The fables of Jean de La Fontaine

The heifer, the goat, and their sister the sheep, Compacted their earnings in common to keep, 'Tis said, in time past, with a lion, who sway'd Full lordship o'er neighbours, of whatever grade. The goat, as it happen'd, a stag having snared, Sent off to the rest, that the beast might be shared. All gather'd; the lion first counts on his claws, And says, "We'll proceed to divide with our paws The stag into pieces, as fix'd by our laws." This done, he announces part first as his own; "'Tis mine," he says, "truly, as lion alone." To such a decision there's nought to be said, As he who has made it is doubtless the head. "Well, also, the second to me should belong; 'Tis mine, be it known, by the right of the strong. Again, as the bravest, the third must be mine. To touch but the fourth whoso maketh a sign, I'll choke him to death In the space of a breath!"

Two mules were bearing on their backs, One, oats; the other, silver of the tax. The latter glorying in his load, March'd proudly forward on the road; And, from the jingle of his bell, 'Twas plain he liked his burden well. But in a wild-wood glen A band of robber men Rush'd forth upon the twain. Well with the silver pleased, They by the bridle seized The treasure mule so vain. Poor mule! in struggling to repel His ruthless foes, he fell Stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing, He cried, "Is this the lot they promised me? My humble friend from danger free, While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?" "My friend," his fellow-mule replied, "It is not well to have one's work too high. If thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as I, Thou wouldst not thus have died."

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. _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._

Two asses tracking, t'other day, Of which each in his turn, Did incense to the other burn, Quite in the usual way,-- I heard one to his comrade say, "My lord, do you not find The prince of knaves and fools To be this man, who boasts of mind Instructed in his schools? With wit unseemly and profane, He mocks our venerable race-- On each of his who lacketh brain Bestows our ancient surname, ass! And, with abusive tongue portraying, Describes our laugh and talk as braying! These bipeds of their folly tell us, While thus pretending to excel us." "No, 'tis for you to speak, my friend, And let their orators attend. The braying is their own, but let them be: We understand each other, and agree, And that's enough. As for your song, Such wonders to its notes belong, The nightingale is put to shame, The Sirens lose one half their fame." "My lord," the other ass replied, "Such talents in yourself reside, Of asses all, the joy and pride." These d

A wolf, whose gettings from the flocks Began to be but few, Bethought himself to play the fox In character quite new. A shepherd's hat and coat he took, A cudgel for a crook, Nor e'en the pipe forgot: And more to seem what he was not, Himself upon his hat he wrote, "I'm Willie, shepherd of these sheep." His person thus complete, His crook in upraised feet, The impostor Willie stole upon the keep. The real Willie, on the grass asleep, Slept there, indeed, profoundly, His dog and pipe slept, also soundly; His drowsy sheep around lay. As for the greatest number, Much bless'd the hypocrite their slumber, And hoped to drive away the flock, Could he the shepherd's voice but mock. He thought undoubtedly he could. He tried: the tone in which he spoke, Loud echoing from the wood, The plot and slumber broke; Sheep, dog, and man awoke. The wolf, in sorry plight, In hampering coat bedight, Could neither run nor fight. _There's always leakage of deceit_ _Which m

The king of animals, with royal grace, Would celebrate his birthday in the chase. 'Twas not with bow and arrows, To slay some wretched sparrows; The lion hunts the wild boar of the wood, The antlered deer and stags, the fat and good. This time, the king, t' insure success, Took for his aide-de-camp an ass, A creature of stentorian voice, That felt much honour'd by the choice. The lion hid him in a proper station, And order'd him to bray, for his vocation, Assured that his tempestuous cry The boldest beasts would terrify, And cause them from their lairs to fly. And, sooth, the horrid noise the creature made Did strike the tenants of the wood with dread; And, as they headlong fled, All fell within the lion's ambuscade. "Has not my service glorious Made both of us victorious?" Cried out the much-elated ass. "Yes," said the lion; "bravely bray'd! Had I not known yourself and race, I should have been myself afraid!" The donkey, had he da