"What have I done, I should like to know, That my master should make me a public show? Amongst other dogs I can never now go! Oh, kings of animals, human race! Tyrants, authors of my disgrace! I wish some demon would treat you the same!" Thus a young Dog reflected, mad with pain, As they cropped his long ears, but his cries were in vain, And he thought himself lost; but he found, one fine day. That his loss was a gain, for, by nature endowed With a combative spirit, in many a fray He saw that to cropping his long ears he owed Avoidance of many a subject for tears,-- Rough dogs, when they fight, bite their enemies' ears: For hostile mastiffs his were best of all. 'Tis easy to defend one opening in a wall; Armed with a collar, and with ears but small, Our young Dog meets his foes, fights, and defeats them all. FABLE CCIII. THE TWO PARROTS, THE MONARCH, AND HIS SON. A Parrot and his child, 'tis said, On royal dishes daily fed, Having the affections won Of a monarch and his son. An equal age made either pair Affection for each other bear. The fathers gravely loved each other; And their chicks, though wild and young, At school or play, together clung, As fondest brother unto brother. That a parroquet thus by the son of a king Should be loved, need we say, was a wonderful thing. Now the fates had endowed this young heir to the throne With a love for all creatures that he called his own; And a Sparrow, by arts which caused prudes to despise her, Had contrived how to make this great Monarch's son prize her. And so it chanced, alack! one day. That the rivals twain, at play, Fell into a desperate rage; And the youthful Parrot, stung By some taunt the Sparrow flung, Attacked, and sent her dying to her cage. And then the Prince, with equal fury seized, The slayer snatched, and in a death-grip squeezed. Soon to the Parrot-father's ears The tidings came, and then the air Was tortured by his wild despair; But nought availed, or moans or tears, For his child was lying still-- Inanimate, with voiceless bill. Then from his woe the bird awoke, And, with a cruel, double stroke, Tore out the wretched Prince's eyes. This done, unto a pine he flies, And on its topmost branch he knows What joy from satiate vengeance flows. Runs, then, the King to him, and cries, "Come down, my friend, our tears are vain; In love let's bury woe and hate. This wretchedness, 'tis very plain, Comes from my son; or, rather, Fate Had long since writ her stern decree, Your son should die, and mine not see, And that we parents twain should live disconsolate." On this the father bird replied--