Dries up my blood, and bakes my brains; And I must search some herb, Its fatal power to curb. For you, there is no time to waste; Pay me my money, and make haste.' The treasures were unbound, And placed upon the ground. Then, with a look which testified His royal joy, the lion cried, 'My coins, good heavens, have multiplied! And see the young ones of the gold As big already as the old! The increase belongs to me, no doubt;' And eagerly he took it out! 'Twas little staid beneath the lid; The wonder was that any did. Confounded were the monkey and his suite. And, dumb with fear, betook them to their way, And bore complaint to Jove's great son, they say-- Complaint without a reason meet; For what could he? Though a celestial scion, He could but fight, as lion versus lion. When corsairs battle, Turk with Turk, They're not about their proper work. [17] The story of this fable has been traced to Gilbert Cousin, in whose works it figures with the title "De Jovis Ammonis oraculo." Gilbert Cousin was Canon of Nozeret, and wrote between 1506 and 1569. XIII.--THE HORSE WISHING TO BE REVENGED UPON THE STAG.[18] The horses have not always been The humble slaves of men. When, in the far-off past, The fare of gentlemen was mast, And even hats were never felt, Horse, ass, and mule in forests dwelt. Nor saw one then, as in these ages, So many saddles, housings, pillions; Such splendid equipages, With golden-lace postilions; Such harnesses for cattle, To be consumed in battle; As one saw not so many feasts, And people married by the priests. The horse fell out, within that space, With the antler'd stag, so fleetly made: He could not catch him in a race, And so he came to man for aid. Man first his suppliant bitted; Then, on his back well seated, Gave chase with spear, and rested not Till to the ground the foe he brought. This done, the honest horse, quite blindly, Thus thank'd his benefactor kindly:-- 'Dear sir, I'm much obliged to you; I'll back to savage life. Adieu!' 'O, no,' the man replied; 'You'd better here abide; I know too well your use. Here, free from all abuse, Remain a liege to me, And large your provender shall be.' Alas! good housing or good cheer, That costs one's liberty, is dear. The horse his folly now perceived, But quite too late he grieved. No grief his fate could alter; His stall was built, and there he lived, And died there in his halter. Ah! wise had he one small offence forgot! Revenge, however sweet, is dearly bought By that one good, which gone, all else is nought. [18] Phaedrus, IV. 4; Horace (_Epistles_, Book I. 10), and others. XIV.--THE FOX AND THE BUST.[19]