Old Boreas and the Sun, one day, Espied a traveller on his way, Whose dress did happily provide Against whatever might betide. The time was autumn, when, indeed, All prudent travellers take heed. The rains that then the sunshine dash, And Iris with her splendid sash, Warn one who does not like to soak To wear abroad a good thick coat. Our man was therefore well bedight With double mantle, strong and tight. "This fellow," said the Wind, "has meant To guard from every ill event; But little does he wot that I Can blow him such a blast That, not a button fast, His cloak shall cleave the sky. Come, here's a pleasant game. Sir Sun! Wilt play?" Said Phoebus, "Done! We'll bet between us here Which first will take the gear From off this cavalier. Begin, and shut away The brightness of my ray." "Enough." Our blower, on the bet, Swelled out his pursy form With all the stuff for storm-- The thunder, hail, and drenching wet, And all the fury he could muster; Then, with a very demon's bluster, He whistled, whirled, and splashed, And down the torrents dashed, Full many a roof uptearing He never did before, Full many a vessel bearing To wreck upon the shore-- And all to doff a single cloak. But vain the furious stroke; The traveller was stout, And kept the tempest out, Defied the hurricane, Defied the pelting rain; And as the fiercer roared the blast, His cloak the tighter held he fast. The Sun broke out, to win the bet; He caused the clouds to disappear, Refreshed and warmed the cavalier, And through his mantle made him sweat, Till off it came, of course, In less than half an hour; And yet the Sun saved half his power-- So much does mildness more than force. The Stag and the Vine A Stag, by favour of a Vine, Which grew where suns most genial shine, And formed a thick and matted bower Which might have turned a summer shower, Was saved by ruinous assault. The hunters thought their dogs at fault, And called them off. In danger now no more The Stag, a thankless wretch and vile, Began to browse his benefactress o'er. The hunters listening the while, The rustling heard, came back, With all their yelping pack, And seized him in that very place. "This is," said he, "but justice, in my case. Let every black ingrate Henceforward profit by my fate." The dogs fell to--'twere wasting breath To pray those hunters at the death. They left, and we will not revile 'em, A warning for profaners of asylum. The Peacock Complaining to Juno