The Sick Stag

A Stag, where stags abounded, Fell sick and was surrounded Forthwith by comrades kind, All--pressing to a.s.sist, Or see, their friend, at least, And ease his anxious mind-- An irksome mult.i.tude.

"Ah, sirs!" the sick was fain to cry, "Pray leave me here to die, As others do, in solitude.

Pray, let your kind attentions cease, Till death my spirit shall release."

But comforters are not so sent: On duty sad full long intent, When Heaven pleased, they went: But not without a friendly gla.s.s; That is to say, they cropp'd the gra.s.s And leaves which in that quarter grew, From which the sick his pittance drew.

By kindness thus compell'd to fast, He died for want of food at last.

_The men take off no trifling dole Who heal the body, or the soul.

Alas the times! do what we will, They have their payment, cure or kill._

The Wolf and the Fox

"Dear Wolf," complain'd a hungry Fox, "A lean chick's meat, or veteran c.o.c.k's, Is all I get by toil or trick: Of such a living I am sick.

With far less risk, you've better cheer; A house you need not venture near, But I must do it, spite of fear.

Pray, make me master of your trade.

And let me by that means be made The first of all my race that took Fat mutton to his larder's hook: Your kindness shall not be repented."

The Wolf quite readily consented.

"I have a brother, lately dead: Go fit his skin to yours," he said.

'Twas done; and then the wolf proceeded: "Now mark you well what must be done The dogs that guard the flock to shun."

The Fox the lessons strictly heeded.

At first he boggled in his dress; But awkwardness grew less and less, Till perseverance gave success.

His education scarce complete, A flock, his scholarship to greet, Came rambling out that way.

The new-made Wolf his work began, Amidst the heedless nibblers ran, And spread a sore dismay.

The bleating host now surely thought That fifty wolves were on the spot: Dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled, And left a single sheep in p.a.w.n, Which Reynard seized when they were gone.

But, ere upon his prize he fed, There crow'd a c.o.c.k near by, and down The scholar threw his prey and gown, That he might run that way the faster-- Forgetting lessons, prize and master.

_Reality, in every station, Will burst out on the first occasion._

The Woods and the Woodman

A certain Wood-chopper lost or broke From his axe's eye a bit of oak.

The forest must needs be somewhat spared While such a loss was being repair'd.

Came the man at last, and humbly pray'd That the Woods would kindly lend to him-- A moderate loan--a single limb, Whereof might another helve be made, And his axe should elsewhere drive its trade.

Oh, the oaks and firs that then might stand, A pride and a joy throughout the land, For their ancientness and glorious charms!

The innocent Forest lent him arms; But bitter indeed was her regret; For the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet, Did nought but his benefactress spoil Of the finest trees that graced her soil; And ceaselessly was she made to groan, Doing penance for that fatal loan.

_Behold the world-stage and its actors, Where benefits hurt benefactors!

A weary theme, and full of pain; For where's the shade so cool and sweet, Protecting strangers from the heat, But might of such a wrong complain?

Alas! I vex myself in vain; Ingrat.i.tude, do what I will, Is sure to be the fashion still._

The Shepherd and the Lion

The Fable Aesop tells is nearly this: A Shepherd from his flock began to miss, And long'd to catch the stealer of his sheep.

Before a cavern, dark and deep, Where wolves retired by day to sleep, Which he suspected as the thieves, He set his trap among the leaves; And, ere he left the place, He thus invoked celestial grace: "O king of all the powers divine, Against the rogue but grant me this delight, That this my trap may catch him in my sight, And I, from twenty calves of mine, Will make the fattest thine."

But while the words were on his tongue, Forth came a Lion great and strong.

Down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said.

With shivering fright half dead, "Alas! that man should never be aware Of what may be the meaning of his prayer!

To catch the robber of my flocks, O king of G.o.ds, I pledged a calf to thee: If from his clutches thou wilt rescue me, I'll raise my offering to an ox."

The Animals Sick of the Plague

The sorest ill that Heaven hath Sent on this lower world in wrath-- The Plague (to call it by its name) One single day of which Would Pluto's ferryman enrich-- Waged war on beasts, both wild and tame.

They died not all, but all were sick: No hunting now, by force or trick, To save what might so soon expire, No food excited their desire; Nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slay The innocent and tender prey.

The turtles fled; So love and therefore joy were dead.

The Lion council held, and said: "My friends, I do believe This awful scourge, for which we grieve, Is for our sins a punishment Most righteously by Heaven sent.

Let us our guiltiest beast resign, A sacrifice to wrath divine.

Perhaps this offering, truly small, May gain me life and health of all.

By history we find it noted That lives have been just so devoted.

Then let us all turn eyes within, And ferret out the hidden sin.

Himself let no one spare nor flatter, But make clean conscience in the matter.

For me, my appet.i.te has play'd the glutton Too much and often upon mutton.

What harm had e'er my victims done?

I answer, truly, None.

Perhaps, sometimes, by hunger pressed, I've eat the shepherd with the rest.

I yield myself, if need there be; And yet I think, in equity, Each should confess his sins with me; For laws of right and justice cry, The guiltiest alone should die."

"Sire," said the Fox, "your majesty Is humbler than a king should be, And over-squeamish in the case.

What! eating stupid sheep a crime?

No, never, sire, at any time.

It rather was an act of grace, A mark of honour to their race.

And as to shepherds, one may swear, The fate your majesty describes Is recompense less full than fair For such usurpers o'er our tribes."

Thus Reynard glibly spoke, And loud applause from flatterers broke, Of neither tiger, boar, nor bear, Did any keen inquirer dare To ask for crimes of high degree; The fighters, biters, scratchers, all From every mortal sin were free; The very dogs, both great and small, Were saints, as far as dogs could be.

The a.s.s, confessing in his turn, Thus spoke in tones of deep concern: "I happen'd through a mead to pa.s.s; The monks, its owners, were at ma.s.s; Keen hunger, leisure, tender gra.s.s, And add to these the devil too, All tempted me the deed to do.

I browsed the bigness of my tongue; Since truth must out, I own it wrong."

On this, a hue and cry arose, As if the beasts were all his foes: A Wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise, Denounced the a.s.s for sacrifice-- The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, By whom the plague had come, no doubt.

His fault was judged a hanging crime.

"What? eat another's gra.s.s? O shame!

The noose of rope and death sublime, For that offence, were all too tame!"

And soon poor Grizzle felt the same.

_Thus human courts acquit the strong, And doom the weak, as therefore wrong._

The Fowler, the Hawk, and the Lark

From wrongs of wicked men we draw Excuses for our own; Such is the universal law.

Would you have mercy shown, Let yours be clearly known.