A Hunter, having deftly slain A Stag of ten, beheld a Doe; So, having taken aim again, Upon the green sward laid it low. This booty was sufficient quite For modest Hunter's appetite; But, lo! a Boar, of form superb, Starting from the tangled herb, Tempted the Archer's greed anew,-- The bow was twanged, the arrow flew,-- With futile shears the sister dread Had frayed his boarship's vital thread. Full grimly did she now resume The work at her Tartarean loom, Nor yet achieved the monsters doom. [Illustration: THE WOLF AND THE HUNTER.] Not yet content?--nor ever will be he Who once has quaffed the cup of victory. The Boar has just begun to rise, When, swift, a red-legged partridge flies Right in the greedy Hunter's view,-- A wretched prize, 'tis very true, Compared with those already got: And yet the sportsman takes a shot; But ere the trigger's pulled, the Boar, Grown strong for just one effort more, The Hunter slays, and on him dies: With thanks, away the partridge flies. The covetous shall have the best; The miserly may take the rest.-- A Wolf that, passing by, took note Of this sad scene, said, "I devote To Mistress Luck a sumptuous fane. What! corpses four together slain? It seems scarce true! But I must be Prudent midst this satiety, For such good seldom comes to me." (This is, of many vain excuses, The one the miser mostly uses.) "Enough," the Wolf continued, "here, To give me for a month good cheer. Four bodies with four weeks will fit, But, nathless, I will wait a bit, And first this Hunter's bowstring chew, For scent proclaims it catgut true." Thus saying, on the bow he flings His hungry form; when, taking wings, The undischarged bolt quickly flies Through the Wolf's carcase, and he dies. And now my text I will repeat-- Wealth, only when enjoyed, is sweet. Oh, reader, from these gluttons twain Take warning, ere it be too late. Through greed was the keen Hunter slain; Through hoarding up Wolf met his fate. FABLE CLXV. JUPITER AND THE THUNDERBOLTS.