Fables of La Fontaine — a New Edition, with Notes

      John Rabbit, by Dame Eagle chased,
      Was making for his hole in haste,
    When, on his way, he met a beetle's burrow.
          I leave you all to think
          If such a little chink
    Could to a rabbit give protection thorough.
      But, since no better could be got,
      John Rabbit there was fain to squat.
      Of course, in an asylum so absurd,
      John felt ere long the talons of the bird.
      But first, the beetle, interceding, cried,
      'Great queen of birds, it cannot be denied,
  That, maugre my protection, you can bear
  My trembling guest, John Rabbit, through the air.
    But do not give me such affront, I pray;
        And since he craves your grace,
            In pity of his case,
    Grant him his life, or take us both away;
    For he's my gossip, friend, and neighbour.'
    In vain the beetle's friendly labour;
    The eagle clutch'd her prey without reply,
    And as she flapp'd her vasty wings to fly,
      Struck down our orator and still'd him;
      The wonder is she hadn't kill'd him.
    The beetle soon, of sweet revenge in quest,
      Flew to the old, gnarl'd mountain oak,
    Which proudly bore that haughty eagle's nest.
        And while the bird was gone,
      Her eggs, her cherish'd eggs, he broke,
            Not sparing one.
    Returning from her flight, the eagle's cry,
    Of rage and bitter anguish, fill'd the sky.
        But, by excess of passion blind,
        Her enemy she fail'd to find.
    Her wrath in vain, that year it was her fate
    To live a mourning mother, desolate.
    The next, she built a loftier nest; 'twas vain;
    The beetle found and dash'd her eggs again.
      John Rabbit's death was thus revenged anew.
    The second mourning for her murder'd brood
    Was such, that through the giant mountain wood,
      For six long months, the sleepless echo flew.
        The bird, once Ganymede, now made
        Her prayer to Jupiter for aid;
    And, laying them within his godship's lap,
    She thought her eggs now safe from all mishap;
      The god his own could not but make them--
      No wretch, would venture there to break them.
        And no one did. Their enemy, this time,
        Upsoaring to a place sublime,
      Let fall upon his royal robes some dirt,
      Which Jove just shaking, with a sudden flirt,
      Threw out the eggs, no one knows whither.
        When Jupiter inform'd her how th' event
        Occurr'd by purest accident,
    The eagle raved; there was no reasoning with her;
        She gave out threats of leaving court,
        To make the desert her resort,
        And other brav'ries of this sort.
          Poor Jupiter in silence heard
          The uproar of his favourite bird.
        Before his throne the beetle now appear'd,
        And by a clear complaint the mystery clear'd.
        The god pronounced the eagle in the wrong.
        But still, their hatred was so old and strong,
          These enemies could not be reconciled;
      And, that the general peace might not be spoil'd,--
      The best that he could do,--the god arranged,
      That thence the eagle's pairing should be changed,
      To come when beetle folks are only found
        Conceal'd and dormant under ground.

    'Go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!'
    Thus said the royal lion to the gnat.
    The gnat declared immediate war.
      'Think you,' said he, 'your royal name
          To me worth caring for?
    Think you I tremble at your power or fame?
      The ox is bigger far than you;
      Yet him I drive, and all his crew.'
      This said, as one that did no fear owe,
        Himself he blew the battle charge,
      Himself both trumpeter and hero.
        At first he play'd about at large,
  Then on the lion's neck, at leisure, settled,
  And there the royal beast full sorely nettled.
      With foaming mouth, and flashing eye,
      He roars. All creatures hide or fly,--
          Such mortal terror at
          The work of one poor gnat!
    With constant change of his attack,
    The snout now stinging, now the back,
    And now the chambers of the nose;
    The pigmy fly no mercy shows.
      The lion's rage was at its height;
      His viewless foe now laugh'd outright,
      When on his battle-ground he saw,
      That every savage tooth and claw
          Had got its proper beauty
          By doing bloody duty;
    Himself, the hapless lion, tore his hide,
    And lash'd with sounding tail from side to side.
      Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse!
      He beat the harmless air, and worse;
        For, though so fierce and stout,
        By effort wearied out,
      He fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel.
      The gnat retires with verdant laurel.
      Now rings his trumpet clang,
      As at the charge it rang.
    But while his triumph note he blows,
    Straight on our valiant conqueror goes
    A spider's ambuscade to meet,
    And make its web his winding-sheet.

      We often have the most to fear
        From those we most despise;
      Again, great risks a man may clear,
        Who by the smallest dies.

    A man, whom I shall call an ass-eteer,
  His sceptre like some Roman emperor bearing,
    Drove on two coursers of protracted ear,
  The one, with sponges laden, briskly faring;
          The other lifting legs
          As if he trod on eggs,
        With constant need of goading,
        And bags of salt for loading.
  O'er hill and dale our merry pilgrims pass'd,
  Till, coming to a river's ford at last,
  They stopp'd quite puzzled on the shore.
  Our asseteer had cross'd the stream before;
    So, on the lighter beast astride,
      He drives the other, spite of dread,
      Which, loath indeed to go ahead,
    Into a deep hole turns aside,
        And, facing right about,
        Where he went in, comes out;
        For duckings two or three
          Had power the salt to melt,
          So that the creature felt
        His burden'd shoulders free.
        The sponger, like a sequent sheep,
        Pursuing through the water deep,
          Into the same hole plunges
        Himself, his rider, and the sponges.
    All three drank deeply: asseteer and ass
    For boon companions of their load might pass;
      Which last became so sore a weight,
            The ass fell down,
            Belike to drown,
        His rider risking equal fate.
        A helper came, no matter who.
        The moral needs no more ado--
          That all can't act alike,--
          The point I wish'd to strike.

    To show to all your kindness, it behoves:
  There's none so small but you his aid may need.
  I quote two fables for this weighty creed,
    Which either of them fully proves.
          From underneath the sward
          A rat, quite off his guard,
      Popp'd out between a lion's paws.
          The beast of royal bearing
          Show'd what a lion was
          The creature's life by sparing--
            A kindness well repaid;
        For, little as you would have thought
      His majesty would ever need his aid,
            It proved full soon
            A precious boon.
      Forth issuing from his forest glen,
        T' explore the haunts of men,
      In lion net his majesty was caught,
        From which his strength and rage
        Served not to disengage.
      The rat ran up, with grateful glee,
      Gnaw'd off a rope, and set him free.

      By time and toil we sever
      What strength and rage could never.

    The same instruction we may get
    From another couple, smaller yet.

  A dove came to a brook to drink,
  When, leaning o'er its crumbling brink,
  An ant fell in, and vainly tried,
  In this, to her, an ocean tide,
  To reach the land; whereat the dove,
  With every living thing in love,
  Was prompt a spire of grass to throw her,
  By which the ant regain'd the shore.

  A barefoot scamp, both mean and sly,
  Soon after chanced this dove to spy;
  And, being arm'd with bow and arrow,
    The hungry codger doubted not
    The bird of Venus, in his pot,
  Would make a soup before the morrow.
    Just as his deadly bow he drew,
      Our ant just bit his heel.
      Roused by the villain's squeal,
    The dove took timely hint, and flew
      Far from the rascal's coop;--
      And with her flew his soup.

      To an astrologer who fell
      Plump to the bottom of a well,
      'Poor blockhead!' cried a passer-by,
      'Not see your feet, and read the sky?'

    This upshot of a story will suffice
      To give a useful hint to most;
    For few there are in this our world so wise
      As not to trust in star or ghost,
      Or cherish secretly the creed
    That men the book of destiny may read.
    This book, by Homer and his pupils sung,
    What is it, in plain common sense,
  But what was chance those ancient folks among,
    And with ourselves, God's providence?
      Now chance doth bid defiance
      To every thing like science;
            'Twere wrong, if not,
      To call it hazard, fortune, lot--
          Things palpably uncertain.
          But from the purposes divine,
          The deep of infinite design,
    Who boasts to lift the curtain?
    Whom but himself doth God allow
    To read his bosom thoughts? and how
    Would he imprint upon the stars sublime
    The shrouded secrets of the night of time?
    And all for what? To exercise the wit
    Of those who on astrology have writ?
    To help us shun inevitable ills?
    To poison for us even pleasure's rills?
      The choicest blessings to destroy,
      Exhausting, ere they come, their joy?
  Such faith is worse than error--'tis a crime.
  The sky-host moves and marks the course of time;
  The sun sheds on our nicely-measured days
  The glory of his night-dispelling rays;
      And all from this we can divine
      Is, that they need to rise and shine,--
      To roll the seasons, ripen fruits,
      And cheer the hearts of men and brutes.
      How tallies this revolving universe
      With human things, eternally diverse?
    Ye horoscopers, waning quacks,
    Please turn on Europe's courts your backs,
      And, taking on your travelling lists
      The bellows-blowing alchemists,
      Budge off together to the land of mists.
  But I've digress'd. Return we now, bethinking
  Of our poor star-man, whom we left a drinking.
    Besides the folly of his lying trade,
    This man the type may well be made
      Of those who at chimeras stare
      When they should mind the things that are.

  Once in his bed deep mused the hare,
  (What else but muse could he do there?)
  And soon by gloom was much afflicted;--
  To gloom the creature's much addicted.
    'Alas! these constitutions nervous,'
    He cried, 'how wretchedly they serve us!
    We timid people, by their action,
    Can't eat nor sleep with satisfaction;
    We can't enjoy a pleasure single,
    But with some misery it must mingle.
    Myself, for one, am forced by cursed fear
      To sleep with open eye as well as ear.
      "Correct yourself," says some adviser.
    Grows fear, by such advice, the wiser?
      Indeed, I well enough descry
      That men have fear, as well as I.'
    With such revolving thoughts our hare
    Kept watch in soul-consuming care.
    A passing shade, or leaflet's quiver
    Would give his blood a boiling fever.
      Full soon, his melancholy soul
        Aroused from dreaming doze
        By noise too slight for foes,
      He scuds in haste to reach his hole.
  He pass'd a pond; and from its border bogs,
  Plunge after plunge, in leap'd the timid frogs,
      'Aha! I do to them, I see,'
      He cried, 'what others do to me.
      The sight of even me, a hare,
      Sufficeth some, I find, to scare.
      And here, the terror of my tramp
      Hath put to rout, it seems, a camp.
    The trembling fools! they take me for
    The very thunderbolt of war!
  I see, the coward never skulk'd a foe
  That might not scare a coward still below.'

  Upon a tree there mounted guard
    A veteran cock, adroit and cunning;
    When to the roots a fox up running,
  Spoke thus, in tones of kind regard:--
    'Our quarrel, brother, 's at an end;
    Henceforth I hope to live your friend;
        For peace now reigns
      Throughout the animal domains.
    I bear the news:--come down, I pray,
      And give me the embrace fraternal;
    And please, my brother, don't delay.
      So much the tidings do concern all,
    That I must spread them far to-day.
    Now you and yours can take your walks
    Without a fear or thought of hawks.
  And should you clash with them or others,
  In us you'll find the best of brothers;--
  For which you may, this joyful night,
    Your merry bonfires light.
      But, first, let's seal the bliss
      With one fraternal kiss.'
    'Good friend,' the cock replied, 'upon my word,
    A better thing I never heard;
        And doubly I rejoice
        To hear it from your voice;
    And, really there must be something in it,
  For yonder come two greyhounds, which I flatter
  Myself are couriers on this very matter.
    They come so fast, they'll be here in a minute.
  I'll down, and all of us will seal the blessing
    With general kissing and caressing.'
    'Adieu,' said fox; 'my errand's pressing;
        I'll hurry on my way,
        And we'll rejoice some other day.'
  So off the fellow scamper'd, quick and light,
  To gain the fox-holes of a neighbouring height,
  Less happy in his stratagem than flight.
    The cock laugh'd sweetly in his sleeve;--
    'Tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive.

  The bird of Jove bore off a mutton,
      A raven being witness.
  That weaker bird, but equal glutton,
      Not doubting of his fitness
      To do the same with ease,
      And bent his taste to please,
      Took round the flock his sweep,
      And mark'd among the sheep,
      The one of fairest flesh and size,
      A real sheep of sacrifice--
      A dainty titbit bestial,
      Reserved for mouth celestial.
      Our gormand, gloating round,
        Cried, 'Sheep, I wonder much
        Who could have made you such.
      You're far the fattest I have found;
      I'll take you for my eating.'
      And on the creature bleating
      He settled down. Now, sooth to say,
      This sheep would weigh
          More than a cheese;
          And had a fleece
        Much like that matting famous
      Which graced the chin of Polyphemus;[23]
        So fast it clung to every claw,
        It was not easy to withdraw.
  The shepherd came, caught, caged, and, to their joy,
  Gave croaker to his children for a toy.

    Ill plays the pilferer the bigger thief;
    One's self one ought to know;--in brief,
    Example is a dangerous lure;
  Death strikes the gnat, where flies the wasp secure.

    The peacock[25] to the queen of heaven
      Complain'd in some such words:--
    'Great goddess, you have given
      To me, the laughing-stock of birds,
    A voice which fills, by taste quite just,
        All nature with disgust;
    Whereas that little paltry thing,
      The nightingale, pours from her throat
      So sweet and ravishing a note,
  She bears alone the honours of the spring.'

          In anger Juno heard,
    And cried, 'Shame on you, jealous bird!
    Grudge you the nightingale her voice,
    Who in the rainbow neck rejoice,
    Than costliest silks more richly tinted,
    In charms of grace and form unstinted,--
      Who strut in kingly pride,
      Your glorious tail spread wide
    With brilliants which in sheen do
    Outshine the jeweller's bow window?
      Is there a bird beneath the blue
        That has more charms than you?
      No animal in everything can shine.
      By just partition of our gifts divine,
      Each has its full and proper share;
      Among the birds that cleave the air,
    The hawk's a swift, the eagle is a brave one,
    For omens serves the hoarse old raven,
    The rook's of coming ills the prophet;
      And if there's any discontent,
        I've heard not of it.

      'Cease, then, your envious complaint;
      Or I, instead of making up your lack,
  Will take your boasted plumage from your back.'

    A bachelor caress'd his cat,
    A darling, fair, and delicate;
    So deep in love, he thought her mew
    The sweetest voice he ever knew.
    By prayers, and tears, and magic art,
    The man got Fate to take his part;
    And, lo! one morning at his side
    His cat, transform'd, became his bride.
    In wedded state our man was seen
    The fool in courtship he had been.
    No lover e'er was so bewitch'd
      By any maiden's charms
    As was this husband, so enrich'd
      By hers within his arms.
    He praised her beauties, this and that,
    And saw there nothing of the cat.
      In short, by passion's aid, he
      Thought her a perfect lady.

    'Twas night: some carpet-gnawing mice
      Disturb'd the nuptial joys.
          Excited by the noise,
    The bride sprang at them in a trice;
        The mice were scared and fled.
        The bride, scarce in her bed,
    The gnawing heard, and sprang again,--
        And this time not in vain,
    For, in this novel form array'd,
    Of her the mice were less afraid.
    Through life she loved this mousing course,
    So great is stubborn nature's force.

    In mockery of change, the old
      Will keep their youthful bent.
    When once the cloth has got its fold,
      The smelling-pot its scent,
    In vain your efforts and your care
    To make them other than they are.
    To work reform, do what you will,
    Old habit will be habit still.
  Nor fork[27] nor strap can mend its manners,
  Nor cudgel-blows beat down its banners.
  Secure the doors against the renter,
  And through the windows it will enter.

    The king of animals, with royal grace,
    Would celebrate his birthday in the chase.
      'Twas not with bow and arrows,
      To slay some wretched sparrows;
    The lion hunts the wild boar of the wood,
    The antlered deer and stags, the fat and good.
      This time, the king, t' insure success,
      Took for his aide-de-camp an ass,
      A creature of stentorian voice,
      That felt much honour'd by the choice.
    The lion hid him in a proper station,
    And order'd him to bray, for his vocation,
      Assured that his tempestuous cry
      The boldest beasts would terrify,
      And cause them from their lairs to fly.
  And, sooth, the horrid noise the creature made
  Did strike the tenants of the wood with dread;
      And, as they headlong fled,
    All fell within the lion's ambuscade.
      'Has not my service glorious
      Made both of us victorious?'
      Cried out the much-elated ass.
    'Yes,' said the lion; 'bravely bray'd!
      Had I not known yourself and race,
    I should have been myself afraid!'
      If he had dared, the donkey
      Had shown himself right spunky
    At this retort, though justly made;
      For who could suffer boasts to pass
      So ill-befitting to an ass?

        If what old story says of Aesop's true,
          The oracle of Greece he was,
        And more than Areopagus[30] he knew,
          With all its wisdom in the laws.
        The following tale gives but a sample
        Of what has made his fame so ample.
      Three daughters shared a father's purse,
          Of habits totally diverse.
        The first, bewitched with drinks delicious;
        The next, coquettish and capricious;
        The third, supremely avaricious.
        The sire, expectant of his fate,
        Bequeathed his whole estate,
        In equal shares, to them,
        And to their mother just the same,--
      To her then payable, and not before,
  Each daughter should possess her part no more.
      The father died. The females three
      Were much in haste the will to see.
        They read, and read, but still
        Saw not the willer's will.
        For could it well be understood
        That each of this sweet sisterhood,
        When she possess'd her part no more,
        Should to her mother pay it o'er?
        'Twas surely not so easy saying
        How lack of means would help the paying.
      What meant their honour'd father, then?
      Th' affair was brought to legal men,
      Who, after turning o'er the case
      Some hundred thousand different ways,
        Threw down the learned bonnet,
        Unable to decide upon it;
        And then advised the heirs,
        Without more thought, t' adjust affairs.
      As to the widow's share, the counsel say,
      'We hold it just the daughters each should pay
        One third to her upon demand,
        Should she not choose to have it stand
          Commuted as a life annuity,
  Paid from her husband's death, with due congruity.'
      The thing thus order'd, the estate
        Is duly cut in portions three.
        And in the first they all agree
      To put the feasting-lodges, plate,
        Luxurious cooling mugs,
        Enormous liquor jugs,
  Rich cupboards,--built beneath the trellised vine,--
  The stores of ancient, sweet Malvoisian wine,
    The slaves to serve it at a sign;
      In short, whatever, in a great house,
      There is of feasting apparatus.
      The second part is made
    Of what might help the jilting trade--
      The city house and furniture,
      Exquisite and genteel, be sure,
    The eunuchs, milliners, and laces,
    The jewels, shawls, and costly dresses.
    The third is made of household stuff,
    More vulgar, rude, and rough--
    Farms, fences, flocks, and fodder,
    And men and beasts to turn the sod o'er.
      This done, since it was thought
      To give the parts by lot
      Might suit, or it might not,
    Each paid her share of fees dear,
    And took the part that pleased her.
      'Twas in great Athens town,
      Such judgment gave the gown.
      And there the public voice
  Applauded both the judgment and the choice.
      But Aesop well was satisfied
      The learned men had set aside,
      In judging thus the testament,
      The very gist of its intent.
  'The dead,' quoth he, 'could he but know of it,
  Would heap reproaches on such Attic wit.
  What! men who proudly take their place
    As sages of the human race,
        Lack they the simple skill
        To settle such a will?'
      This said, he undertook himself
      The task of portioning the pelf;
    And straightway gave each maid the part
    The least according to her heart--
    The prim coquette, the drinking stuff,
      The drinker, then, the farms and cattle;
    And on the miser, rude and rough,
      The robes and lace did Aesop settle;
      For thus, he said, 'an early date
      Would see the sisters alienate
      Their several shares of the estate.
  No motive now in maidenhood to tarry,
  They all would seek, post haste, to marry;
    And, having each a splendid bait,
    Each soon would find a well-bred mate;
  And, leaving thus their father's goods intact,
  Would to their mother pay them all, in fact,'--
      Which of the testament
      Was plainly the intent.
  The people, who had thought a slave an ass,
  Much wonder'd how it came to pass
    That one alone should have more sense
    Than all their men of most pretence.

  Because the arts are plainly birthright matters,
  For fables we to ancient Greece are debtors;
  But still this field could not be reap'd so clean
  As not to let us, later comers, glean.
  The fiction-world hath deserts yet to dare,
  And, daily, authors make discoveries there.
  I'd fain repeat one which our man of song,
  Old Malherbe, told one day to young Racan.[3]
  Of Horace they the rivals and the heirs,
  Apollo's pets,--my masters, I should say,--
  Sole by themselves were met, I'm told, one day,
  Confiding each to each their thoughts and cares.
  Racan begins:--'Pray end my inward strife,
  For well you know, my friend, what's what in life,
  Who through its varied course, from stage to stage,
  Have stored the full experience of age;
  What shall I do? 'Tis time I chose profession.
  You know my fortune, birth, and disposition.
  Ought I to make the country my resort,
  Or seek the army, or to rise at court?
  There's nought but mixeth bitterness with charms;
  War hath its pleasures; hymen, its alarms.
  'Twere nothing hard to take my natural bent,--
  But I've a world of people to content.'
  'Content a world!' old Malherbe cries; 'who can, sir?
  Why, let me tell a story ere I answer.'

  'A miller and his son, I've somewhere read,
  The first in years, the other but a lad,--
  A fine, smart boy, however, I should say,--
  To sell their ass went to a fair one day.
  In order there to get the highest price,
  They needs must keep their donkey fresh and nice;
  So, tying fast his feet, they swung him clear,
  And bore him hanging like a chandelier.
  Alas! poor, simple-minded country fellows!
  The first that sees their load, loud laughing, bellows,
  "What farce is this to split good people's sides?
  The most an ass is not the one that rides!"
  The miller, much enlighten'd by this talk,
  Untied his precious beast, and made him walk.
  The ass, who liked the other mode of travel,
  Bray'd some complaint at trudging on the gravel;
  Whereat, not understanding well the beast,
  The miller caused his hopeful son to ride,
  And walk'd behind, without a spark of pride.
  Three merchants pass'd, and, mightily displeased,
  The eldest of these gentlemen cried out,
  "Ho there! dismount, for shame, you lubber lout!
  Nor make a foot-boy of your grey-beard sire;
  Change places, as the rights of age require."
  "To please you, sirs," the miller said, "I ought."
  So down the young and up the old man got.
  Three girls next passing, "What a shame!" says one,
  "That boy should be obliged on foot to run,
  While that old chap, upon his ass astride,
  Should play the calf, and like a bishop ride!"
  "Please save your wit," the miller made reply,
  "Tough veal, my girls, the calf as old as I."
  But joke on joke repeated changed his mind;
  So up he took, at last, his son behind.
  Not thirty yards ahead, another set
  Found fault. "The biggest fools I ever met,"
  Says one of them, "such burdens to impose.
  The ass is faint, and dying with their blows.
  Is this, indeed, the mercy which these rustics
  Show to their honest, faithful, old domestics?
  If to the fair these lazy fellows ride,
  'Twill be to sell thereat the donkey's hide!"
  "Zounds!" cried the miller, "precious little brains
  Hath he who takes, to please the world, such pains;
  But since we're in, we'll try what can be done."
  So off the ass they jump'd, himself and son,
  And, like a prelate, donkey march'd alone.
  Another man they met. "These folks," said he,
  "Enslave themselves to let their ass go free--
  The darling brute! If I might be so bold,
  I'd counsel them to have him set in gold.
  Not so went Nicholas his Jane[4] to woo,
  Who rode, we sing, his ass to save his shoe."
  "Ass! ass!" our man replied; "we're asses three!
  I do avow myself an ass to be;
  But since my sage advisers can't agree,
    Their words henceforth shall not be heeded;
    I'll suit myself." And he succeeded.

    'For you, choose army, love, or court;
    In town, or country, make resort;
    Take wife, or cowl; ride you, or walk;
    Doubt not but tongues will have their talk.'

  Perhaps, had I but shown due loyalty,
  This book would have begun with royalty,
    Of which, in certain points of view,
    Boss[6] Belly is the image true,
  In whose bereavements all the members share:
    Of whom the latter once so weary were,
      As all due service to forbear,
      On what they called his idle plan,
      Resolved to play the gentleman,
      And let his lordship live on air.
        'Like burden-beasts,' said they,
        'We sweat from day to day;
        And all for whom, and what?
        Ourselves we profit not.
      Our labour has no object but one,
      That is, to feed this lazy glutton.
        We'll learn the resting trade
        By his example's aid.'
      So said, so done; all labour ceased;
  The hands refused to grasp, the arms to strike;
        All other members did the like.
      Their boss might labour if he pleased!
    It was an error which they soon repented,
    With pain of languid poverty acquainted.
      The heart no more the blood renew'd,
      And hence repair no more accrued
        To ever-wasting strength;
        Whereby the mutineers, at length,
      Saw that the idle belly, in its way,
      Did more for common benefit than they.

        For royalty our fable makes,
        A thing that gives as well as takes
        Its power all labour to sustain,
    Nor for themselves turns out their labour vain.
    It gives the artist bread, the merchant riches;
    Maintains the diggers in their ditches;
      Pays man of war and magistrate;
        Supports the swarms in place,
        That live on sovereign grace;
      In short, is caterer for the state.

        Menenius[7] told the story well:
        When Rome, of old, in pieces fell,
      The commons parting from the senate.
      'The ills,' said they, 'that we complain at
  Are, that the honours, treasures, power, and dignity,
      Belong to them alone; while we
            Get nought our labour for
      But tributes, taxes, and fatigues of war.'
    Without the walls the people had their stand
    Prepared to march in search of other land,
          When by this noted fable
          Menenius was able
          To draw them, hungry, home
          To duty and to Rome.[8]

  A wolf, whose gettings from the flocks
    Began to be but few,
  Bethought himself to play the fox
    In character quite new.
  A shepherd's hat and coat he took,
      A cudgel for a crook,
      Nor e'en the pipe forgot:
  And more to seem what he was not,
  Himself upon his hat he wrote,
  'I'm Willie, shepherd of these sheep.'
    His person thus complete,
    His crook in upraised feet,
  The impostor Willie stole upon the keep.
  The real Willie, on the grass asleep,
    Slept there, indeed, profoundly,
  His dog and pipe slept, also soundly;
    His drowsy sheep around lay.
    As for the greatest number,
  Much bless'd the hypocrite their slumber,
  And hoped to drive away the flock,
  Could he the shepherd's voice but mock.
    He thought undoubtedly he could.
  He tried: the tone in which he spoke,
    Loud echoing from the wood,
    The plot and slumber broke;
    Sheep, dog, and man awoke.
    The wolf, in sorry plight,
    In hampering coat bedight,
    Could neither run nor fight.

  There's always leakage of deceit
  Which makes it never safe to cheat.
    Whoever is a wolf had better
    Keep clear of hypocritic fetter.

    A certain commonwealth aquatic,
    Grown tired of order democratic,
  By clamouring in the ears of Jove, effected
  Its being to a monarch's power subjected.
  Jove flung it down, at first, a king pacific.
  Who nathless fell with such a splash terrific,
    The marshy folks, a foolish race and timid,
    Made breathless haste to get from him hid.
  They dived into the mud beneath the water,
  Or found among the reeds and rushes quarter.
      And long it was they dared not see
      The dreadful face of majesty,
      Supposing that some monstrous frog
      Had been sent down to rule the bog.
      The king was really a log,
      Whose gravity inspired with awe
        The first that, from his hiding-place
      Forth venturing, astonish'd, saw
        The royal blockhead's face.
      With trembling and with fear,
      At last he drew quite near.
    Another follow'd, and another yet,
    Till quite a crowd at last were met;
    Who, growing fast and strangely bolder,
    Perch'd soon upon the royal shoulder.
    His gracious majesty kept still,
    And let his people work their will.
  Clack, clack! what din beset the ears of Jove?
  'We want a king,' the people said, 'to move!'
    The god straight sent them down a crane,
  Who caught and slew them without measure,
  And gulp'd their carcasses at pleasure;
    Whereat the frogs more wofully complain.
  'What! what!' great Jupiter replied;
  'By your desires must I be tied?
  Think you such government is bad?
  You should have kept what first you had;
  Which having blindly fail'd to do,
  It had been prudent still for you
  To let that former king suffice,
  More meek and mild, if not so wise.
  With this now make yourselves content,
  Lest for your sins a worse be sent.'