Or, if there could, how could it dwell Within their own old, mossy well? The well was open to the sky. The mystery is clear to me; That richer gift to all is free. Be only as that water true, And then the whole belongs to you. That truth itself was worth so much, It cannot be supposed that such. A pair of lads were satisfied; And yet they were before they died.
Party Strife. Among the beasts a feud arose. The lion, as the story goes, Once on a time laid down His sceptre and his crown; And in his stead the beasts elected, As often as it suited them, A sort of king pro tem. The horse, the stag, the unicorn, Were chosen each in turn; And then the noble bird That looks undazzled at the sun.
But party strife began to run Through burrow, den, and herd. Some beasts proposed the patient ox, And others named the cunning fox. The quarrel came to bites and knocks; Nor was it duly settled Till many a beast high-mettled Had bought an aching head, Or, possibly, had bled. The fox, as one might well suppose, At last above his rival rose, But, truth to say, his reign was bootless, Of honour being rather fruitless. All prudent beasts began to see The throne a certain charm had lost, And, won by strife, as it must be, Was hardly worth the pains it cost. So when his majesty retired, Few worthy beasts his seat desired.
Especially now stood aloof The wise of head, the swift of hoof, The beasts whose breasts were battle-proof. The Cat and the Thrush. A thrush that sang one rustic ode Once made a garden his abode, And gave the owner such delight, He grew a special favourite. And yet his song was still the same; It even grew somewhat more tame. Professing search of mice and moles, He through the garden daily strolls, And never seeks our thrush to catch; But when his consort comes to hatch, Just eats the young ones in a batch.
The sadness of the pair bereaved Their generous guardian sorely grieved. But yet it could not be believed His faithful cat was in the wrong, Though so the thrush said in his song. And Gaffer Thrush directly found His throat, when raised above the ground, Gave forth a softer, sweeter sound.
New tunes, moreover, he had caught, By perils and afflictions taught, And found new things to sing about: New scenes had brought new talents out. Let Genius tell in verse and prose. How much to praise and friends it owes.
Good sense may be, as I suppose, As much indebted to its foes. Advertisement To the First Edition of this Translation. By The Translator. What will ye say, ye future days, If I, for once, in honest rhymes, Recount to you the deeds and ways Of our abominable times? Viens donc. Delight, Delight, who didst as mistress hold The finest wit of Grecian mould, Disdain not me; but come, And make my house thy home. Ballade Sur Escobar. Ballad Upon Escobar. Good cause has Rome to reprobate The bishop who disputes her so; His followers reject and hate All pleasures that we taste below.
Seek we the better world afar? Indeed, if circumstances drive, Defraud, or take false oaths you may, Or to the charms of life give way, When Love must needs the door unbar. Now, would to God that one would state The pith of all his works to me. What boots it to enumerate? As well attempt to drain the sea!
To Monseigneur The Dauphin. With me all natures use the gift of speech; Yea, in my work, the very fishes preach, And to our human selves their sermons suit. 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.fimolacerag.ga
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Well, your coat, sir, is a brave one! So black and glossy, on my word, sir, With voice to match, you were a bird, sir, Well fit to be the Phoenix of these days.
Is this enough? Two mules were bearing on their backs, One, oats; the other, silver of the tax. Well with the silver pleased, They by the bridle seized The treasure-mule so vain. Poor mule! A prouder, fatter, sleeker Tray, No human mortal owns. For all your fellows here, I see, Are shabby wretches, lean and gaunt, Belike to die of haggard want. With such a pack, of course it follows, One fights for every bit he swallows.
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Come, then, with me, and share On equal terms our princely fare. Again, as the bravest, the third must be mine. Redress shall instantly be given to each. Come, monkey, now, first let us have your speech. You see these quadrupeds, your brothers; Comparing, then, yourself with others, Are you well satisfied?
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Is not my visage comely as the best? Not he; — himself he lauds without restraint. The elephant he needs must criticize; To crop his ears and stretch his tail were wise; A creature he of huge, misshapen size. The elephant, though famed as beast judicious, While on his own account he had no wishes, Pronounced dame whale too big to suit his taste; Of flesh and fat she was a perfect waste. The little ant, again, pronounced the gnat too wee; To such a speck, a vast colossus she. Each censured by the rest, himself content, Back to their homes all living things were sent.
Such folly liveth yet with human fools. For others lynxes, for ourselves but moles. Great blemishes in other men we spy, Which in ourselves we pass most kindly by. The pouch behind our own defects must store, The faults of others lodge in that before. Though such a bird as I Knows how to hide or fly, You birds a caution need.
See you that waving hand? It scatters on the land What well may cause alarm. Great multitudes I fear, Of you, my birdies dear, That falling seed, so little, Will bring to cage or kettle! But though so perilous the plot, You now may easily defeat it: All lighting on the seeded spot, Just scratch up every seed and eat it.
To pull this field a thousand birds are needed, While thousands more with hemp are seeded. Upon a Turkey carpet They found the table spread, And sure I need not harp it How well the fellows fed. Our rats but fairly quit, The fearful knocking ceased. The strongest reasons always yield To reasons of the strongest.
A lamb her thirst was slaking, Once, at a mountain rill. Your impudence I shall chastise! A lamb that has not seen a year, A suckling of its mother dear? Sheep, men, and dogs of every nation, Are wont to stab my reputation, As I have truly heard. The Duke De La Rochefoucauld. More than contented in his error, He lived the foe of every mirror. What could our dear Narcissus do?
From haunts of men he now withdrew, On purpose that his precious shape From every mirror might escape. But in his forest glen alone, Apart from human trace, A watercourse, Of purest source, While with unconscious gaze He pierced its waveless face, Reflected back his own. Incensed with mingled rage and fright, He seeks to shun the odious sight; But yet that mirror sheet, so clear and still, He cannot leave, do what he will. From such mistake there is no mortal free. That obstinate self-lover The human soul doth cover; The mirrors follies are of others, In which, as all are genuine brothers, Each soul may see to life depicted Itself with just such faults afflicted; And by that charming placid brook, Needless to say, I mean your Maxim Book.
It brings to mind a tale both strange and true, A thing which once, myself, I chanced to view. 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.
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This ass is, by interpretation, Some province poor, or prostrate nation. These powers engaged in war all, Some fourth thief stops the quarrel, According all to one key, By riding off the donkey. See how the gods sometimes repay it. The gods than I are rather debtors To such a pious man of letters. But still I shall be greatly pleased To have your presence at my feast, Among a knot of guests select, My kin, and friends I most respect.
While at the feast the party sit, And wine provokes the flow of wit, It is announced that at the gate Two men, in haste that cannot wait, Would see the bard. The gossip Fame, of course, took care Abroad to publish this affair.
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