Their fortunes there to raise,

By sounding forth the praise,
Each, of the other's skill exquisite.
Full many, in this age of ours,-
Not only among asses,

But in the higher classes,

Whom Heaven hath clothed with higher powers,—
Dared they but do it, would exalt
A simple innocence from fault,

Or virtue common and domestic,
To excellence majestic.

I've said too much, perhaps; but I

suppose

Your majesty the secret won't disclose,

Since 'twas your majesty's request that I
This matter should exemplify.

How love of self gives food to ridicule,
I've shown. To prove the balance of my rule,
That justice is a sufferer thereby,

But

A longer time will take.'

'Twas thus the monkey spake.

my
informant does not state,
That e'er the sage did demonstrate
The other point, more delicate.
Perhaps he thought none but a fool
A lion would too strictly school.

VI. THE WOLF AND THE FOX.

WHY Æsop gave the palm of cunning,
O'er flying animals and running,
·To Renard Fox, I cannot tell,

Though I have search'd the subject well.
Hath not Sir Wolf an equal skill
In tricks and artifices shown,
When he would do some life an ill,
Or from his foes defend his own?
I think he hath; and, void of disrespect,

I might, perhaps, my master contradict :
Yet here's a case, in which the burrow-lodger
Was palpably, I own, the brightest dodger.
One night he spied within a well,
Wherein the fullest moonlight fell,

What seem'd to him an ample cheese.
Two balanced buckets took their turns
When drawers thence would fill their urns.
Our fox went down in one of these,
By hunger greatly press'd to sup,
And drew the other empty up.
Convinced at once of his mistake,
And anxious for his safety's sake,
He saw his death was near and sure,
Unless some other wretch in need
The same moon's image should allure
To take a bucket and succeed
To his predicament, indeed.

Two days pass'd by, and none approach'd the well;
Unhalting Time, as is his wont,

Was scooping from the moon's full front,
And as he scoop'd Sir Renard's courage fell.
His crony wolf, of clamorous maw,
Poor fox at last above him saw,
And cried, 'My comrade, look you
See what abundance of good cheer!
A cheese of most delicious zest!

here!

Which Faunus must himself have press'd,
Of milk by heifer Io given.

If Jupiter were sick in heaven,

The taste would bring his appetite.
I've taken, as you see, a bite;
But still for both there is a plenty.
Pray take the bucket that I've sent ye;
Come down, and get your share.'
Although, to make the story fair,
The fox had used his utmost care,
The wolf (a fool to give him credit)
Went down because his stomach bid it—
And by his weight pull'd up

Sir Renard to the top.

We need not mock this simpleton,
For we ourselves such deeds have done.
Our faith is prone to lend its ear
To aught which we desire or fear.

VII. THE PEASANT OF THE DANUBE.1

To judge no man by outside view,
Is good advice, though not quite new.
Some time ago a mouse's fright
Upon this moral shed some light.
I have for proof at present,
With Æsop and good Socrates,2
Of Danube's banks a certain peasant,
Whose portrait drawn to life, one sees,
By Marc Aurelius, if you please.
The first are well known, far and near:
I briefly sketch the other here.
The crop upon his fertile chin
Was anything but soft or thin;
Indeed, his person, clothed in hair,
Might personate an unlick'd bear.
Beneath his matted brow there lay
An eye that squinted every way;

A crooked nose and monstrous lips he bore,
And goat-skin round his trunk he wore,
With bulrush belt. And such a man as this is
Was delegate from towns the Danube kisses,
When not a nook on earth there linger'd
By Roman avarice not finger'd.

Before the senate thus he spoke :—

'Romans and senators who hear,

La Fontaine got the historical story embodied in this fable from Marcus Aurelius (as he acknowledges), probably through François Cassandre's "Parallelès Historiques," 1676, and the translation (from the Spanish of Guevara) titled the "Horloge des Princes," which Grise and De Heberay published at Lyons in 1575.

2

Æsop and Socrates are usually represented as very ugly.

I, first of all, the gods invoke,

The powers whom mortals justly fear,
That from my tongue there may not fall
A word which I may need recall.
Without their aid there enters nought
To human hearts of good or just:
Whoever leaves the same unsought,
Is prone to violate his trust;
The prey of Roman avarice,
Ourselves are witnesses of this.
Rome, by our crimes, our scourge
More than by valour of her own.
Romans, beware lest Heaven, some day,
Exact for all our groans the pay,
And, arming us, by just reverse,

has

grown,

To do its vengeance, stern, but meet,
Shall pour on you the vassal's curse,

And place your necks beneath our feet!
And wherefore not? For are you better
Than hundreds of the tribes diverse
Who clank the galling Roman fetter?
What right gives you the universe?
Why come and mar our quiet life?
We till'd our acres free from strife;
In arts our hands were skill'd to toil,
As well as o'er the generous soil.

What have you taught the Germans brave? Apt scholars, had but they

Your appetite for sway,

They might, instead of you, enslave,
Without your inhumanity.
That which your prætors perpetrate
On us, as subjects of your state,
My powers would fail me to relate.
Profaned their altars and their rites,
The pity of your gods our lot excites.
Thanks to your representatives,
In you they see but shameless thieves,
Who plunder gods as well as men.
By sateless avarice insane,

The men that rule our land from this

Are like the bottomless abyss.
To satisfy their lust of gain,
Both man and nature toil in vain.
Recall them; for indeed we will
Our fields for such no longer till.
From all our towns and plains we fly
For refuge to our mountains high.
We quit our homes and tender wives,
To lead with savage beasts our lives--
No more to welcome into day
A progeny for Rome a prey.
And as to those already born—
Poor helpless babes forlorn !—
We wish them short career in time:
Your prætors force us to the crime.
Are they our teachers ? Call them home,—
They teach but luxury and vice,—
Lest Germans should their likes become,
In fell remorseless avarice.

Have we a remedy at Rome?

I'll tell you here how matters go.
Hath one no present to bestow,
No purple for a judge or so,
The laws for him are deaf and dumb;
Their minister has aye in store
A thousand hindrances or more.
I'm sensible that truths like these
Are not the things to please.
I've done. Let death avenge you here
Of my complaint, a little too sincere.'

He said no more; but all admired

The thought with which his speech was fired; The eloquence and heart of oak

With which the prostrate savage spoke.

Indeed, so much were all delighted,

As due revenge, the man was knighted.

The prætors were at once displaced,
And better men the office graced.
The senate, also, by decree,

Besought a copy of the speech,