Aesop, in Rhyme: Old Friends in a New Dress

Though life be welcome to the wise,

Death cannot take him by surprise;

Aware that every day and hour

He holds but at the tyrant's power,

That beauty, talents, worth, are vain.

A moment's respite to obtain.

Nothing more known, and yet how rare

It is with courage to prepare

For this inevitable day!

All hope a little more delay.

One who had suffer'd many a year,

And to a century drew near,

At last complain'd, that unawares

Death came, unsettled his affairs:

"My will is not completely made;

A little time," he trembling said,

"A little longer let me live;

Some warning 'tis but fair to give!

My grandson is expected home;

At least pray, let the doctor come."

"Poor helpless driveller!" Death replied,

"Ten years ago thou should'st have died!

Thy friends, thy foes, thyself outliv'd:

Almost an age thou hast surviv'd:

Some who their day had scarce begun.

Others beneath their noon-tide sun—

Time's deepest lines engrave thy brow,

And dost thou hesitate to go?

Idiot, what warning would'st thou have?

One foot already in the grave:

Sight, hearing, feeling, day by day,

Sunk gradual in a long decay.

I blame myself for my neglect;

Thou'st not a moment to expect!"

When failing nature warns, the sage

Sees death a refuge from old age;

And rising from life's lengthened feast,

Willing retires, a sated guest.

When candid critics deign to blame

Their index points the road to fame,

But when dull fools your works admire,

Throw them at once into the fire.

In Rome there dwelt, in days of yore,

A painter deep in graphic lore.

His touch was firm, his outline true,

And every rule full well he knew.

A Mars he painted, meant to show

How far his learned skill could go.

The work complete, he call'd a friend,

On whose good taste he could depend.

The friend was honest, spoke his thought,

And fairly pointed out the fault,

"That overwork'd in every part,

It show'd too much laborious art."

The painter argued for his rules,

And cited maxims from the schools;

Still the judicious critic held

The labor should be more conceal'd.

While they disputed on his stricture,

A coxcomb came to see the picture:

Entering, he cries, "Good heavens, how fine!

The piece, I swear, is quite divine!

The sword, the knot, the belt, the leather,

The steel, the gold, the silk, the feather,

Are perfect nature, all together!"

The painter, reddening with despite,

Whispers, "My friend, by Jove, you're right.

'Tis not enough our art to know,

Till less of it we learn to show;

My picture must be done again

I see, to please discerning men."

A cobbler, who had fix'd his stall

Against a nabob's palace wall,

Work'd merrily as others play,

And sung and whistled all the day.

A prey to many an anxious care,

Less merry was the lord, by far;

And often in the night he thought

It hard, sleep was not to be bought:

And if tow'rds morn he got a doze,

The cobbler troubled his repose.

One day he bid the man attend—

And, "Well," says he, "my honest friend,

How is it that so well you thrive?

You seem the happiest man alive.

Pray, what may be the profit clear,

That you can earn within the year?"

"What in a twelvemonth I can earn,

My lord, was never my concern;

'Tis quite enough," the cobbler said,

"If I can gain my daily bread."

"Take then this note"—'twas twenty pound;

"But sing not with so shrill a sound,

Good man," the generous nabob cries,

"When early to your work you rise;

For then I want to close my eyes."

Delighted to his stall he went:

But now he first felt discontent;

All day he neither work'd nor ate,

For thinking of his happy fate.

At night, when he retir'd to bed,

He plac'd the note beneath his head.

But could not sleep a single wink,

What he should do with it, to think;

And every little noise he heard,

That folks were come to rob him, fear'd.

Living in constant dread to all,

Who did but look towards his stall,

So lean and sallow he was grown,

The man was hardly to be known.

At last he begg'd the lord to see:

"Take back your present, sir," said he,

"Riches, I find, are not for me.

To-morrow I my song renew;

Not less my gratitude to you:

And care henceforward I will take,

My chaunts your slumber do not break."

A man a palfrey long possess'd,

A quiet, serviceable beast;

Spavin'd, indeed, and somewhat blind,

But still his way he well could find;

And if he stumbled now and then,

Was soon upon his feet again.

In short, for many a year, the pack

Had borne him safely on his back.

Till riding out one fatal day,

He overheard some coxcombs say,

"For such a man, 'tis quite a shame,

To mount a horse old, blind, and lame."

"Aye," replied one, "I know a steed

Would nobly carry him indeed;

Young, vigorous, beautiful, and sound;

His like is nowhere to be found."

In evil hour an ear he lent,

To view this boasted courser went:

Unwary on his back he got,

And tried to put him on a trot;

He rear'd and plung'd, and leap'd about,

Till from his seat he shook him out,

Then kicking, pitch'd him o'er his head,

And laid him on the pavement dead.

The vicious creature left at large,

On all his fury would discharge;

This from behind his heels surprise,

Trod under foot, that sprawling lies:

Another, who would seize the reins,

Is bit and mangled for his pains.

But want of nourishment and rest

Will tame at last the fiercest beast;

And rage itself suspends its course,

Exhausted by its proper force.

Light'ning no more his eyes inspire,

No more his nostrils snorted fire;

At bay he stood, fatigu'd and lank,

With flagging ears, and beating flank.

An active jockey, stout and able,

Contracts to bring him to the stable;

Soothes, and his neck begins to pat,

And the corn rattles in his hat;

By hunger drawn, repell'd by fear,

The courser neighs, retires, comes near;

Lur'd with the smell, begins to eat.

The jockey vaulted in the seat:

With vigorous hand the bridle plied,

And stuck the rowels in his side.

Some bounds and curvets still he made,

But soon submissively obey'd.

The horseman who such skill had shown,

Resolv'd to keep him for his own:

Aware that constant work alone

Can keep this wicked spirit down

He night and day is on his back,

To lead him to some new attack,

No road is safe, nor far nor near,

This highwayman is every where.

An honest minister disgrac'd,

(Such are not easily replac'd,)

Found the sweet leisure in his fields,

To virtuous minds retirement yields.

The king, who had his foes believ'd,

The loss of him ere long perceiv'd.

To bring him back again intent,

To his retreat alone he went:

"My friend, you must return with me,"

He said, "your value now I see."

"Forgive me," the Recluse replied;

"Here I determine to abide.

By sad experience well I know,

Were I to court again to go,

And all my best endeavors do,

To serve my country, sir, and you,

Art and intrigue so much prevail,

Again I certainly should fail;

Against your will and approbation,

And the good wishes of the nation,

You'd find yourself compell'd to yield,

And I once more must quit the field."

The honest man, who will not bend

To circumstance, or condescend

To pay his court to knave or fool,

Will never long a nation rule.

A man once had a swan and goose

Among his birds and beasts.

The one was destined for a pet,

The other for a feast.

Sometimes you saw them sailing

Gracefully on the current, side by side,

Sometimes they played a game of tag,

Or plunged into the tide.

One day the master ordered

The cook to kill the goose,

And roast it for his dinner;

It was fat and fit for use.

But the cook had taken a drop too much,

And it had gone to his head;

So when he went out for the goose

He took the swan instead.

He seized the swan fast by the throat,

And would have kill'd it soon:

But the bird saw he was to die,

And he his throat did tune,

And warbled out his farewell lay.

The cook straight dropped his knife

In great surprise, "what! what!" cried he,

"Shall I take the life

Of a musical bird like this?

No, no! it must not be.

So to the garden he shall go back

And ne'er be kill'd by me."

A lynx once met by chance a mole,

Just emerging from his hole.

The lynx with penetrating eye

The beauties of the place did spy,

And asked the mole to take a share

In the fine prospect, rich and rare.

"I've seldom found so good a place.

From this small hill you see a space

Extended far beneath your view,

I like it much; pray do not you?

See now the sun begins to rise,

And with crimson tints the skies.

It spreads all round its genial heat,

And nature now enjoys a treat."

"Well, well!" the mole aloud did cry

"You may see this and more, but I

Can only now before me see,

A very heavy mist." "Truly,

Now," said the lynx, "I clearly see

The difference 'twixt you and me.

My eyes see with perception bright

While your's are always dark as night.

Go to your hold beneath the ground,

While I will range the forest round."

A young mouse of little experience,

Thought to soften an old cat,

And besought her clemency,

By asking for his life at her expense.

Said he, "A mouse, or e'en a rat,

Is not a great charge on the house;

And I shall not starve out the host.

Besides I seldom quit my post,

And when I do a grain of corn

Has served me since I first was born.

Now I am thin, pray let me be,

I'll serve your children yet, you'll see."

Thus to the cat spoke the poor mouse.

The other answered, "You mistake,

When unto me this tone you take;

You might as well talk to the deaf,

As to so old a cat as I,

And through your tricks I spy,

Die! you can go and chatter to the fates,

My children will be fed on better cates."

Youth is sanguine, and hopes for all:

Old age is pitiless; so says our moral.

Two real friends lived in Monomotapa,

All that belonged to one was for the other,

And each was unto each a brother.

The people of that country, thus,

Make better friends than among us.

One night when fast asleep,

They each were sound reposing,

The eldest darted from his couch,

And stopped the other's dozing.

He runs to see his friend,

Awakes the slaves, and in the end,

Even his friend is quite alarmed,

And goes to seek the other,

With sword and purse. "My brother,

What can the matter be?

Here I am armed, you see,

Ready with sword to fight for you,

And here is money ready too,

If you have lost in play.

You're even welcome to my handsome slave,

With jet black hair, and eyes so grave."

"No!" said the other, "I need naught,

But ere I slept to-night, I thought,

Being in a trance, that you were sad,

And as the thought nigh drove me mad,

I hurried to your tent,

And found you sleeping quite content."

Which of the two best loved the other?

Here is a thing to ponder on.

A true friend is a precious thing,

And all to aid you he will bring,

But with excess of love the other

In dreams was thinking of his brother.

In a land where stags are many,

One fell sick, and not any

Of all his friends, delayed to come,

To offer aid and consolation,

In his sorrowful situation.

Said he, "My friends, pray let me die

In the right way, nor shed such tears."

Not at all, the consolers,

With many a tear, and many a sigh,

Had come resolved by him to lie;

And when they left they helped themselves

Upon his lands, the greedy elves!

And drank from out his brook,

And every one of them such suppers took,

That when the stag revived,

He found his meals reduced;

So that while his friends had thrived,

He had to fast or die of hunger.

A woodman had broken or misplaced

The wooden handle of his axe,

This loss could not be well replaced.

So master woodman humbly prayed

From all the trees a single branch,

And promised to go elsewhere when he made

Again his livelihood,

And he would touch nor oak nor pine.

The trees which were all very good

Furnished for him new arms,

And soon commenced all their alarms,

And their regret. The axe was mended.

And his repentance all was ended.

The miserable wretch but used it,

E'en as he had before abused it,

By felling down the forest trees,

Which groaned in spirit, and which died,

By arms they had themselves supplied.

This is the way the world goes on,

We use our benefits against our benefactors:

I am tired of speaking thereupon,

Till we obtain our wants, we are good actors.

Formerly the elephant and the rhinoceros

Disputing on the light of empire

Resolved to end the combat thus—

By fighting to their heart's desire.

The day was fixed, when it was heard,

That the monkey of Sire Jupiter

Had been seen in the air,

Poised on a cloud like any bird.

The elephant was quite convinced

That to arrange the new election,

An interest the god evinced,

And felt for him a great affection,

He went to see the monkey's highness,

Expecting him to speak about the fight,

But not a word said monkey.

At this sight,

The elephant perceived that he must speak himself,

And so began: "Sire Jupiter," said he,

"Between rhinoceros and me will see

A royal combat of legation;

A tournament for all the nation.

I suppose you have already heard

This news!" Said monkey, "Not a word."

The elephant ashamed, and quite surprised,

Looked on the monkey with astonished eyes.

Said monkey, "In celestial place,

A fly or leopard are of equal race."

"Was it not then because of us,"

Said elephant, "that you descended?"

"Nay," said the monkey, quite offended.

"I left the heavens to share a grain of corn

Among some ants, nor knew that you were born.

We have the care of mortal things;

But all are equals in our eyes,

And at your talk I feel surprise."

A woodman was toiling, all covered with dust,

But reach home with his faggot ere night he must,

Panting and weary he walks quite slow,

How to get home he does not know.

At last quite exhausted with toil and trouble,

With the weight of the burden and his years, bent double.

He puts down his faggot, and thinks of his pains,

What is his work, and what are his gains,

How since he came into this weary world,

By the wheels of blind fortune around he's been twirled.

Was he not poor, a wood cutter, at best,

Oft without bread, always without rest.

He thinks of his wife, his children, his taxes,

At last quite warm with the subject he waxes.

He calls on death; who comes without delay,

The woodman, in terror, knows not what to say.

Death asks what to do the man wishes he should.

"Oh, help me," he said, "with this faggot of wood.

My poor bones ache, and my limbs they crack.

So help me to put it upon my back."

A rat who lived in the field,

A rat of little wit,

Once grew tired of his father's house,

And quietly left it.

He left the field, the grain and wheat,

Set out to travel, left his hole,

And just as soon as he was out,

"How large and spacious on the whole

Is this great country spread about.

Here are the Apeninnes, and there Caucasus."

The smallest mole hill is a mountain.

At the end of some days our traveller arrives

At a certain canton where every oyster thrives,

And our famed traveller turned very pale,

Thinking he saw great vessels setting sail

"Mercy," said he, "My father was a dunce,

He did not dare to travel even once,

While I have seen already,

The maritime empire,

And travelled to my heart's desire."

From a certain learn'd man,

The rat had heard of such things,

And thinks he has seen all he can.

Among the many oysters closed,

There was one open, which reposed,

Mouth gaping, in the sun,

The learned, travelled man,

The rat, approached, thinking to make

An excellent repast, and began to take

A bite at the fine oyster, plump and fat,

Whereupon closing on our rat,

The oyster caught him tight

And held him with all its might.

This fable goes to show,

That those mistake,

Who think that all they know:

When knowing nothing of the world,

Their giddy brain is quickly whirled.

And hence this moral let us make,

That he is caught, who thinks to take.

Dr. So-much-the-worse went out to see

A patient sick as one could be.

His brother So-much-the-better,

Having received an urgent letter,

Came also the sick man to visit.

So-much-the-worse declared he'd die,

So-much-the-better asked him why.

And while their plans they thus discourse,

The sick man died, so much the worse!

So-much-the-better now declared,

That if the sick man had not despaired,

He would have lived. So-much-the-worse

Said, "I was right, agree with me,

Our patient's dead, as you can see."

There's wisdom in the saying, by my troth,

Too many cooks will spoil the broth.

A mountain thought to be in labor,

Made such a horrid noise,

That round it each stranger came and neighbor,

Thinking the end of all this noise would be

A city, quite as large as three.

Having drawn all the province round,

The mountain from a little mound,

Let out a mouse.

When I think upon this fable,

Of which the narration is false,

And the sense true;

It puts me much in mind

Of authors not a few,

Who boast that they are able

To write on any subject as they please,

And after all—do nothing.

A man was passionately fond of his cat,

He thought she was pretty, and sleek, and all that;

And she purred in the softest tone,

He wished to make her his own.

This man by prayers, by tears,

By sorcery and charms,

Changed pussy to a woman fair,

And took her in his arms.

But in the wainscot soon a rat

Made itself manifest,

And very soon the pussy cat,

Could still no longer rest.

Her foolish husband who believed

That nothing had of cat remained,

And as his wife had her received—

Was, now, I warrant, somewhat pained.

Next time the vermin came,

Pussy was surer of her game—

For having changed her face,

The mice not frightened,

Did not change their pace—

And the astonished spouse

Was very glad—

To change her back—

And was no more cat-mad.

What in the bone is born,

Will in the flesh remain,

Both night and morn,

And ne'er come out again.

He who another thinks to injure,

May in the end destroy himself.

A rat who fed exceeding well,

Was by a frog invited out to dine;

"The voyage," said froggy, "will be quickly made,

If you will tie your foot to mine."

Frog vaunted the delight of bathing,

Praised the varieties they'd met upon the way,

And when the rat consented to be tied,

Attempted to bear him away.

The rat half drowned resisted all he could.

The frog, imaged the dinner he would make;

Suddenly, flying from a neighboring wood,

A hawk appeared, and quickly did he take

Both of the combatants up in his bill,

Before they e'en had time to make their will;

And quite delighted did the greedy sinner

Make off of fish and flesh a hearty dinner.

For in the hawk's dominions, fast days

Are never kept.

Now if the frog had acted as he ought,

And had not tried to dine off the poor rat,

They would not both have perished,

To make fat,

A pampered hawk;

And master rat,

Had he not been so curious about

Aquatic government,

Had from the scrape got safely out.

A scheme or a conspiracy,

Be it all plotted well

As safe, 'twould seem as it could be,

And sure of all success,

May, none the less,

Entirely fail,

And grand conspirators,

And all bewail,

The day that set them scheming.

A lion by a gad-fly worried,

Half maddened by his sting,

Exclaimed, "Be off, vile fly—

Mean, pitiful, base thing!"

After the fly had ended his repast,

Fully exhausted feels the beast at last,

And roared so that he shook the earth,

While the victorious fly

Met in the spider's web his destiny.

Two morals draw I from this tale:

First, We should fear the smallest enemy;

And second, We may escape great perils,

And from a trifling cause may die.

Two mules went travelling on their way,

One with a sack of corn;

The other with gold and bells so gay,

Most gaily tripped along.

Proud of so rich a load,

He kept the bells a ringing—

And was so proud, had he known how

He would have commenced singing.

Soon some robbers rude appeared,

Who stopped this mule upon his road,

And very soon they had him cleared

Of all his weight of precious gold.

Falling beneath their blows, "I die,"

The expiring trotter cried,

"Had you been," said the other,

"Low as I, you would not thus have died."

Be moderate when you are high,

Nor glory o'er the passers by.

Jupiter had a farm to let,

Mercury advertised it, and people came,

Made offers, listened, all the same,

Made some objection.

One declared the land

Was rough and dry,

And full of sand.

One had this reason, one had that,

Until at last a man appeared,

Who said he'd try to farm it, agreed that

He might have any weather that he chose.

Behold! as soon as he but yawns, it blows

Or rains, or is quite clear.

His neighbors, even the most near,

Are not affected by these changes.

In usual route, their weather ranges;

They have good crops,

But he had none.

At last when tired, he began

Complaining unto Jupiter.

The next year the same thing,

Changes of weather he can bring—

And the neighbors no more

Than the Americans,

Are troubled by the farming

Of his lands.

At last tired out, with all his strife in vain,

He yields his power to the God of rain;

Acknowledging, that all along

The god did right,

And he did wrong.

Let us conclude that Providence

For man ordains much better than we can.

A young mouse, who had nothing seen,

Was nearly caught; You shall hear how

He told his mother the adventure—

He said, "Pray, listen, now:

I started out to frolic at a venture,

When two fine animals appeared

Before my eyes,

And filled me with surprise.

One was soft, benign, and sweet,

The other, turbulent, and full of inquietude,

Had a loud voice, piercing and rude,

And on his head a piece of flesh.

A sort of arm raised him up in the air,

As though to fly out of a mesh—

His tail was spread out like a fan."

Now it was a cock of which our little mouse,

Made to his mother this fine picture,

Describing him like an enthusiast.

"He beat," said he, "his flanks,

With his two arms,

Making such a noise and such a din,

That, frightened half to death,

I hurried in.

Although I pique myself upon my courage

And heartily I cursed him in my heart,

For but for him, I'd taken part,

In conversation with the gentle creature,

Who my advances would encourage.

She is velvety, like us, with a long tail,

A modest look, and sparkling eyes,

And is much like a rat. She spies

The objects round her. I turned pale

On hearing the other creature's din,

Or else I should have asked her in."

"My child," said the mother, "this last was a cat,

An enemy of every mouse and rat.

The other a cock, whom do not fear,

Perhaps we may dine on him here."

Take care, whatever they may seem,

Of judging people by their mien.