A bitch, that felt her time approaching, And had no place for parturition, Went to a female friend, and, broaching Her delicate condition, Got leave herself to shut Within the other's hut. At proper time the lender came Her little premises to claim. The bitch crawl'd meekly to the door, And humbly begg'd a fortnight more. Her little pups, she said, could hardly walk. In short, the lender yielded to her talk. The second term expired; the friend had come To take possession of her house and home. The bitch, this time, as if she would have bit her, Replied, 'I'm ready, madam, with my litter, To go when you can turn me out.' Her pups, you see, were fierce and stout. The creditor, from whom a villain borrows, Will fewer shillings get again than sorrows. If you have trusted people of this sort, You'll have to plead, and dun, and fight; in short, If in your house you let one step a foot, He'll surely step the other in to boot. [13] Phaedrus, I. 19. See the Translator's Preface. VIII.--THE EAGLE AND THE BEETLE.[14] John Rabbit, by Dame Eagle chased, Was making for his hole in haste, When, on his way, he met a beetle's burrow. I leave you all to think If such a little chink Could to a rabbit give protection thorough. But, since no better could be got, John Rabbit there was fain to squat. Of course, in an asylum so absurd, John felt ere long the talons of the bird. But first, the beetle, interceding, cried, 'Great queen of birds, it cannot be denied, That, maugre my protection, you can bear My trembling guest, John Rabbit, through the air. But do not give me such affront, I pray; And since he craves your grace, In pity of his case, Grant him his life, or take us both away; For he's my gossip, friend, and neighbour.' In vain the beetle's friendly labour; The eagle clutch'd her prey without reply, And as she flapp'd her vasty wings to fly, Struck down our orator and still'd him; The wonder is she hadn't kill'd him. The beetle soon, of sweet revenge in quest, Flew to the old, gnarl'd mountain oak, Which proudly bore that haughty eagle's nest. And while the bird was gone, Her eggs, her cherish'd eggs, he broke, Not sparing one. Returning from her flight, the eagle's cry, Of rage and bitter anguish, fill'd the sky. But, by excess of passion blind, Her enemy she fail'd to find. Her wrath in vain, that year it was her fate To live a mourning mother, desolate. The next, she built a loftier nest; 'twas vain; The beetle found and dash'd her eggs again. John Rabbit's death was thus revenged anew. The second mourning for her murder'd brood Was such, that through the giant mountain wood,