Aesop, in Rhyme by Aesop (best novels to read txt) π
But if twenty for accidents should be detach'd,
It will leave me just sixty sound eggs to hatch'd.
"Well, sixty sound eggs--no; sound chickens, I mean;
Of these some may die--we'll suppose seventeen--
Seventeen!--not so many--say ten at the most,
Which will leave fifty chickens to boil or to roast.
"But then there's their barley; how much will they need?
Why they take but one grain at a time when they feed,
So that's a mere trifle; now then let us see,
At a fair market price, how much money there'll be?
"Six shillings a pair--five--four--three-and-six,
To prevent all mistakes, that low price I will fix;
Now what will that make? fifty chickens, I said,
Fifty times three-and-sixpence--_I'll ask brother Ned_.
"Oh! but stop--three-and-sixpence a _pair_ I must sell 'em; Well, a pair is a couple--now then let us tell 'em;
A couple in fifty will go--(my poor brain!)
Why just a score times, and five pair will remain.
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If bees a government maintain,
Why may not rats of stronger brain
And greater power, as well bethought
By Machiavelian axioms taught?
And so they are, for thus of late
It happened in the rats' free state.
Their prince (his subjects more to please)
Had got a mighty Cheshire cheese,
In which his ministers of state
Might live in plenty and grow great.
A powerful party straight combined,
And their united forces join'd,
To bring their measures into play,
For none so loyal were as they;
And none such patriots, to support
As well the country as the court.
No sooner were those Dons admitted
But (all those wondrous virtues quitted)
They all the speediest means devise
To raise themselves and families.
Another party well observing
These pamper'd were, while they were starving,
Their ministry brought in disgrace,
Expelled them and supplied their place;
These on just principles were known
The true supporters of the throne,
And for the subjects liberty
They'd (marry would they) freely die;
But being well fix'd in their station,
Regardless of their prince and nation,
Just like the others, all their skill
Was how they might their paunches fill.
On this a rat, not quite so blind
In state intrigues as human kind,
But of more honor, thus replied:
"Confound ye all on either side;
All your contentions are but these,
Whose arts shall best secure the cheese."
The muslin torn, from tears of grief
In vain Aurelia sought relief;
In sighs and plaints she pass'd the day;
The tatter'd frock neglected lay:
While busied at the weaving trade,
A spider heard the sighing maid
And kindly stopping in a trice,
Thus offer'd (gratis) her advice:
"Turn, little girl! behold in me
A stimulus to industry
Compare your woes, my dear, with mine,
Then tell me who should most repine:
This morning, ere you left your room,
The chambermaid's remorseless broom
In one sad moment that destroy'd,
To build which thousands were employ'd!
The shock was great; but as my life
I saved in the relentless strife,
I knew lamenting was in vain,
So patient went to work again.
By constant work, a day or more,
My little mansion did restore:
And if each tear which you have shed
Had been a needle-full of thread,
If every sigh of sad despair
Had been a stitch of proper care,
Closed would have been the luckless rent,
Nor thus the day have been misspent."
Perch'd on a tree, hard by a rural cot,
A redbreast singing cheer'd the humble spot;
A sparrow on the thatch in critic spleen
Thus took occasion to reprove the strain:
"Dost thou," cried he, "thou dull dejected thing,
Presume to emulate the birds of spring?
Can thy weak warbling dare approach the thrush
Or blackbird's accents in the hawthorn bush?
Or with the lark dost thou poor mimic, vie,
Or nightingale's unequal'd melody?
These other birds possessing twice thy fire
Have been content in silence to admire."
"With candor judge," the minstrel bird replied,
"Nor deem my efforts arrogance or pride;
Think not ambition makes me act this part,
I only sing because I love the art:
I envy not, indeed, but much revere
Those birds whose fame the test of skill will bear;
I feel no hope arising to surpass,
Nor with their charming songs my own to class;
Far other aims incite my humble strain.
Then surely I your pardon may obtain,
While I attempt the rural vale to move
By imitating of the lays I love."
A bard, whose pen had brought him more
Of fame than of the precious ore,
In Grub Street garret oft reposed
With eyes contemplative half-closed.
Cobwebs around in antique glory,
Chief of his household inventory,
Suggested to his roving brains
Amazing multitude of scenes.
"This batch," said he, "of murder-spinners
Who toil their brains out for their dinners,
Though base, too long unsung has lain
By kindred brethren of Duck Lane,
Unknowing that its little plan
Holds all the cyclopedia of man.
"This one, whose radiant thread
Is every where from centre spread,
Like orbs in planetary skies,
Enclosed with rounds of various size,
This curious frame I aptly call
A cobweb mathematical.
"In secret holes, that dirty line,
Where never sun presumes to shine,
With straws, and filth, and time beset,
Where all is fish that comes to net,
That musty film, the Muse supposes
Figures the web of Virtuosos.
"You, where the gaudy insect sings,
Are cobwebs of the court of kings,
Where gilded threads conceal the gin.
And broider'd knaves are caught therein.
"That holly, fix'd 'mid mildew'd panes,
Of cheerless Christmas the remains
(I only dream and sing its cheer,
My Muse keeps Lent throughout the year)
That holly, labor'd o'er and o'er,
Is cobwebs of the lawyer's lore,
Where frisky flies, on gambols borne,
Find out the snare, when lost, undone.
"These dangling webs, with dirt and age,
Display their tatter'd equipage,
So like the antiquarian crew,
That those in every thread I view.
"Here death disseminated lies,
In shrunk anatomies of flies;
And amputated limbs declare
What vermin lie in ambush there:
A baited lure with drugg'd perdition,
A cobweb, not misnamed physician.
"Those plaited webs, long pendent there,
Of sable bards a subtle snare,
Of all-collective disposition,
Which holds like gout of inquisition,
May well denominated be,
The trap-webs of divinity."
But whilst our bard described the scene,
A bee stole through a broken pane;
Fraught with the sweets of every flower,
In taking his adventurous tour,
Is there entrapp'd. Exert thy sting,
Bold bee, and liberate thy wing!
The poet kindly dropp'd his pen,
And freed the captive from its den;
Then musing o'er his empty table,
Forgot the moral of his fable.
Two hundred years ago, or more,
An heir possess'd a miser's store;
Rejoiced to find his father dead,
Till then on thrifty viands fed;
Unnumber'd dishes crown'd his board,
With each unwholesome trifle stored.
He ateβand long'd to eat again,
But sigh'd for appetite in vain:
His food, though dress'd a thousand ways,
Had lost its late accustom'd praise;
He relish'd nothingβsickly grewβ
Yet long'd to taste of something new.
It chanced in this disastrous case,
One morn betimes he join'd the chase:
Swift o'er the plain the hunters fly,
Each echoing out a joyous cry;
A forest next before them lay;
He, left behind, mistook his way,
And long alone bewildered rode,
He found a peasant's poor abode;
But fasting kept, from six to four,
Felt hunger, long unfelt before;
The friendly swain this want supplied,
And Joan some eggs and bacon fried.
Not dainty now, the squire in haste
Fell to, and praised their savory taste;
Nay, said his meal had such a gout
He ne'er in tarts and olios knew.
Rejoiced to think he'd found a dish,
That crown'd his long unanswer'd wish,
With gold his thankful host he paid,
Who guides him back from whence he stray'd;
But ere they part, so well he dined,
His rustic host the squire enjoin'd
To send him home next day a stock
Of those same eggs and charming hock.
He hoped this dish of savory meat
Would prove that still 'twas bliss to eat;
But, ah! he found, like all the rest,
These eggs were tasteless things at best;
The bacon not a dog would touch,
So rankβhe never tasted such!
He sent express to fetch the clown,
And thus address'd him with a frown:
"These eggs, this bacon, that you sent,
For Christian food were never meant;
As soon I'll think the moon's a cheese,
As those you dress'd the same with these.
Little I thought"β"Sir," says the peasant,
"I'm glad your worship is so pleasant:
You joke, I'm sure: for I can swear,
The same the fowls that laid them are!
And know as well that all the bacon
From one the self-same flitch was taken:
The air, indeed, about our green
Is known to make the stomach keen."
"Is that the case?" the squire replied;
"That air shall be directly tried."
He gave commandβa house he hired,
And down he goes with hope inspired,
And takes his cooksβa favorite train;
But still they ply their art in vain.
Perhaps 'twas riding did the feat:
He rides,βbut still he cannot eat.
At last a friend, to physic bred,
Perceived his case, and thus he said:
"Be ruled by me, you soon shall eat,
With hearty gust, the plainest meat;
A pint of milk each rising morn,
Procure from cow of sable horn;
Shake in three drops of morning dew
From twig of ever-verdant yew;
It must by your own hand be done,
Your face turn'd westward from the sun.
With this, ere half an hour is past,
Well crumb'd with biscuit, break your fast;
Which done, from food (or all is vain)
For twice three hours and one abstainβ
Then dine on one substantial dish,
If plainly dress'd, of flesh or fish."
Grave look'd the doctor as he spakeβ
The squire concludes th' advice to take,
And, cheated into temperance, found
The bliss his former luxury drown'd.
Athens in freedom flourish'd long,
'Till licence seized the giddy throng.
Just laws grown weary to obey,
They sunk to tyranny a prey.
Pisistratus, though mild he sway'd,
Their turbulence had not allay'd.
Whilst they were cursing in despair,
The yoke they had not learn'd to bear,
Esop, their danger to describe,
Rehears'd this fable to the tribe:
"Some frogs, like you, of freedom tired,
From Jupiter a king desir'd:
One that should execute the law,
And keep the dissolute in awe.
Jove laugh'd, and threw them down a log,
That thundering fell and shook the bog.
Amongst the reeds the tremblers fled:
Till one more bold advanc'd his head,
And saw the monarch of the flood
Lying half smothered in the mud.
He calls the croaking race around:
"A wooden king!" the banks resound.
Fear once remov'd they swim about him,
And gibe and jeer and mock and flout him;
And messengers to Jove depute,
Effectively to grant their suit.
A hungry stork he sent them then,
Who soon had swallow'd half the fen.
Their woes scarce daring to reveal,
To Mercury by night they steal,
And beg him to entreat of Jove
The direful tyrant to remove.
'No,' says the God, 'they chose their lot,
And must abide what they have got:'
So you, my friends, had best go home
In peace, lest something worse should come."
A hare, closely pursued, thought it prudent and meet
To a bramble for refuge awhile to retreat;
He enter'd the covert, but entering, found
That briers and thorns did on all sides abound;
And that, though he was safe, yet he never could stir,
But his sides they would wound, or would tear off his fur:
He shrugg'd up his shoulders, but would not complain:
"To repine at small evils," quoth puss, "is in vain:
That no bliss can be perfect, I very well knewβ
But from the same source good and evil doth flowβ
And full sorely my skin though these briers may rend,
Yet they keep off the dogs, and my life will defend:
For the sake of the good, then, let evil be borneβ
For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its thorn."
Within a certain pasture,
There lived some creatures wild.
The sky was blue, the grass was green,
The air was very mild.
Now though this field was large and fine,
They could not live in love:
But for the grass in one large spot
A horse and stag once strove.
The stag was strongest in the strife,
And so the battle won;
And from the field the horse was sent
And with chagrin was stung.
So to the man the horse applied,
For help, the stag to beat,
And so effectual was his help,
The stag had to retreat.
But when to go away he tried,
The man held to him fast:
"Now that you are of use," he cried,
"You'll serve me to the last."
The mice o'errun a certain houseβ
In every spot was found a mouse.
So for a cat the mistress went,
And to the kitchen puss was sent.
With diligence were many caught,
And eaten up. The mice were taught
That they some cunning must
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