On this, a hue and cry arose, As if the beasts were all his foes: A wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise, Denounced the ass for sacrifice-- The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, By whom the plague had come, no doubt. His fault was judged a hanging crime. 'What? eat another's grass? O shame! The noose of rope and death sublime,' For that offence, were all too tame! And soon poor Grizzle felt the same. Thus human courts acquit the strong, And doom the weak, as therefore wrong. [4] One of the most original as well as one of the most beautiful of the poet's fables, yet much of the groundwork of its story may be traced in the Fables of Bidpaii and other collections. See also note to Fable XXII., Book I. II.--THE ILL-MARRIED. If worth, were not a thing more rare Than beauty in this planet fair, There would be then less need of care About the contracts Hymen closes. But beauty often is the bait To love that only ends in hate; And many hence repent too late Of wedding thorns from wooing roses.[5] My tale makes one of these poor fellows, Who sought relief from marriage vows, Send back again his tedious spouse, Contentious, covetous, and jealous, With nothing pleased or satisfied, This restless, comfort-killing bride Some fault in every one descried. Her good man went to bed too soon, Or lay in bed till almost noon. Too cold, too hot,--too black, too white,-- Were on her tongue from morn till night. The servants mad and madder grew; The husband knew not what to do. 'Twas, 'Dear, you never think or care;' And, 'Dear, that price we cannot bear;' And, 'Dear, you never stay at home;' And, 'Dear, I wish you would just come;' Till, finally, such ceaseless dearing Upon her husband's patience wearing, Back to her sire's he sent his wife, To taste the sweets of country life, To dance at will the country jigs, And feed the turkeys, geese, and pigs. In course of time, he hoped his bride Might have her temper mollified; Which hope he duly put to test. His wife recall'd, said he, 'How went with you your rural rest, From vexing cares and fashions free? Its peace and quiet did you gain,-- Its innocence without a stain?' 'Enough of all,' said she; 'but then To see those idle, worthless men Neglect the flocks, it gave me pain. I told them, plainly, what I thought, And thus their hatred quickly bought; For which I do not care--not I.' 'Ah, madam,' did her spouse reply, 'If still your temper's so morose, And tongue so virulent, that those Who only see you morn and night Are quite grown weary of the sight, What, then, must be your servants' case, Who needs must see you face to face, Throughout the day? And what must be the harder lot Of him, I pray, Whose days and nights