Esop (no other slave at hand) Received himself his lord’s command An early supper to provide. From house to house he therefore tried To beg the favor of a light; At length he hit upon the right. But as when first he sallied out He made his tour quite round about, On his return he took a race Directly, cross the market-place: When thus a talkative buffoon, “Esop, what means this light at noon?” He answer’d briefly, as he ran, “Fellow, I’m looking for a man.” Now if this jackanapes had weigh’d The true intent of what was said, He’d found that Esop had no sense Of manhood in impertinence. XIX. THE ASS AND PRIESTS OF CYBELE. The luckless wretch that’s born to woe Must all his life affliction know-- And harder still, his cruel fate Will on his very ashes wait. Cybele’s priests, in quest of bread, An Ass about the village led, With things for sale from door to door; Till work’d and beaten more and more, At length, when the poor creature died, They made them drums out of his hide. Then question’d “how it came to pass They thus could serve their darling Ass?” The answer was, “He thought of peace In death, and that his toils would cease; But see his mis’ry knows no bounds, Still with our blows his back resounds.” BOOK IV. PROLOGUE. To you, who’ve graver things bespoke, This seems no better than a joke, And light for mere amusement made; Yet still we drive the scribbling trade, And from the pen our pleasure find, When we’ve no greater things to mind. Yet if you look with care intense, These tales your toil shall recompense; Appearance is not always true, And thousands err by such a view. ’Tis a choice spirit that has pried Where clean contrivance chose to hide; That this is not at random said, I shall produce upon this head A fable of an arch device, About the Weasel and the Mice. FABLE I. THE WEAZEL AND MICE. A Weasel, worn with years, and lame, That could not overtake its game, Now with the nimble Mice to deal, Disguised herself with barley meal; Then negligent her limbs she spread In a sly nook, and lay for dead. A Mouse that thought she there might feed, Leapt up, and perish’d in the deed; A second in like manner died; A third, and sundry more beside: Then comes the brindled Mouse, a chap That oft escaped both snare and trap, And seeing how the trick was played, Thus to his crafty foe he said:-- “So may’st thou prosper day and night, As thou art not an errant bite.” II. THE FOX AND THE GRAPES. An hungry Fox with fierce attack Sprang on a Vine, but tumbled back, Nor could attain the point in view, So near the sky the bunches grew. As he went off, “They’re scurvy stuff,” Says he, “and not half ripe enough-- And I’ve more rev’rence for my tripes Than to torment them with the gripes.” For those this tale is very pat Who lessen what they can’t come at. III. THE HORSE AND BOAR.