A conjuror foretold
A house would crush him in its fall;-
Forth sallied he, though old,
From town and roof-protected hall,
And took his lodgings, wet or dry,
Abroad, beneath the open sky.
An eagle, bearing through the air
A tortoise for her household fare,
Which first she wish'd to break,
The creature dropp'd, by sad mistake,
Plump on the poet's forehead bare,
As if it were a naked rock-
To Eschylus a fatal shock!
From these examples, it appears,
This art, if true in any wise,
Makes men fulfil the very fears
Engender'd by its prophecies.
But from this charge I justify,
By branding it a total lie.
I don't believe that Nature's powers
Have tied her hands or pinion'd ours,
By marking on the heavenly vault
Our fate without mistake or fault.
That fate depends upon conjunctions
Of places, persons, times, and tracks,
And not upon the functions
Of more or less of quacks.
A king and clown beneath one planet's nod
Are born; one wields a sceptre, one a hod.
But it is Jupiter that wills it so!
And who is he?1 A soulless clod.
How can he cause such different powers to flow
Upon the aforesaid mortals here below?
And how, indeed, to this far distant ball
Can he impart his energy at all ?—
How pierce the ether deeps profound,
The sun and globes that whirl around?
A mote might turn his potent ray
1 And who is he?-By Jupiter, "the soulless clod," is of course meant the planet, not the god.
For ever from its earthward way.
Will find it, then, in starry cope,
The makers of the horoscope?
The war' with which all Europe's now afflicted—
Deserves it not by them to've been predicted?
Yet heard we not a whisper of it,
Before it came, from any prophet.
The suddenness of passion's gush,
Of wayward life the headlong rush,—
Permit they that the feeble ray
Of twinkling planet, far away,
Should trace our winding, zigzag course?
And yet this planetary force,
As steady as it is unknown,
These fools would make our guide alone—-
Of all our varied life the source!
Such doubtful facts as I relate—
The petted child's and poet's fate-
Our argument may well admit.
The blindest man that lives in France,
The smallest mark would doubtless hit-
Once in a thousand times-by chance.
XVII. THE ASS AND THE DOG.2
DAME Nature, our respected mother,
Ordains that we should aid each other.
The ass this ordinance neglected,
Though not a creature ill-affected.
Along the road a dog and he
One master follow'd silently.
Their master slept: meanwhile, the ass
Applied his nippers to the grass,
Much pleased in such a place to stop,
Though there no thistle he could crop.
He would not be too delicate,
Nor spoil a dinner for a plate,
1 The war.-See note to Fable XVIII., Bɔʊk VII.
Which, but for that, his favourite dish,
Were all that any ass could wish.
'My dear companion,' Towser said,-
"Tis as a starving dog I ask it,—
Pray lower down your loaded basket,
And let me get a piece of bread.'
No answer-not a word!—indeed,
The truth was, our Arcadian steed1
Fear'd lest, for every moment's flight,
His nimble teeth should lose a bite.
At last, I counsel you,' said he, 'to wait
Till master is himself awake,
Who then, unless I much mistake,
Will give his dog the usual bait.'
Meanwhile, there issued from the wood
A creature of the wolfish brood,
Himself by famine sorely pinch'd.
At sight of him the donkey flinch'd,
And begg'd the dog to give him aid.
The dog budged not, but answer made,—
'I counsel thee, my friend, to run,
Till master's nap is fairly done;
There can, indeed, be no mistake,
That he will very soon awake;
Till then, scud off with all your might;
And should he snap you in your flight,
This ugly wolf,—why, let him feel
The greeting of your well-shod heel.
I do not doubt, at all, but that
Will be enough to lay him flat.'
But ere he ceased it was too late;
The ass had met his cruel fate.
Thus selfishness we reprobate.
1 Arcadian steed.-La Fontaine has "roussin d'Arcadie." The ass was so derisively nicknamed. See also Fable XIX., Book VI.
XVIII. THE PASHAW AND THE MERCHANT.'
A TRADING Greek, for want of law,
Protection bought of a pashaw ;
And like a nobleman he paid,
Much rather than a man of trade-
Protection being, Turkish-wise,
A costly sort of merchandise.
So costly was it, in this case,
The Greek complain'd, with tongue and face.
Three other Turks, of lower rank,
Would guard his substance as their own,
And all draw less upon his bank,
Than did the great pashaw alone.
The Greek their offer gladly heard,
And closed the bargain with a word.
The said pashaw was made aware,
And counsel'd, with a prudent care
These rivals to anticipate,
By sending them to heaven's gate,
As messengers to Mahomet-
Which measure should he much delay,
Himself might go the self-same way,
By poison offer'd secretly,
Sent on, before his time, to be
Protector to such arts and trades
As flourish in the world of shades.
On this advice, the Turk-no gander-
Behaved himself like Alexander.2
Straight to the merchant's, firm and stable,
He went, and took a seat at table.
Such calm assurance there was seen,
Both in his words and in his mien,
That e'en that weasel-sighted Grecian
Could not suspect him of suspicion.
2 Alexander. Who took the medicine presented to him by his physician Philip, the moment after he had received a letter announcing that that very man designed to poison him.-ARRIAN, L. II. Chap. XIV.— TRANSLATOR.
'My friend,' said he, 'I know you've quit me,
And some think caution would befit me,
Lest to despatch me be your plan:
But, deeming you too good a man
To injure either friends or foes
With poison'd cups or secret blows,
I drown the thought, and say no more.
But, as regards the three or four
Who take my place,
I crave your grace
To listen to an apologue.
'A shepherd, with a single dog,
Was ask'd the reason why
He kept a dog, whose least supply
Amounted to a loaf of bread
For every day. The people said
He'd better give the animal
To guard the village seignior's hall;
For him, a shepherd, it would be
A thriftier economy
To keep small curs, say two or three,
That would not cost him half the food,
And yet for watching be as good.
The fools, perhaps, forgot to tell
If they would fight the wolf as well.
The silly shepherd, giving heed,
Cast off his dog of mastiff breed,
And took three dogs to watch his cattle,
Which ate far less, but fled in battle.
His flock such counsel lived to rue,
As doubtlessly, my friend, will you.
If wise, my aid again you'll seek—’
And so, persuaded, did the Greek.
Not vain our tale, if it convinces
Small states that 'tis a wiser thing
To trust a single powerful king,
Than half a dozen petty princes.
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