The King of Beasts was sick to death, And, almost with his latest breath, Made known to all his vassals he Needed their deepest sympathy. As in his cave he lay, he stated, For friendly visitors he waited. With every guarantee insured, The deputies went, quite secured; Upon the Lion's passport writ, In fair round hand, each word of it-- A promise good, in eyes of law, [Illustration: THE SICK LION AND THE FOX.] Whether against tooth or claw. The Prince's will to execute Goes every class of beast and brute. The Foxes only kept at home; One gave the reason he'd not come: "The footprints of the courtiers, see, Are all one way, that's plain to me: But none point homeward. It is just If I feel somewhat of distrust. Our sick King's courtiers may dispense With passports, for they're full of sense. Granted, no doubt; and yet I crave They'll show me how to leave the cave.-- I clearly see they enter. Well! But how they leave it who can tell?" FABLE CXVI. THE ASS AND HIS MASTERS. A Gardener's Donkey once complained to Fate Of having to rise earlier than the sun. "The cocks," he said, "are certainly not late; But I have got to rise ere they've begun. And all for what?--to carry herbs to sell: A pretty cause to break one's morning sleep!" Fate, touched by this appeal, determined well To give the beast to other hands to keep: The Gardener to a Tanner yields him next. The weight of hides, and their distressing fume, Soon shock our friend; he is far worse perplexed: His mind again begins to lower and gloom. "I much regret," he said, "my first good man, For when he turned his head I always got A bite of cabbage;--that was just my plan: It cost me not a single sous, or jot; But here no, no rewards but kick and cuff."-- His fortune shifts; a Charcoal-dealer's stall Receives him. Still complaints, and <i>quantum suff.</i> "What! not content yet," Fate cries, "after all? This Ass is worse than half a hundred kings. Does he, forsooth, think he's the only one That's not content? Have I no other things To fill my mind but this poor simpleton?" And Fate was right. No man is satisfied: Our fortune never fits our wayward minds; The present seems the worst we've ever tried; We weary Heaven with outcries of all kinds. And yet, if Jupiter gave each his will, We should torment his ear with wishes still. FABLE CXVII. THE SUN AND THE FROGS. A Monarch's wedding gave his people up, The whole day long, to dances and the cup; But Æsop found their doings in bad taste, And thought their joy decidedly misplaced.