THE LION AND THE CUB

How fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base!
These cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from superior merit fly.
They love the cellar's vulgar joke,

And lose their hours in ale and smoke.
There o'er some petty club preside;
So poor, so paltry, is their pride!

Nay, even with fools whole nights will sit,

In hopes to be supreme in wit.

If these can read, to these I write,

To set their worth in truest light.

A Lion-cub, of sordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind;

Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;

With asses all his time he spent,
Their club's perpetual president.

He caught their manners, looks, and airs;
An ass in everything but ears!

If e'er his Highness meant a joke, They grinned applause before he spoke; But at each word what shouts of praise! "Good gods! how natural he brays!" Elate with flattery and conceit, He seeks his royal sire's retreat; Forward, and fond to show his parts, His Highness brays; the Lion starts. "Puppy! that cursed vociferation Betrays thy life and conversation: Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race, Are trumpets of their own disgrace." "Why so severe?" the Cub replies; "Our senate always held me wise!" "How weak is pride," returns the sire: "All fools are vain when fools admire!

The Hare With Many Friends 1853

But know, what stupid asses prize,
Lions and noble beasts despise."

John Gay [1685-1732]

THE HARE WITH MANY FRIENDS

FRIENDSHIP, like love, is but a name,
Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child, whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendship; who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.

A Hare, who, in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain;
Her care was never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies:
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;
She hears the near advance of death;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round:
Till, fainting in the public way,
Half dead with fear she gasping lay.
What transport in her bosom grew,
When first the Horse appeared in view!
"Let me," says she, "your back ascend,
And owe my safety to a friend.
You know my feet betray my flight:
To friendship every burden's light.”

The Horse replied: "Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus;
Be comforted; relief is near,
For all your friends are in the rear."
She next the stately Bull implored;
And thus replied the mighty lord:

"Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may, without offence, pretend,
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hente; a favorite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And when a lady's in the case,

You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind;
But see, the Goat is just behind."

The Goat remarked her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye;
"My back," says he, "may do you harm;
The Sheep's at hand, and wool is warm."
The Sheep was feeble, and complained
His sides a load of wool sustained:
Said he was slow, confessed his fears,
For hounds eat sheep as well as Hares.
She now the trotting Calf addressed,
To save from death a friend distressed.
"Shall I," says he, "of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler passed you by;

How strong are those, how weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence.
Excuse me, then. You know my heart;
But dearest friends, alas! must part.
How shall we all lament! Adieu!
For see, the hounds are just in view.”

John Gay [1685-1732]

THE SYCOPHANTIC FOX AND THE GULLIBLE

RAVEN

A RAVEN sat upon a tree,

And not a word he spoke, for

His beak contained a piece of Brie,

Or, maybe, it was Roquefort?

We'll make it any kind you please

At all events, it was a cheese.

The Sycophantic Fox and Gullible Raven 1855

Beneath the tree's umbrageous limb
A hungry fox sat smiling;

He saw the raven watching him,
And spoke in words beguiling:

"J'admire," said he, "ton beau plumage,"
(The which was simply persiflage).

Two things there are, no doubt you know,
To which a fox is used,-

A rooster that is bound to crow,

A crow that's bound to roost,
And whichsoever he espies

He tells the most unblushing lies.

"Sweet fowl," he said, "I understand
You're more than merely natty:

I hear you sing to beat the band

And Adelina Patti.

Pray render with your liquid tongue
A bit from 'Götterdammerung.'

This subtle speech was aimed to please
The crow, and it succeeded:

He thought no bird in all the trees

Could sing as well as he did.

In flattery completely doused,

He gave the "Jewel Song" from "Faust."

But gravitation's law, of course,
As Isaac Newton showed it,
Exerted on the cheese its force,
And elsewhere soon bestowed it.
In fact, there is no need to tell
What happened when to earth it fell.

I blush to add that when the bird
Took in the situation,

He said one brief, emphatic word,
Unfit for publication.

The fox was greatly startled, but
He only sighed and answered "Tut!"

THE MORAL is: A fox is bound

To be a shameless sinner.

And also: When the cheese comes round

You know it's after dinner.

But (what is only known to few)

The fox is after dinner, too.

Guy Wetmore Carryl [1873-1904]

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE

GRINDER

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

NEEDY knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order.-
Bleak blows the blast;—your hat has got a hole in't.
So have your breeches!

Weary knife-grinder! little think the proud ones
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day,
"Knives and

Scissors to grind O!”

Tell me, knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?

Did some rich man tyrannically use you?

Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?

Was it the squire for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes destraining?
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?

(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)

Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story.