A Hundred Fables of La Fontaine. Jean de la Fontaine

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The Shepherd and the Sea.

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      A shepherd, neighbour to the sea,

       Lived with his flock contentedly.

       His fortune, though but small,

       Was safe within his call.

       At last some stranded kegs of gold

       Him tempted, and his flock he sold,

       Turn'd merchant, and the ocean's waves

       Bore all his treasure—to its caves.

       Brought back to keeping sheep once more,

       But not chief shepherd, as before,

       When sheep were his that grazed the shore,

       He who, as Corydon or Thyrsis,

       Might once have shone in pastoral verses,

       Bedeck'd with rhyme and metre,

       Was nothing now but Peter.

       But time and toil redeem'd in full

       Those harmless creatures rich in wool;

       And as the lulling winds, one day,

       The vessels wafted with a gentle motion,

       "Want you," he cried, "more money, Madam Ocean?

       Address yourself to some one else, I pray;

       You shall not get it out of me!

       I know too well your treachery."

      This tale's no fiction, but a fact, Which, by experience back'd, Proves that a single penny, At present held, and certain, Is worth five times as many, Of Hope's, beyond the curtain;

      That one should be content with his condition, And shut his ears to counsels of ambition, More faithless than the wreck-strown sea, and which Doth thousands beggar where it makes one rich— Inspires the hope of wealth, in glorious forms, And blasts the same with piracy and storms.

The Ass and the Little Dog.

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      One's native talent from its course

       Cannot be turned aside by force;

       But poorly apes the country clown

       The polish'd manners of the town.

       Their Maker chooses but a few

       With power of pleasing to imbue;

       Where wisely leave it we, the mass,

       Unlike a certain fabled ass,

       That thought to gain his master's blessing

       By jumping on him and caressing.

       "What!" said the donkey in his heart;

       "Ought it to be that puppy's part

       To lead his useless life

       In full companionship

       With master and his wife,

       While I must bear the whip?

       What doth the cur a kiss to draw?

       Forsooth, he only gives his paw!

       If that is all there needs to please,

       I'll do the thing myself, with ease."

       Possess'd with this bright notion—

       His master sitting on his chair,

       At leisure in the open air—

       He ambled up, with awkward motion,

       And put his talents to the proof;

       Upraised his bruised and batter'd hoof,

       And, with an amiable mien,

       His master patted on the chin,

       The action gracing with a word—

       The fondest bray that e'er was heard!

       O, such caressing was there ever?

       Or melody with such a quaver?

       "Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!"

       Out cried the master, sore offended.

       So Martin gave the ass a drubbing—

       And so the comedy was ended.

The Man and the Wooden God.

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      A pagan kept a god of wood—

       A sort that never hears,

       Though furnish'd well with ears—

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