The Fox said to the Wolf, one day, "My dear, I have but old tough hens for my poor cheer! One wearies of the food; but you feed well, And with less hazard. I, where people dwell, Slink round, while you keep prudently away. Teach me your trade, my noble comrade, pray! Make me the first of all my race who slew A good fat sheep, and took him for a stew!" "I shall not be ungrateful," the Wolf said; "'Tis well, I have a brother newly dead; Put on his skin." Fox took it, and obeyed. The Wolf then bid him not to be afraid Of all the mastiffs of the shepherds flock: The Fox learnt of his maxims the whole stock, First blundered much, then studied all he could, And, lastly, well the precepts understood. Just as he finished, there came passing by A drove of sheep. He runs at them--they fly. The new-made Wolf spreads terror everywhere; And frightened bleatings fill the troubled air. So in Achilles arms Patroclus came:-- Mothers and old men shudder at his name. The sheep see fifty wolves; and, in full cry, Dogs, sheep, and shepherds to the village fly. One only, as a hostage, left behind, Is by the villain seized. Upon the wind, Just then, came crow of lusty chanticleer: The pupil snapped the fowl, and without fear, Threw by his school-dress, all his task forgot, And ran off, heedless of his future lot. How useless was this counterfeiting then! The changed suit hindered not the watchful men. They follow in his track the self-same day, And when they find him, they are quick to slay. From your unequalled mind my poor muse drew The story and its moral, plain but true. FABLE CCXXV. THE CRAB AND ITS DAUGHTER. Sages are often, like the crabs, inclined To backward step, and leave their goal behind. This is the sailor's art, and, now and then, The artifice of deep, designing men, Who feign the opposite of their intent, To put their adversaries off the scent. My subject is a trifle; but how wide The field on which its morals may be tried! Some general may conquer, should he heed it, An army with a hundred chiefs to lead it. His plans of march and counter-march may be At first a secret, then a victory. No use in prying, when he would conceal; From Fate's decrees one cannot make appeal. The tide grows insurmountable, at length; Against a Jove the gods may waste their strength. Louis and Fate seem partners now, in glory, And draw the world along. But to my story.