A Fox once travelled, and for company His friend, a large-horned Goat, had he, Who scarce could see an inch beyond his nose, While Reynard every trick and quibble knows. Thirst drove these folks, it so befell, To seek the bottom of a well. After they'd had their bout of drinking, Says Reynard, "Comrade, I am thinking How we can best get out from here; Put up your feet and horns--no fear-- Rear up against the wall, my friend, And I'll climb up--our troubles end. One spring upon your horns will do; And I once out can rescue you." "Now, by my beard! I like the plan," The other said, "you're one that can; Such folks as you see clear through things, Some never learn the secret springs; I never should have found it out, Though I had groped a year about." The Fox once free, the Goat compelled To learn a sermon--the text's "patience." "If Heaven," he said, "had only held It right to give thee and thy dull relations Half as much sense as beard-- (But then it hasn't, I'm afeard); Still use your efforts, my dear sir--no perturbations. Certain affairs of state Will hardly let me longer wait; In everything 'tis well to mind the end, In future think of that, my friend." [Illustration: THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA.] FABLE LII. THE SHEPHERD AND THE SEA. Beside his fold, and free from every care, A Shepherd, Amphitrite's neighbour, lived for years; Small was his fortune, yet while skies were fair, He was contented, vexed by cares nor fears. At last the treasures cast upon the shore Tempted the man; he bartered flock and fold, And sent forth ships to bring him back the more; But tempests sank the vessels and the gold. Once more he went to watch the silly sheep, No longer master as he had been long, When his own flocks he used to ward and keep, And poets called him Tircis in their song; Now he was Pierrot, and that was all. After some time he, once more well to do, Had flocks again to answer to his call; One day when winds were low, and vessels drew Safely towards the shore and home, the Shepherd stood Upon the sunny cliff: "Fair nymphs," he cried, "Seek some one else, I pray you be so good; <i>Ma foi</i>, you don't catch me with any tide." This story is not merely meant to please; It's sober truth, I say, and serves to show That pence are better if all safe, you know, Than pounds of promises; when once at ease, Remain content, and closely shut your ears To Circe's wiles, resist her wanton smiles. Ambition and the Sea, avoid them both, They're full of miseries and racking fears; For one who wins there's twenty thousand don't. Rely on that; the winds and thieves are loth To lose their prey (and trust to them)--they won't. FABLE LIII. THE DRUNKARD AND HIS WIFE.