A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine

The Grasshopper and the Ant.

A grasshopper gay Sang the summer away, And found herself poor By the winter's first roar. Of meat or of bread, Not a morsel she had! So a-begging she went, To her neighbour the ant, For the loan of some wheat, Which would serve her to eat, Till the season came round. "I will pay you," she saith, "On an animal's faith, Double weight in the pound Ere the harvest be bound." The ant is a friend (And here she might mend) Little given to lend. "How spent you the summer?" Quoth she, looking shame At the borrowing dame. "Night and day to each comer I sang, if you please." "You sang! I'm at ease; For 'tis plain at a glance, Now, ma'am, you must dance."

The Thieves and the Ass.

Two thieves, pursuing their profession, Had of a donkey got possession, Whereon a strife arose, Which went from words to blows. The question was, to sell, or not to sell; But while our sturdy champions fought it well, Another thief, who chanced to pass, With ready wit rode off the ass.

This ass is, by interpretation, Some province poor, or prostrate nation. The thieves are princes this and that, On spoils and plunder prone to fat,-- As those of Austria, Turkey, Hungary. (Instead of two, I've quoted three-- Enough of such commodity.) These powers engaged in war all, Some fourth thief stops the quarrel, According all to one key, By riding off the donkey

The Wolf Accusing the Fox.

A wolf, affirming his belief That he had suffer'd by a thief, Brought up his neighbour fox-- Of whom it was by all confess'd, His character was not the best-- To fill the prisoner's box. As judge between these vermin, A monkey graced the ermine; And truly other gifts of Themis Did scarcely seem his; For while each party plead his cause, Appealing boldly to the laws, And much the question vex'd, Our monkey sat perplex'd. Their words and wrath expended, Their strife at length was ended; When, by their malice taught, The judge this judgment brought: "Your characters, my friends, I long have known, As on this trial clearly shown; And hence I fine you both--the grounds at large To state would little profit-- You wolf, in short, as bringing groundless charge, You fox, as guilty of it."

Come at it right or wrong, the judge opined No other than a villain could be fined

The Lion and the Ass Hunting.

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!" The donkey, had he dared, With anger would have flared At this retort, though justly made; For who could suffer boasts to pass So ill-befitting to an ass?

The Wolf turned Shepherd.

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.

The Swan and the Cook.

The pleasures of a poultry yard Were by a swan and gosling shared. The swan was kept there for his looks, The thrifty gosling for the cooks; The first the garden's pride, the latter A greater favourite on the platter. They swam the ditches, side by side, And oft in sports aquatic vied, Plunging, splashing far and wide, With rivalry ne'er satisfied. One day the cook, named Thirsty John, Sent for the gosling, took the swan In haste his throat to cut, And put him in the pot. The bird's complaint resounded In glorious melody; Whereat the cook, astounded His sad mistake to see, Cried, "What! make soup of a musician! Please God, I'll never set such dish on. No, no; I'll never cut a throat That sings so sweet a note."

'Tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us, Sweet words will never harm us.

The Weasel in the Granary.

A weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze, (She was recovering from disease,) Which led her to a farmer's hoard. There lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd; Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored That by her gnawing perish'd! Of which the consequence Was sudden corpulence. A week or so was past, When having fully broken fast, A noise she heard, and hurried To find the hole by which she came, And seem'd to find it not the same; So round she ran, most sadly flurried; And, coming back, thrust out her head, Which, sticking there, she said, "This is the hole, there can't be blunder: What makes it now so small, I wonder, Where, but the other day, I pass'd with ease?" A rat her trouble sees, And cries, "But with an emptier belly; You enter'd lean, and lean must sally."

The Shepherd and the Sea.

A shepherd, neighbour to the sea, Lived with his flock contentedly. His fortune, though but small, Was safe within his call. At last some stranded kegs of gold Him tempted, and his flock he sold, Turn'd merchant, and the ocean's waves Bore all his treasure--to its caves. Brought back to keeping sheep once more, But not chief shepherd, as before, When sheep were his that grazed the shore, He who, as Corydon or Thyrsis, Might once have shone in pastoral verses, Bedeck'd with rhyme and metre, Was nothing now but Peter. But time and toil redeem'd in full Those harmless creatures rich in wool; And as the lulling winds, one day, The vessels wafted with a gentle motion, "Want you," he cried, "more money, Madam Ocean? Address yourself to some one else, I pray; You shall not get it out of me! I know too well your treachery."

This tale's no fiction, but a fact, Which, by experience back'd, Proves that a single penny, At present held, and certain, Is worth five times as many, Of Hope's, beyond the curtain;

That one should be content with his condition, And shut his ears to counsels of ambition, More faithless than the wreck-strown sea, and which Doth thousands beggar where it makes one rich,-- Inspires the hope of wealth, in glorious forms, And blasts the same with piracy and storms.

The Ass and the Little Dog.

One's native talent from its course Cannot be turned aside by force; But poorly apes the country clown The polish'd manners of the town. Their Maker chooses but a few With power of pleasing to imbue; Where wisely leave it we, the mass, Unlike a certain fabled ass, That thought to gain his master's blessing By jumping on him and caressing. "What!" said the donkey in his heart; "Ought it to be that puppy's part To lead his useless life In full companionship With master and his wife, While I must bear the whip? What doth the cur a kiss to draw? Forsooth, he only gives his paw! If that is all there needs to please, I'll do the thing myself, with ease." Possess'd with this bright notion,-- His master sitting on his chair, At leisure in the open air,-- He ambled up, with awkward motion, And put his talents to the proof; Upraised his bruised and batter'd hoof, And, with an amiable mien, His master patted on the chin, The action gracing with a word-- The fondest bray that e'er was heard! O, such caressing was there ever? Or melody with such a quaver? "Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!" Out cried the master, sore offended. So Martin gave the ass a drubbing,-- And so the comedy was ended.

The Man and the Wooden God.

A pagan kept a god of wood,-- A sort that never hears, Though furnish'd well with ears,-- From which he hoped for wondrous good. The idol cost the board of three; So much enrich'd was he With vows and offerings vain, With bullocks garlanded and slain: No idol ever had, as that, A kitchen quite so full and fat. But all this worship at his shrine Brought not from this same block divine Inheritance, or hidden mine, Or luck at play, or any favour. Nay, more, if any storm whatever Brew'd trouble here or there, The man was sure to have his share, And suffer in his purse, Although the god fared none the worse. At last, by sheer impatience bold, The man a crowbar seizes, His idol breaks in pieces, And finds it richly stuff'd with gold. "How's this? Have I devoutly treated," Says he, "your godship, to be cheated? Now leave my house, and go your way, And search for altars where you may."

The Ears of the Hare.

Some beast with horns did gore The lion; and that sovereign dread, Resolved to suffer so no more, Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, All sorts of beasts with horns-- Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. Such brutes all promptly fled. A hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, Could hardly help believing That some vile spy for horns would take them, And food for accusation make them. "Adieu," 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."

The Old Woman and Her Servants.

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.