THE WARRIOR WOLF.
A young Wolf said aloud
To the listening crowd,
"I may well of my father's great courage be proud;
Wherever he came,
Flock, shepherd, or dame,
All trembled and fled at the sound of his name.
Did anyone spy
My papa coming by—
Two hundred or more—Oh! he made them all fly!
One day, by a blow,
He was conquered, I know;
But no wonder at last he should yield to a foe:
He yielded, poor fellow!
The conquering bellow
Resounds in my ears as my poor father's knell—Oh!"
A Fox then replied,
While, leering aside,
He laughed at his folly and vapouring pride:
"My chattering youth,
Your nonsense, forsooth,
Is more like a funeral sermon than truth.
Let history tell
How your old father fell;
And see if the narrative sounds as well.
Your folly surpasses,
Of monkeys all classes;
The beasts which he frightened, or conquered, were asses,
Except a few sheep,
When the shepherd, asleep,
The dog by his side for safety did keep.
Your father fell back,
Knocked down by a whack
From the very first bull that he dared to attack.
Away he'd have scoured,
But soon overpowered,
He lived like a thief, and he died like a coward."