Observing once a pumpkin, Of bulk so huge on stem so small, "What meant he," cried a bumpkin, "Great Jove, I mean, who made us all, By such an act capricious? If my advice were asked by Heaven, To yonder oaks the gourds were given, And 'twould have been judicious; For sure it is good taste to suit To monstrous trees a monstrous fruit. And truly, Tony, had but he Whom the priests talk of asked of me Advice on here and there a point, Things would not be so out of joint. For why, to take this plain example, Should not the Acorn here be hung-- For it this tiny stem is ample-- Whilst on the oak the pumpkin swung? The more I view this sad abortion Of all the laws of true proportion, The more I'm sure the Lord of Thunder Has made a very serious blunder." Teased by this matter, Tony cries, "One soon grows weary when one's wise;" Then dozing 'neath an oak he lies. Now, as he slept, an Acorn fell Straight on his nose, and made it swell. At once awake, he seeks to trace With eager hand what hurt his face, And in his beard the Acorn caught, Discovers what the pain had wrought. And now, by injured nose induced, Our friend takes up a different tone-- "I bleed, I bleed!" he makes his moan, "And all is by this thing produced: But, oh! if from the tree, instead, A full-grown Gourd had struck my head! Ah! Jove, most wise, has made decree That Acorns only deck the tree, And now I quite the reason see." Thus in a better frame of mind Homeward went our honest hind. FABLE CLXXVII. THE SCHOOL-BOY, THE PEDANT, AND THE NURSERY GARDENER. A certain Boy, half-spoiled at school-- Your Pedants spoil lads, as a rule; Ten times a fool, ten times a rogue They'd made this mischievous young dog.-- A neighbour's flowers and fruits he stole: A man who struggled, heart and soul, To raise Pomona's choicest treasure: In what was bad he had no pleasure. Each season did its tribute bring, And Flora's gifts were his in spring. One day he saw upon a tree The boy climb up, and recklessly Spoil half the buds, the promise dear Of future plenty for the year;-- He even broke the boughs. At last The Gardener to the school ran fast. The Master came, with all his train Of lads. "Of what does he complain?" The orchard's full of dreadful boys, Worse than the first, in tricks and noise. The Pedant, though he meant not to, Made the first evil double grow. The Pedant was so eloquent About the sin and ill intent; It was a lesson not forgot By the whole school, an ill-taught lot; He often cites the Mantuan bard; At rhetoric toils hot and hard. So long his speech, the wicked race Had time enough to spoil the place.