me to strike my poignard into your heart, alas! I must obey him; and what a dismal employment is that for a father? Ah! if you do not fear death, yet at least be afraid of occasioning me the mortal grief of seeing my hand stained with your blood. Once more, father, says Scheherazade, grant me the favour I beg. Your stubbornness, replies the vizier, will make me angry; why will you run headlong to your ruin? They that do not foresee the end of a dangerous enterprise can never bring it to a happy issue. I am afraid the same thing will happen to you that happened to the ass, which was well, and could not keep itself so. What misfortune befel the ass? replies Scheherazade. I will tell you, says the vizier, if you will hear me. Fable. The Ox, the Ass, and the Labourer. A very rich merchant had several country-houses, where he had abundance of cattle of all sorts. He went with his wife and family to one of those estates, in order to improve it himself. He had the gift of understanding the language of beasts, but with this condition, that he should interpret it to nobody on pain of death; and this hindered him from communicating to others what he had learned by means of this gift. He had in the same stall an ox and an ass; and one day as he sat near them, and diverted himself to see his children play about, him, he heard the ox say to the ass, Sprightly, O how happy do I think you, when I consider the ease you enjoy, and the little labour that is required of you! you are carefully rubbed down and washed; you have well-dressed corn, and fresh clean water. Your greatest business is to carry the merchant, our master, when he has any little journey to make; and, were it not for that, you would be perfectly idle. I am treated in a quite different manner, and my condition is as unfortunate as yours is pleasant. It is scarce day-light when I am fastened to a plough, and there they make me work till night, to till up the ground, which fatigues me so, that sometimes my strength fails me. Besides, the labourer, who is always behind me, beats me continually. By drawing the plough my tail is all flead; and, in short, after having laboured from morning till night, when I am brought in, they give me nothing to eat but sorry dry beans, not so much as cleaned from sand, or other things as pernicious; and, to heighten my misery, when I have filled my belly with such ordinary stuff, I am forced to lie all night in my own dung; so that you see I have reason to envy your lot.