Aesop, in Rhyme: Old Friends in a New Dress

Let us our own defects amend,

Ere to guide others we pretend.

A sallow, wrinkl'd, spotted frog,

To turn physician left the bog.

"He every malady could cure,"

He said, "that animals endure."

"First on yourself your science show,"

Says Reynard: "that the world may know

Your skill and knowledge, pray begin

Of those foul spots to clear your skin:

For while you look so sick and pale,

To vend your drugs you'll ne'er prevail."

An ape had cubs; one much she lov'd,

The other small affection prov'd.

Alarm'd, she hears the hunter's cries;

And catching up her darling flies:

Through fear she stumbled o'er some stones

And broke the little favorite's bones;

The other to her back who clung

Uninjured went with her along.

Mothers, beware! the fondl'd child

By too much tenderness is spoil'd;

While those who hardships have endur'd,

To suffer life are best inur'd.

The lowly and contented state

Is farthest from the wounds of fate.

A fir tree upon a humble thorn

From his high top look'd down with scorn.

"For loftiest fanes we grow," she said,

"Of us the tallest masts are made,

While thou, poor bramble, canst produce

Nothing of ornament or use."

"Great tree," the modest thorn replied,

"When the sharp axe shall pierce your side,

In vain you then may wish to be

Unsought-for, and unknown like me."

Fools may on other fools impose;

The sage their real value knows.

An ass once found a lion's skin,

And rolling up himself therein,

From every fold that he came nigh,

Made flocks, and herds, and shepherds fly.

Ranging the country round, at last

He meets his master where he pass'd,

Who long-ears instantly descries

Through his magnificent disguise:

Laying his cudgel on his side,

"Get home, thou stupid fool," he cried:

"With others for a lion pass;

I know thee for an arrant ass."

A mastiff in a stable lay,

Couch'd on a manger full of hay.

When any thing drew near to eat,

He quickly forced it to retreat.

An ox then cried, "detested creature,

How vile is thy malignant nature,

Which will not others let enjoy

That which thou never canst employ!"

A stag pursued with horn and hound

In a thick vineyard shelter found.

Soon as he thought the danger past,

He on the vine began to feast.

The huntsman hears the rustling noise,

And through half-eaten leaves descries

His branching horns, the pack recalls,

And merited the creature falls

To his ingratitude a prey.

Those their protectors who betray,

Unpitying, all the world will see

Consign'd to death and infamy.

Titles and ribands, bought with shame,

Folly and vice but more proclaim.

A man who own'd a vicious dog,

Upon his collar fix'd a log,

Which the vain cur supposed to be

A note of worth and dignity.

A mastiff saw his foolish pride;

"Puppy," indignantly he cried,

"That thing is put about your neck

Your mischievous designs to check;

And to who see you to declare,

Of what a currish race you are."

Woe to the land where those who guide,

To please the people's foolish pride,

Persuade them there is nought to dread,

When ruin threatens o'er their head.

A patient, ask'd to tell his pains,

Of thirst and shivering cold complains.

"'Tis very good," the doctor said;

"He has but to remain in bed,

And take the med'cines I shall send,

The thing will soon be at an end."

When next the question was repeated,

The man complain'd he much was heated;

"This," cried the leech, "is better still!"

And thus to each increasing ill,

"That it was going well," he cried,

Till the poor martyr sunk and died.

Work, work, my boys, with hand and mind!

Your labors you will fruitful find.

A husbandman, about to die,

Call'd on his children to come nigh:

"I leave," he says, "a small estate,

But wherewithal to make it great:

For know, a treasure it contains,

If you to search will take the pains."

He died. The sons dug all the ground,

And there no hidden treasure found;

But so productive was the soil,

The crop by far o'erpaid the toil.

Says one, when they the corn had sold,

"This treasure 'twas our sire foretold!"

Those who of guides stand most in need,

Are least inclin'd advice to heed.

A travell'd swallow, learn'd and wise,

To all his feather'd neighbors cries:

"See you yon laborers there below;

What is it, think ye, that they sow?

'Tis hemp, my friends; of which are made

The nets that for us all are laid;

The moment yonder men are gone,

Then pick the seeds up one by one."

The gay inhabitants of air

For his precaution little care.

The seedling sprung; again the swallow

Urges his good advice to follow;

Again his counsel they deride.

The plants full grown, and cut, and dried,

Beaten and spun, the nets were made,

And the unwary birds betray'd,

Regretting, in their hapless fate,

Their incredulity too late.

Learn hence the danger to foresee,

Nor wait for their maturity.

A fellow who abroad had been,

Told marvels he had done and seen:

"When resident at Rhodes," he said,

"A leap of twenty yards he made

Over a barrier ten feet high;

A dozen witnesses were by."

"Come on," says one, at the same table,

"Yon ditch and fence to o'erleap you're able.

They're not, by much, so high or wide;

Here let the experiment be tried.

Suppose yourself at Rhodes, and we

Your faithful witnesses will be."

The man replied, "that he to-day

Was not quite well," and stole away.

Who boast of what they cannot do

Both knavery and folly show.

Better known evils to endure,

Than seek by wrong a doubtful cure.

A thrifty dame her maids awoke

At the first crowing of the cock.

They of such early rising tir'd,

To kill the harmless cock conspir'd.

The dame, to hear him crow in wait,

Next morning lay in bed till eight.

But when she knew the trick they had play'd,

She caused a larum to be made,

And rung it daily in their ears

Two hours before the dawn appears.

Insidious sloth her object gains,

If but a hearing she obtains.

A youth ask'd why so long in bed?

"I listen to a cause," he said;

"As soon as I unclose my eyes.

First industry excites to rise."

"Up, up," she says, "to meet the sun,

Your task of yesterday's undone!"

"Lie still," cries sloth, "it is not warm,

An hour's more sleep can do no harm;

You will have time your work to do,

And leisure for amusement too."

Fair weather sailors, keep at home,

For be assur'd the storm will come.

A shepherd of an inland breed

Brought to the coast his flocks to feed;

The beauty of a summer sea,

A merchant tempted him to be.

He sold his sheep, and with the sale

Purchas'd of dates an ample bale.

He sail'd; a furious tempest rose;

Into the sea his dates he throws;

And swimming from the bark to land,

Arrives half dead upon the strand.

To one, soon afterwards who stood

Pleas'd with the calmness of the flood,

"Aye, aye," the simple shepherd said

"With dates again it would be fed."

A fool who all had thrown away,

When wandering pennyless one day,

Perceived a swallow. "Ho," says he,

"Summer is come at last I see!"

And to a Jew his mantle sold.

Next day it was severely cold:

Starv'd as he walk'd, the bird he found

Frozen to death upon the ground.

"Ah! what a fool was I," he cried,

"When on one swallow I relied!"

Those who too readily believe,

For their credulity may grieve.

The wise well know their force to weigh,

Nor what they cannot do, essay.

A carrion crow an eagle saw

Seize on a lamb with beak and claw.

Conceiving he could better do,

He pounces on a well fed ewe;

But he and not the sheep was caught;

For when to fly with it he sought,

His feet entangled in the wool,

The shepherd seiz'd the helpless fool.

In wantonness a shepherd's boy

Alarm'd the neighbor's with his cry;

"The wolf! the wolf!" And when they came,

Of their lost labor made his game.

At last the wolf when there indeed,

His real cries they did not heed;

He and his flock a prey were made,

And for his lies he dearly paid.

Those who are known to have deceiv'd,

When they speak truth, are not believ'd.

Fashions and modes we often see,

Made to conceal deformity:

Those to whom nature has been kind,

Should leave such fopperies behind.

A fox who in a trap was taken,

Resign'd his brush to save his bacon.

Ashamed that all the world should know

His cunning had been cheated so,

To an assembly of the nation

He made the following oration:

"I oft have thought the tails we wear

A troublesome appendage are;

Where's their utility, I pray?

They serve but to obstruct our way.

Nor ornamental do I find,

To drag this ponderous length behind.

For my part, without more debate,

I move our tails we amputate."

"Please, sir, to show yourself behind,"

(Says one to smoke the jest inclin'd,

And who discovered what it was)

"We there perhaps shall see the cause,

Ere we your prudent counsel take,

Why you this curious motion make?"

His bare posteriors when they found,

Loud laughter shook the benches round;

Nor could the fox without a tail

To introduce the mode prevail.

Any partition better make,

Than all the hungry law should take.

By the sea side two travellers found

A fine large oyster on the ground;

His claim each obstinately lays:

"I saw it first," one eager says;

"I pick'd it up," the other cries;

"Mine"—"Mine is certainly the prize."

They talk'd as usual, loud and long;

And more they reason'd, more were wrong;

Till they a neighboring lawyer see

Passing, and mutually agree

To take him for their referee.

With legal dignity of face,

He heard them both relate the case;

"Your claims are good," then gravely said,

"And a brave lawsuit would have made

Which to prefer I cannot tell,

So each of you must take a shell;

And, as the oyster is but one,

That I myself will swallow down;

To stink it otherwise had lain,

And all your cash been spent in vain;

You're cheaply off; go home content;

And faith the fish was excellent."

A dog his master so deceiv'd,

He was the best of curs believ'd.

The flock was trusted to his care,

Whene'er the shepherd was not there.

And in the house, a favored guest,

He always fed upon the best.

The treacherous guard his charge betray'd

And on the sheep in secret prey'd.

The master, when the crime was prov'd,

With double indignation mov'd,

About his neck the halter tied

Himself: the dog for mercy cried;

"You let the wolf escape," he said,

"Who much more slaughter oft has made."

"Wretch!" says the man, "the wolf declares

Hostility, and boldly dares;

He has no confidence abused:

But, coward, thou my trust hast used:

Against myself! and on this tree

Without delay shalt hanged be."

The law still lends the readiest aid,

When well her ministers are paid.

A countryman, by power oppress'd,

Seeking to have his wrongs redress'd,

Oft to the justice went in vain;

Admittance he could ne'er obtain,

But still was bid again to come;

"Unwell"—"engag'd"—or "not home!"

The wily rustic took a kid

One day, and in a basket hid;

And when he to the house drew near,

Began to pinch him by the ear,

So that the porter, from the hall,

Might hear the little fatling squall;

The man his master's mind who knew,

Open'd the door and let him through.

The shepherd, laughing as he pass'd,

Says to his kid, "Thy cries at last

An audience for my wrongs obtain;

Thy flesh, perhaps, redress will gain."

The world applauds the lucky hit,

When it beholds the biter bit.

A treach'rous fox invited down

A cock, who on a tree had flown.

"Do you not know, my friend," says he,

"Bird, beast, fish, reptile, man agree,

To live henceforth in amity?

Come down and celebrate the day."

"Troth," quoth the cock, "you truly say;

For hounds I see come o'er the dell,

With open mouths, the news to tell."

"Adieu," says Ren. "'Tis best to go;

Those dogs the treaty may not know."

Who kind assistance give and take,

Life's arduous journey best will make.

Two men, one blind, the other lame,

To pass a ford together came.

The stream was rapid, and the way

Obliquely thwart the current lay;

To his companion says the blind,

"Yon winding road I ne'er shall find."

"Nor my poor limbs," the lame replied,

"The current's rapid force abide."

"Come," says the blind, "my loins are strong,

I'll bear you on my back along,

While you to guide me give the word;"

And thus they safely cross'd the ford.

There's in the world a cursed race,

Of nature so perverse and base,

If from the gallows you should save,

A dangerous enemy you have.

A countryman a serpent found,

Stiffen'd with frost upon the ground,

And took her home; but when the fire

Began new vigor to inspire,

Swelling her neck with angry eyes,

She fills the cot with hissing cries.

The rustic then his axe did take,

"Is this then the return you make?

Is this your gratitude?" he said,

And knock'd the reptile on the head.

Those who display much dash and din,

Have seldom any thing within.

A weary traveller, one day,

Cross'd o'er a river in his way;

Alarm'd to see the foaming tide

Dashing o'er rocks from side to side,

Nevertheless, his course to keep,

He ventur'd in with trembling step;

And found the water neither deep,

Nor footing bad; and got well o'er.

When he had travell'd some leagues more,

He to another river came,

That smoothly flowed, a silent stream:

This he thought easily to pass;

But ere he in the middle was,

He plunged into a gulf profound,

And for his feet no bottom found;

But, forced to swim with all his might,

Got to the shore in piteous plight.

Inveterate sin is seldom cur'd.

A wife had long a sot endur'd,

Who all his time in taverns spent,

While his affairs in ruin went.

Once as insensible he lay,

She dress'd him in a corpse's array,

And with the undertaker's aid,

Into a burying vault convey'd.

The fumes dispersed, the man awakes;

All for reality he takes.

When by the glimmering of a lamp

He saw his mansion drear and damp,

Reflecting how his life had pass'd,

A forced repentance came at last.

The wife, with suited voice and dress,

Presented an infernal mess:

"Good Trap, pray take away your meat;

I have no appetite to eat,"

He cried, "but faith I'm devilish dry:

Can't you a bowl of wine supply?"

The woman, seeing all was vain,

Restor'd him to his casks again:

Consol'd with certainty, that he

Ere long a real corpse must be.

Three sons an honest farmer had;

And it so happen'd, ne'er a lad

Could with the other two agree;

All quarrelling perpetually.

Their time in idle contest spent,

Garden and farm to ruin went;

And the good farmer and his wife

Led but a miserable life.

One day as this unhappy sire

Sat musing by his evening fire,

He saw some twigs in bundles stand,

Tied for the basket-maker's hand.

Taking up one: "My boys," says he,

"Which is the strongest, let me see;

He who this bundle breaks in twain,

The preference, and this prize shall gain,"

(Showing a pair of Sunday shoes.)

The rivals every effort use

In vain. Their utmost force when tried,

The father took the twigs untied,

And giving to them one by one,

The work immediately was done.

"Yon twigs," he says, "that broken lie,

This useful lesson may supply:

That those in amity who live,

And succor to each other give,

Double their forces to resist

Oppression, and their work assist."

Flowers which many leaves display,

In fruitless beauty fade away.

Cries one of these, with saucy sneer,

To a plain fig-tree growing near,

"How comes it, honest friend, that thou

Dost in the spring no blossoms show?"

Says he, "I keep them out of view,

For fear I should resemble you,

And in the autumn nought produce

Of permanence and solid use."

Who soon and much essay to shine,

May dread a premature decline.

A farmer of an honest fame,

One morning to his landlord came:

"Alas, my lord," he weeping said,

"Gored by my bull, your ox is dead.

What must be done?" "The case is plain,"

Replies the lord; "the creature slain,

The owner of the bull must pay;

Let it be done without delay."

"Heav'n give your worship long to live!

I hope you will a good one give,

For mine was good!" "How! your's, my friend?

Let me your story comprehend:

Your bull, you say, my ox has gored?"

"Forgive me the mistake, my lord,

In my confusion I have made;

Mine was the ox that must be paid;

But 'tis all one—what's just for me

The same must for your worship be:

I'll tell the steward what you say."

"Not yet—we'll think of it to-day.

Further inquiry must be had;

Perhaps your fences were but bad;

Perhaps—but come again to-morrow."

The honest laborer saw with sorrow,

That justice wears a different face,

When for themselves men put the case.

At play on Thames's verdant side

A school boy fell into the tide,

Where providentially there stood

A willow, bending o'er the flood.

Buoy'd on its branch, he floating lay,

The monitor pass'd by that way.

The lad entreats his life to save:

The Don replies with aspect grave,

"Sirrah, what business had you there?

How vain is all our watchful care!

You never heed a word we say;

Your disobedience you shall pay!"

"First," says the boy, "pray stretch your hand:

I'll hear you when I come to land."

This is for those, with vain parade

Who give advice, instead of aid.

A rustic bringing to the fair

An ass, that he might show him there,

Sleek and well looking let him trot;

He followed with his son on foot.

The first they met upon the road,

At our pedestrians laugh'd loud,

"Look at those two legged asses," cried,

"Who trudge on foot when they might ride!"

The father with the hint complies:

Makes the boy mount. Now other cries

Assail their ears; by graybeards blam'd;

"Sirrah, you ought to be asham'd

To ride and let your father walk!"

Again he listened to their talk.

The sire got up, the youth got down;

When passing through a country town,

At every door the mothers said,

"A murrain light on thy old head!

Hast thou no bowels for thy kind?

At least take up the lad behind."

This done they next were thus address'd:

"Two lubbers on a little beast?

They fitter are to carry him!"

Complying with this senseless whim,

Upon a pole his feet in air,

The ass they on their shoulders bear.

Now laughing shouts spread far and wide.

The ass's ligatures untied,

"Proceed, my son," then said the man:

"To please the world, do all we can,

Since 'tis impossible, you see,

To please ourselves content we'll be."

Mortals bring down upon their head

The very miseries most they dread.

The only son of a rich knight

In hunting daily took delight.

The father living in alarm,

Lest he should come to any harm,

Dream'd that he saw him on the ground,

Rent with the lion's fatal wound.

The youth, allow'd to hunt no more,

Impatiently confinement bore.

Remarking, one unlucky day,

In the fine chamber where he lay,

A lion painted on the wall,

"Thou art," he cried, "the cause of all."

With idle rage the wall he struck,

And in his hand an iron stuck,

Which piercing bones and sinews through,

Fester'd and then a gangrene grew.

And thus the father's ill-tim'd care

Deprived him of his son and heir.