To struggle with his halter there.
Nor did the much delighted man
E'en stop to count it as he ran.
But, while he went, the owner camc,
Who loved it with a secret flame,
Too much indeed for kissing,-
And found his money-missing!
'O Heavens!' he cried, 'shall I
Such riches lose, and still not die?
Shall I not hang ?-as I, in fact,
Might justly do if cord I lack'd;
But now, without expense, I can;
This cord here only lacks a man.'
The saving was no saving clause;

It suffer'd not his heart to falter,
Until it reach'd his final pause

As full possessor of the halter.—
'Tis thus the miser often grieves :
Whoe'er the benefit receives
Of what he owns, he never must-
Mere treasurer for thieves,
Or relatives, or dust.

But what say we about the trade
In this affair by Fortune made?
Why, what but that it was just like her!
In freaks like this delighteth she.
The shorter any turn may be,

The better it is sure to strike her.
It fills that goddess full of glee
A self-suspended man to see;
And that it does especially,
When made so unexpectedly.

XVII. THE MONKEY AND THE CAT.

SLY Bertrand and Ratto in company sat, (The one was a monkey, the other a cat,) Co-servants and lodgers:

More mischievous codgers

Ne'er mess'd from a platter, since platters were flat.
Was anything wrong in the house or about it,

The neighbours were blameless,—no mortal could
doubt it;

For Bertrand was thievish, and Ratto so nice,
More attentive to cheese than he was to the mice.
One day the two plunderers sat by the fire,

Where chestnuts were roasting, with looks of desire.
To steal them would be a right noble affair.

A double inducement our heroes drew there-
'Twould benefit them, could they swallow their fill,
And then 'twould occasion to somebody ill.
Said Bertrand to Ratto, My brother, to-day
Exhibit your powers in a masterly way,

And take me these chestnuts, I pray.
Which were I but otherwise fitted
(As I am ingeniously witted)

For pulling things out of the flame,
Would stand but a pitiful game.'

"'Tis done,' replied Ratto, all prompt to obey;
And thrust out his paw in a delicate way.
First giving the ashes a scratch,
He open'd the coveted batch;

Then lightly and quickly impinging,
He drew out, in spite of the singeing,
One after another, the chestnuts at last,-
While Bertrand contrived to devour them as fast.
A servant girl enters. Adieu to the fun.
Our Ratto was hardly contented, says one.--

No more are the princes, by flattery paid
For furnishing help in a different trade,
And burning their fingers to bring

More power to some mightier king.1

For Madame de Sévigne's opinion of this fable, see the Translator's Preface.

XVIII. THE KITE AND THE NIGHTINGALE.

A NOTED thief, the kite,

Had set a neighbourhood in fright,
And raised the clamorous noise
Of all the village boys,

When, by misfortune,-sad to say,—
A nightingale fell in his way.
Spring's herald begg'd him not to eat
A bird for music-not for meat.
'O spare!' cried she, and I'll relate
The crime of Tereus and his fate.'-
'What's Tereus ?2 Is it food for kites?'-
'No, but a king, of female rights
The villain spoiler, whom I taught
A lesson with repentance fraught;
And, should it please you not to kill,
My song about his fall
Your very heart shall thrill,
As it, indeed, does all.'-

Replied the kite, a 'pretty thing!
When I am faint and famishing,
To let you go, and hear you sing?'
'Ah, but I entertain the king!'-
'Well, when he takes you, let him hear
Your tale, full wonderful, no doubt;
For me, a kite, I'll go without.'
An empty stomach hath no ear.3

1 Abstemius; also Æsop.

2 What's Tereus?—See story of Tereus Philomela and Progne, in Ovid's Metamorphoses.-See also Fable XV., Book III., and Note.

3 An empty stomach hath no ear.-Cato the Censor said in one of his speeches to the Romans, who were clamouring for a distribution of corn. "It is a difficult task, my fellow-citizens, to speak to the belly, because it hath no ears."-Plutarch's Life of Cato (Langhorne's ed.). belly has no ears, nor is it to be filled with fair words."—Rabelais, Book IV., ch. 63.

"The

XIX.—THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK.'

'WHAT! shall I lose them one by one,

This stupid coward throng?

And never shall the wolf have done?
They were at least a thousand strong,
But still they've let poor Robin2 fall a prey!
Ah, woe's the day!

Poor Robin Wether lying dead!
He follow'd for a bit of bread
His master through the crowded city,

And would have follow'd, had he led,
Around the world. O! what a pity!
My pipe, and even step, he knew;
To meet me when I came, he flew;
In hedge-row shade we napp'd together;
Alas, alas, my Robin Wether!'
When Willy thus had duly said
His eulogy upon the dead,
And unto everlasting fame

Consign'd poor Robin Wether's name,
He then harangued the flock at large,
From proud old chieftain rams
Down to the smallest lambs,
Addressing them this weighty charge,-
Against the wolf, as one, to stand,
In firm, united, fearless band,

By which they might expel him from their land.
Upon their faith, they would not flinch,

They promised him, a single inch.

'We'll choke,' said they, the murderous glutton Who robb'd us of our Robin Mutton.'

Their lives they pledged against the beast,

And Willy gave them all a feast.

But evil Fate, than Phoebus faster,
Ere night had brought a new disaster:
A wolf there came. By nature's law,

1 Abstemius.

2 Robin.-Rabelais, in his Pantagrucl, Book IV., ch. 4, has Robin Robin Mouton, &c.

The total flock were prompt to run;
And yet 'twas not the wolf they saw,
But shadow of him from the setting sun.

Harangue a craven soldiery,

What heroes they will seem to be!
But let them snuff the smoke of battle,
Or even hear the ramrods rattle,
Adieu to all their spunk and mettle:
Your own example will be vain,
And exhortations, to retain
The timid cattle.

BOOK X.

I.—THE TWO RATS, THE FOX, AND THE EGG.

ADDRESS TO MADAME DE LA SABLIERE.1

You, Iris, 'twere an easy task to praise;
But you refuse the incense of my lays.

In this you are unlike all other mortals,

Who welcome all the praise that seeks their portals;
Not one who is not soothed by sound so sweet.
For me to blame this humour were not meet,
By gods and mortals shared in common,
And, in the main, by lovely woman.
That drink, so vaunted by the rhyming trade,
That cheers the god who deals the thunder-blow,
And oft intoxicates the gods below,—

The nectar, Iris, is of praises made.
You taste it not. But, in its place,
Wit, science, even trifles grace

1 Madame de la Sablière.-See the following note; also the Translator's Preface.