'Adien,' said he, my neighbour cricket;
I take my foreign ticket.
My ears, should I stay here,
Will turn to horns, I fear;
And were they shorter than a bird's,
I fear the effect of words.'
'These horns!' the cricket answer'd; 'why,
God made them ears who can deny ?
'Yes,' said the coward, still they'll make them horns, And horns, perhaps of unicorns!
In vain shall I protest,
With all the learning of the schools:
My reasons they will send to rest
In th' Hospital of Fools.''
V. THE FOX WITH HIS TAIL CUT OFF.2
A CUNNING old fox, of plundering habits,
Great crauncher of fowls, great catcher of rabbits,
Whom none of his sort had caught in a nap,
Was finally caught in somebody's trap.
By luck he escaped, not wholly and hale,
For the price of his luck was the loss of his tail.
Escaped in this way, to save his disgrace,
He thought to get others in similar case.
One day that the foxes in council were met,
'Why wear we,' said he,' this cumbering weight,
Which sweeps in the dirt wherever it goes?
Pray tell me its use, if any one knows.
If the council will take my advice,
We shall dock off our tails in a trice.' 'Your advice may be good,' said one on the ground; But, ere I reply, pray turn yourself round.' Whereat such a shout from the council was heard, Poor bob-tail, confounded, could say not a word. To urge the reform would have wasted his breath. Long tails were the mode till the day of his death. 'Hospital of Fools, i.e., madhouse. 2 Æsop; Faerno.
VI. THE OLD WOMAN AND HER TWO
A BELDAM kept two spinning maids,
Who plied so handily their trades,
Those spinning sisters down below
Were bunglers when compared with these.
No care did this old woman know
But giving tasks as she might please.
No sooner did the god of day
His glorious locks enkindle,
Than both the wheels began to play,
And from each whirling spindle
Forth danced the thread right merrily,
And back was coil'd unceasingly.
Soon as the dawn, I say, its tresses show'd,
A graceless cock most punctual crow'd.
The beldam roused, more graceless yet,
In greasy petticoat bedight,
Struck up her farthing light,
And then forthwith the bed beset,
Where deeply, blessedly did snore
Those two maid-servants tired and poor.
One oped an eye, an arm one stretch'd,
And both their breath most sadly fetch'd,
This threat concealing in the sigh—
'That cursed cock shall surely die!'
And so he did :-they cut his throat,
And put to sleep his rousing note.
And yet this murder mended not
The cruel hardship of their lot;
For now the twain were scarce in bed
Before they heard the summons dread.
The beldam, full of apprehension
Lest oversleep should cause detention,
Ran like a goblin through her mansion.
Thus often, when one thinks
To clear himself from ill,
His effort only sinks
Him in the deeper still.
The beldam acting for the cock,
Was Scylla for Charybdis' rock.
VII. THE SATYR AND THE TRAVELLER.'
WITHIN a savage forest grot
A satyr and his chips
Were taking down their porridge hot;
Their cups were at their lips.
You might have seen in mossy den,
Himself, his wife, and brood;
They had not tailor-clothes, like men,
But appetites as good.
In came a traveller, benighted,
All hungry, cold, and wet,
Who heard himself to eat invited
With nothing like regret.
He did not give his host the pain
His asking to repeat;
But first he blew with might and main
To give his fingers heat.
Then in his steaming porridge dish
He delicately blew.
The wondering satyr said, 'I wish
The use of both I knew.'
'Why, first, my blowing warms my hand,
And then it cools my porridge.'
'Ah !' said his host, then understand
I cannot give you storage.
'To sleep beneath one roof with you,
may not be so bold.
Far be from me that mouth untrue
Which blows both hot and cold.'
VIII. THE HORSE AND THE WOLF.1
A WOLF, what time the thawing breeze
Renews the life of plants and trees,
And beasts go forth from winter lair
To seek abroad their various fare,-
A wolf, I say, about those days,
In sharp look-out for means and ways,
Espied a horse turn'd out to graze.
His joy the reader may opine.
'Once got,' said he, 'this game were fine; But if a sheep, 'twere sooner mine.
I can't proceed my usual way;
Some trick must now be put in play.'
This said,
He came with measured tread,
As if a healer of disease,-
Some pupil of Hippocrates,
And told the horse, with learned verbs,
He knew the power of roots and herbs,-
Whatever grew about those borders,—
And not at all to flatter
Himself in such a matter,
Could cure of all disorders.
If he, Sir Horse, would not conceal
The symptoms of his case,
He, Doctor Wolf, would gratis heal
For that to feed in such a place,
And run about untied,
Was proof itself of some disease,
As all the books decide.
'I have, good doctor, if you please,'
Esop; also in Faerno.
Replied the horse, as I presume,
Beneath my foot, an aposthume.'
'My son,' replied the learned leech,
'That part, as all our authors teach,
Is strikingly susceptible
Of ills which make acceptable
What you may also have from me-
The aid of skilful surgery ;
Which noble art, the fact is,
For horses of the blood I practise.'
The fellow, with this talk sublime,
Watch'd for a snap the fitting time.
Meanwhile, suspicious of some trick,
The wary patient nearer draws,
And gives his doctor such a kick,
As makes a chowder of his jaws.
Exclaim'd the wolf, in sorry plight,
'I own those heels have served me right.
I err'd to quit my trade,
As I will not in future;
Me nature surely made
For nothing but a butcher.'
IX. THE PLOUGHMAN AND HIS SONS.1
THE farmer's patient care and toil
Are oftener wanting than the soil.
A wealthy ploughman drawing near his end,
Call'd in his sons apart from every friend,
And said, 'When of your sire bereft,
The heritage our fathers left
Guard well, nor sell a single field.
A treasure in it is conceal'd:
The place, precisely, I don't know,
But industry will serve to show.
The harvest past, Time's forelock take,
And search with plough, and spade, and rake;
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