Aeroplanes | Page 2

hunt for grain;?Our hero scratch'd the litter o'er?With all his might and main.
But scarce a minute had he scratch'd,?When, to his great surprise,?A gem, with golden chain attach'd,?He saw with both his eyes.
"Alack!" quoth he, "what have we here??A diamond, I protest!?Which lords and ladies buy so dear,?And hold in such request.
"But one good barley-corn to me?Has more intrinsic worth?Than all the pearls now in the sea,?Or gold now in the earth."
MORAL.
The moral here, in Esop's mind,?Was this, there's not a doubt:?Things have _most_ value, which we find?We _cannot_ do without.
[Illustration]
THE MAN AND THE LION.
A man and a lion once had a dispute,?Which was reckon'd the greatest, the man or the brute;?The lion discoursed on his side at some length,?And greatly enlarged on his courage and strength.
The man, one would think, had enough to reply?On _his_ side the question, which none could deny;?But like many others who make a pretence,?He talk'd perfect nonsense, and thought it good sense.
"So," says he, "don't be prating,--look yonder, I pray,?At that sculpture of marble, now what will you say??The lion is vanquished; but as for the man?He is striding upon him; deny it who can."
"But pray," said the lion, "who sculptured that stone?"?"One of _us_," said the man, "I must candidly own."?"But when _we_ are sculptors," the other replied,?"You will then on the man see the _lion_ astride."
MORAL.
The man might have added, if he had been wise,?"But a beast _cannot_ sculpture a stone, _if he tries_."?_That_ sufficiently shows where the difference lies.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE FOX AND THE CRANE.
"I certainly think," said a fox to a crane,?"That face, ma'am of yours is remarkably plain;?That beak that you wear is so frightful a feature,?It makes you appear a most singular creature."?The crane, much offended at what she had heard,?March'd off at full speed, without saying a word:?"Oh dear!" said the fox, "Mrs. Crane, I protest?You misunderstand me, 'twas only a jest."?"Come, don't be affronted--stay with me and dine;?You know very well 'tis this temper of mine?To say such odd things to my intimate friends;?But you know that poor Reynard no mischief intends."?So the crane thought it best not to break with him quite,?But to view his remarks in a good-natured light.?So she put on as pleasant a face as she could?When he ask'd her to dine, and replied that she would.?But alas! she perceived that his jokes were not over,?When Reynard removed from the victuals its cover?'Twas neither game, butcher's meat, chicken, not fish;?But plain gravy-soup, in a broad shallow dish.?Now this the fox lapp'd with his tongue very quick,?While the crane could scarce dip in the point of her beak;?"You make a poor dinner," said he to his guest;?"Oh, dear! by no means," said the bird, "I protest."?But the crane ask'd the fox on a subsequent day,?When nothing, it seems, for their dinner had they?But some minced meat served up in a narrow-neck'd jar;?Too long, and narrow, for Reynard by far.?"You make a poor dinner, I fear," said the bird;?"Why, I think," said the fox, "'twould be very absurd?To deny what you say, yet I cannot complain,?But confess, though a fox, that I'm matched by a crane."
MORAL.
Cunning folks who play tricks which good manners condemn,?Often find their own tricks play'd again upon them.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE TRAVELLER AND THE SATYR.
A luckless wight, in winter slow,?Travelling once a forest through?Cold and hungry, tired and wet,?Began in words like these to fret:?"Oh, what a sharp inclement day!?And what a dismal, dreary way!?No friendly cot, no cheering fields,?No food this howling forest yields;?I've nought in store or expectation!?There's nought before me but starvation."
"Not quite so bad," a voice replied;?Quickly the traveller turned aside,?And saw the satyr of the wood,?Who close beside his dwelling stood.?"Here is my cave hard by," said he,?"Walk in, you're welcome, pray be free."
The traveller did not hesitate,?Hoping for something good to eat,?But follow'd to his heart's content,?Blowing his finger as he went.
"Pray," said the satyr, "may I know?For what you blow your fingers so?"
"What! need you," said the man, "be told?--?To _warm_ my fingers, 'numb'd with cold."
"Indeed!" was all his host replied,?Intent some pottage to provide,?Which heated well, with spice infused,?Was to his shivering guest produced:
So hot it was, as Esop sung,?It made our traveller scald his tongue;?And wishing not again to do it,?Our hero could not wait, but blew it.
"What?" said his host, in accent rough,?"Is not your pottage hot enough?"?"Yes," said the man, "full well I know it,?'Tis far too hot, that's why I blow it."?"You artful villain! do you so?"?His host replied, with angry brow;?"My cave shall not a moment hold?A man that blows both hot and cold!?By none but rogues can that be done,?You double-dealing wretch, begone!"
MORAL.
The traveller scarce deserved such wrath,?For warming fingers--cooling broth.?No statutes old or new forbid it,?Although with the same mouth he did it:?Yet this beware of old and young,?What Esop