Why to the Fox does Æsop ever
Give the palm of being clever?
I the reason oft have sought,
Without of reason finding aught.
When the Wolf's engaged in strife,
To save his own or take a life,
The Fox can do no more than he,
Or half as much, and so I might
With Master Æsop disagree.
But there's a case has come to light,
In which 'tis fair I should admit
The Fox displayed the greater wit.
On one fine night it so befell
That Reynard, looking down a well,
The moons full silver circle sees,
And takes it for a lordly cheese.
Two pails, above the well suspended,
To draw the water were intended;
And into that which higher hung,
Good Master Reynard, famished, sprung.
Down swift he went, and, to his woe,
Found out his sad mistake below.
He saw his death before his eyes;
For he could never hope to rise,
Unless some other famished thing,
Enticed by Dian's silver face,
Into the other pail should spring,
And then, by sinking, take his place.
Two days passed on without a visit
From any creature; and, meanwhile,
Old Time had made a huge deficit
In Mistress Moon's well-rounded smile.
But, just as all seemed lost, at last
A hungry Wolf the well's mouth past;
To whom the Fox, with joyous hail,
Cried, "Mister Wolf, with me regale;
This glorious cheese you here behold,
From Fauna's hands received its mould,
Of milk which heifer Io gave.
If Jupiter were lying ill,
I think the god himself would crave
Of this delicious cheese to have his fill.
I've eaten my share, as you plainly may see,
But enough still remains both for you and for me;
So, enter that pail, placed expressly for you."
Now, whether this story was told well, or not,
The Wolf, like a fool, took it all in as true,
And into the bucket with eagerness got;
When, outweighed, of course, Master Reynard got up,
And the other remained, on the moonshine to sup.
And yet, why blame the luckless beast?
For, tempted by some phantom feast,
As easily deceived,
That which he hopes, or that he fears,
In either of the hemispheres.
Is by each man believed.
THE SICK STAG.
In a land where stags abounded,
One fell very sick indeed;
And he saw his bed surrounded
By a dozen "friends in need."
"Gentlemen!" he muttered, "leave me,
Leave me, I implore, to fate:
Since your tears can only grieve me,
And your solace comes too late."
Not a bit;—their lamentations
Lasted for a week, or more;