords and ladies buy so dear,

And hold in such request.

"But one good barley-corn to me

Has more intrinsic worth

Than all the pearls now in the sea,

Or gold now in the earth."

The moral here, in Esop's mind,

Was this, there's not a doubt:

Things have most value, which we find

We cannot do without.

A man and a lion once had a dispute,

Which was reckon'd the greatest, the man or the brute;

The lion discoursed on his side at some length,

And greatly enlarged on his courage and strength.

The man, one would think, had enough to reply

On his side the question, which none could deny;

But like many others who make a pretence,

He talk'd perfect nonsense, and thought it good sense.

"So," says he, "don't be prating,—look yonder, I pray,

At that sculpture of marble, now what will you say?

The lion is vanquished; but as for the man

He is striding upon him; deny it who can."

"But pray," said the lion, "who sculptured that stone?"

"One of us," said the man, "I must candidly own."

"But when we are sculptors," the other replied,

"You will then on the man see the lion astride."

The man might have added, if he had been wise,

"But a beast cannot sculpture a stone, if he tries."

That sufficiently shows where the difference lies.

"I certainly think," said a fox to a crane,

"That face, ma'am of yours is remarkably plain;

That beak that you wear is so frightful a feature,

It makes you appear a most singular creature."

The crane, much offended at what she had heard,

March'd off at full speed, without saying a word:

"Oh dear!" said the fox, "Mrs. Crane, I protest

You misunderstand me, 'twas only a jest."

"Come, don't be affronted—stay with me and dine;

You know very well 'tis this temper of mine

To say such odd things to my intimate friends;

But you know that poor Reynard no mischief intends."

So the crane thought it best not to break with him quite,

But to view his remarks in a good-natured light.

So she put on as pleasant a face as she could

When he ask'd her to dine, and replied that she would.

But alas! she perceived that his jokes were not over,

When Reynard removed from the victuals its cover

'Twas neither game, butcher's meat, chicken, not fish;

But plain gravy-soup, in a broad shallow dish.

Now this the fox lapp'd with his tongue very quick,

While the crane could scarce dip in the point of her beak;

"You make a poor dinner," said he to his guest;

"Oh, dear! by no means," said the bird, "I protest."

But the crane ask'd the fox on a subsequent day,

When nothing, it seems, for their dinner had they

But some minced meat served up in a narrow-neck'd jar;

Too long, and narrow, for Reynard by far.

"You make a poor dinner, I fear," said the bird;

"Why, I think," said the fox, "'twould be very absurd

To deny what you say, yet I cannot complain,

But confess, though a fox, that I'm matched by a crane."

Cunning folks who play tricks which good manners condemn,

Often find their own tricks play'd again upon them.

A luckless wight, in winter slow,

Travelling once a forest through

Cold and hungry, tired and wet,

Began in words like these to fret:

"Oh, what a sharp inclement day!

And what a dismal, dreary way!

No friendly cot, no cheering fields,

No food this howling forest yields;

I've nought in store or expectation!

There's nought before me but starvation."

"Not quite so bad," a voice replied;

Quickly the traveller turned aside,

And saw the satyr of the wood,

Who close beside his dwelling stood.

"Here is my cave hard by," said he,

"Walk in, you're welcome, pray be free."

The traveller did not hesitate,

Hoping for something good to eat,

But follow'd to his heart's content,

Blowing his finger as he went.

"Pray," said the satyr, "may I know

For what you blow your fingers so?"

"What! need you," said the man, "be told?—

To warm my fingers, 'numb'd with cold."

"Indeed!" was all his host replied,

Intent some pottage to provide,

Which heated well, with spice infused,

Was to his shivering guest produced:

So hot it was, as Esop sung,

It made our traveller scald his tongue;

And wishing not again to do it,

Our hero could not wait, but blew it.

"What?" said his host, in accent rough,

"Is not your pottage hot enough?"

"Yes," said the man, "full well I know it,

'Tis far too hot, that's why I blow it."

"You artful villain! do you so?"

His host replied, with angry brow;

"My cave shall not a moment hold

A man that blows both hot and cold!

By none but rogues can that be done,

You double-dealing wretch, begone!"

The traveller scarce deserved such wrath,

For warming fingers—cooling broth.

No statutes old or new forbid it,

Although with the same mouth he did it:

Yet this beware of old and young,

What Esop meant—a double tongue;

Which flatters now with civil clack,

And slanders soon behind one's back.

Two friends once were walking in sociable chat,

When a purse one espied on the ground;

"Oh, see!" said he, (thank my fortune for that,)

"What a large sum of money I've found!"

"Nay, do not say I" said his friend, "for you know

'Tis but friendship to share it with me;"

"I share it with you," said the other. "How so?

He who found it the owner should be."

"Be it so," said his friend, "but what sound do I hear?

'Stop thief!' one is calling to you;

He comes with a constable close in the rear!"

Said the other, "Oh, what shall we do?"

"Nay, do not say we," said his friend, "for you know

You claimed the sole right to the prize!

And since all the money was taken by you,

With you the dishonesty lies."

When people are selfish, dishonest, and mean,

Their nature, in dealing, will quickly be seen.

In days of yore, they say, 'twas then

When all things spoke their mind;

The arms and legs of certain men,

To treason felt inclined.

These arms and legs together met,

As snugly as they could,

With knees and elbows, hands and feet,

In discontented mood.

Said they, "'Tis neither right nor fair,

Nor is there any need,

To labor with such toil and care,

The greedy mouth to feed."

"This we're resolved no more to do,

Though we so long have done it;"

"Ah!" said the knees and elbows too,

"And we are bent upon it."

"I," said the tongue, "may surely speak,

Since I his inmate am;

And for his vices while you seek,

His virtues I'll proclaim.

"You say the mouth embezzles all,

The fruit of your exertion;

But I on this assembly call

To prove the base assertion.

"The food which you with labor gain,

He too with labor chews;

Nor does he long the food retain,

But gives it for your use.

"But he his office has resign'd

To whom you may prefer;

He begs you therefore now to find

Some other treasurer."

"Well, be it so," they all replied;

"His wish shall be obeyed;

We think the hands may now be tried

As treasurers in his stead."

The hands with joy to this agreed,

And all to them was paid;

But they the treasure kept indeed,

And no disbursements made.

Once more the clam'rous members met,

A lean and hungry throng;

When all allowed, from head to feet,

That what they'd done was wrong.

To take his office once again,

The mouth they all implored;

Who soon accepted it, and then

Health was again restored.

This tale for state affairs is meant,

Which we need not discuss;

At present we will be content,

To find a moral thus:

The mouth has claims of large amount,

From arms, legs, feet, and hands;

But let them not, on that account,

Pay more than it demands.

Said a hare to a tortoise, "Good sir, what a while

You have been only crossing the way;

Why I really believe that to go half a mile,

You must travel two nights and a day."

"I am very contented," the creature replied,

"Though I walk but a tortoise's pace,

But if you think proper the point to decide,

We will run half a mile in a race."

"Very good," said the hare; said the tortoise, "Proceed,

And the fox shall decide who has won,"

Then the hare started off with incredible speed;

But the tortoise walk'd leisurely on.

"Come tortoise, friend tortoise, walk on," said the hare,

"Well, I shall stay here for my dinner;

Why, 'twill take you a month, at that rate, to get there,

Then how can you hope to be winner?"

But the tortoise could hear not a word that she said

For he was far distant behind;

So the hare felt secured while at leisure she fed,

And took a sound nap when she dined.

So at last this slow walker came up with the hare,

And there fast asleep did he spy her;

And he cunningly crept with such caution and care,

That she woke not, although he pass'd by her.

"Well now," thought the hare, when she open'd her eyes,

"For the race,—and I soon shall have done it;"

But who can describe her chagrin and surprise,

When she found that the tortoise had won it!

Thus plain plodding people, we often shall find,

Will leave hasty confident people behind.

A milkmaid, who poized a full pail on her head,

Thus mused on her prospects in life, it is said:

"Let's see—I should think that this milk will procure

One hundred good eggs, or fourscore to be sure.

"Well then—stop a bit,—it must not be forgotten,

Some of these may be broken, and some may be rotten;

But if twenty for accidents should be detach'd,

It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to hatch'd.

"Well, sixty sound eggs—no; sound chickens, I mean;

Of these some may die—we'll suppose seventeen—

Seventeen!—not so many—say ten at the most,

Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.

"But then there's their barley; how much will they need?

Why they take but one grain at a time when they feed,

So that's a mere trifle; now then let us see,

At a fair market price, how much money there'll be?

"Six shillings a pair—five—four—three-and-six,

To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix;

Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said,

Fifty times three-and-sixpence—I'll ask brother Ned.

"Oh! but stop—three-and-sixpence a pair I must sell 'em;

Well, a pair is a couple—now then let us tell 'em;

A couple in fifty will go—(my poor brain!)

Why just a score times, and five pair will remain.

"Twenty-five pair of fowls—now how shameful it is,

That I can't reckon up as much money as this!

Well, there's no use in trying; so let's give a guess;

I will say twenty pounds, and it can't be no less.

"Twenty pounds, I am certain, will buy me a cow,

Thirty geese, and two turkeys—eight pigs and a sow;

Now if these turn out well, at the end of the year,

I shall fill both my pockets with guineas 'tis clear.

"Then I'll bid that old tumble-down hovel good-bye;

My mother she'll scold, and my sisters they'll cry:

But I won't care a crow's egg for all they can say;

I sha'n't go to stop with such beggars as they!"

But forgetting her burden, when this she had said,

The maid superciliously toss'd up her head

When alas! for her prospects—the milk pail descended!

And so all her schemes for the future were ended.