Then to the lion went, their honour to retrieve.
He found the brute impatient, chafing at delay,
From hunger’s pangs fierce howling, tearing every spray;
And roaring in his rage: “I knew it so would be!
Those vile, time-serving rascals! Thus they worry me!165
They’re plausible, smooth-speaking, bland, calm, mild; and still
They’ve cheated me! Alas! Who will be cheated, will!
A too complaisant prince most foully is let in!
Who sees no farther than his nose, none heeds a pin!”
The path is smoothed beneath which lurks a deadly trap.