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A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine. Jean de la FontaineЧитать онлайн книгу.

A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine - Jean de la Fontaine


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Could neither run nor fight.

      There's always leakage of deceit Which makes it never safe to cheat. Whoever is a wolf had better Keep clear of hypocritic fetter.

THE WOLF turned SHEPHERD.

       Table of Contents

      The pleasures of a poultry yard

       Were by a swan and gosling shared.

       The swan was kept there for his looks,

       The thrifty gosling for the cooks;

       The first the garden's pride, the latter

       A greater favourite on the platter.

       They swam the ditches, side by side,

       And oft in sports aquatic vied,

       Plunging, splashing far and wide,

       With rivalry ne'er satisfied.

       One day the cook, named Thirsty John,

       Sent for the gosling, took the swan

       In haste his throat to cut,

       And put him in the pot.

       The bird's complaint resounded

       In glorious melody;

       Whereat the cook, astounded

       His sad mistake to see,

       Cried, "What! make soup of a musician!

       Please God, I'll never set such dish on.

       No, no; I'll never cut a throat

       That sings so sweet a note."

      'Tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us, Sweet words will never harm us.

THE SWAN AND THE COOK.

       Table of Contents

      A weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze,

       (She was recovering from disease,)

       Which led her to a farmer's hoard.

       There lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd;

       Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored

       That by her gnawing perish'd!

       Of which the consequence

       Was sudden corpulence.

       A week or so was past,

       When having fully broken fast,

       A noise she heard, and hurried

       To find the hole by which she came,

       And seem'd to find it not the same;

       So round she ran, most sadly flurried;

       And, coming back, thrust out her head,

       Which, sticking there, she said,

       "This is the hole, there can't be blunder:

       What makes it now so small, I wonder,

       Where, but the other day, I pass'd with ease?"

       A rat her trouble sees,

       And cries, "But with an emptier belly;

       You enter'd lean, and lean must sally."

THE WEASEL IN THE GRANARY.

       Table of Contents

      A shepherd, neighbour to the sea,

       Lived with his flock contentedly.

       His fortune, though but small,

       Was safe within his call.

       At last some stranded kegs of gold

       Him tempted, and his flock he sold,

       Turn'd merchant, and the ocean's waves

       Bore all his treasure—to its caves.

       Brought back to keeping sheep once more,

       But not chief shepherd, as before,

       When sheep were his that grazed the shore,

       He who, as Corydon or Thyrsis,

       Might once have shone in pastoral verses,

       Bedeck'd with rhyme and metre,

       Was nothing now but Peter.

       But time and toil redeem'd in full

       Those harmless creatures rich in wool;

       And as the lulling winds, one day,

       The vessels wafted with a gentle motion,

       "Want you," he cried, "more money, Madam Ocean?

       Address yourself to some one else, I pray;

       You shall not get it out of me!

       I know too well your treachery."

      This tale's no fiction, but a fact, Which, by experience back'd, Proves that a single penny, At present held, and certain, Is worth five times as many, Of Hope's, beyond the curtain;

      That one should be content with his condition, And shut his ears to counsels of ambition, More faithless than the wreck-strown sea, and which Doth thousands beggar where it makes one rich— Inspires the hope of wealth, in glorious forms, And blasts the same with piracy and storms.

THE SHEPHERD and THE SEA.

       Table of Contents

      One's native talent from its course

       Cannot be turned aside by force;

       But poorly apes the country clown

       The polish'd manners of the town.

       Their Maker chooses but a few

       With power of pleasing to imbue;

       Where wisely leave it we, the mass,

       Unlike a certain fabled ass,

       That thought to gain his master's blessing

       By jumping on him and caressing.

       "What!" said the donkey in his heart;

       "Ought it to be that puppy's part

       To lead his useless life

       In full companionship

       With master and his wife,

       While I must bear the whip?

       What doth the cur a kiss to draw?

       Forsooth, he only gives his paw!

       If that is all there needs to please,

       I'll do the thing myself, with ease."

       Possess'd with this bright notion—

       His master sitting on his chair,

       At leisure in the open air—

      


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