FABLE XLV.
THE UNFORTUNATES.
A man who, from his birth, was dumb
And deafer than a mole,
Some trifle to arrange was set
With a blind man, cheek by jowl.
The blind man spoke by signs
Which the mute did plainly mark;
When, in like way, he said his say,
His friend was in the dark.
In this odd predicament,
They, for friendly aid, accost
A passing comrade of them both,
Who his right arm had lost.
The gestures of the mute
He explained in language good;
And the blind man, from his mouth,
The whole matter understood.
To close this curious scene
And conference singular,
A contract it behoved
Of the bargain to prepare.
"Friends,"—said the one-armed man,—
"I must here give up the task;
But the schoolmaster will come
And write it, if you ask."
"How can a cripple lame,"—
Said the blind man,—"hither come?
Why, he can hardly stir.
We must go to him at home."
The cripple then the compact
To paper did transfer;
The blind and maimed man dictate;
The mute was messenger.
For this purpose any two
Were enough,—and even more.
But, of such a hapless crew,
It took no less than four.
Were it not that in Alcarria,
A little while ago.
This very matter happened,—
As a thousand gossips know,—
It might have been surmised
That, some one contrived the story,
To hit off the plan devised
By weak aspirants for glory,
Who club their pens and brains
Some wondrous work to try,
By their united pains,
Which would each alone defy.
FABLE XLVI.
THE COCKS.
A Cock, that was well known
As a champion brave and stout,
And a Chicken but half grown
Squabbled something about,—
But what, to me's unknown,—
And, after furious din,
At last got up a very pretty battle;
In which the chick such fight did show,
And the old one around so sharply rattle,
That, with a loud, exultant crow,
He claimed the honors of the field to win.
Then the seraglio's vanquished lord,—
His rival out of hearing of his tongue,—
Said, "Ah! in time he'll make a pretty bird,
But, now, poor fellow, he is very young."
No more he dared himself to match
With the young hero; but again
With an old Cock he had a scratch,—
Of many fights, a veteran,—
Who hardly left him plume or crest.
Whereon he muttered to the rest,
"The fine old fellow!—surely it would be
Unfair to thrash so old a chap as he."