The plan of Æsop is confined to instruction by examples; nor by Fables is anything else[1] aimed at than that the errors of mortals may be corrected, and persevering industry[2] exert itself. Whatever the playful invention, therefore, of the narrator, so long as it pleases the ear, and answers its purpose, it is recommended by its merits, not by the Author’s name.

For my part, I will with all care follow the method of the sage;[3] but if I should think fit to insert something[4] {of my own}, that variety of subjects may gratify the taste, I trust, Reader, you will take it in good part; provided that my brevity be a fair return for such a favour: of which, that {my} praises may not be verbose, listen to the reason why you ought to deny the covetous, {and} even to offer to the modest that for which they have not asked.

While a Lion was standing over a Bullock, which he had brought to the ground, a Robber came up, and demanded a share. “I would give it you,” said {the Lion}, “were you not in the habit of taking without leave;” and {so} repulsed the rogue. By chance, a harmless Traveller was led to the same spot, and on seeing the wild beast, retraced his steps; on which the Lion kindly said to him: “You have nothing to fear; boldly take the share which is due to your modesty.” Then having divided the carcase, he sought the woods, that he might make room for the Man.

A very excellent example, and worthy of all praise; but covetousness is rich and modesty in want.

That the men, under all circumstances, are preyed upon by the women, whether they love or are beloved, {this} truly we learn from examples.

A Woman, not devoid of grace, held enthralled a certain Man of middle age,[6] concealing her years by the arts of the toilet: a lovely Young creature, too, had captivated the heart of the same person. Both, as they were desirous to appear of the same age with him, began, each in her turn, to pluck out the hair of the Man. While he imagined that he was made trim by the care of the women, he suddenly found himself bald; for the Young Woman had entirely pulled out the white hairs, the Old Woman the black ones.

A Man, torn by the bite of a savage Dog, threw a piece of bread, dipt in his blood, to the offender; a thing that he had heard was a remedy for the wound. Then said Æsop: “Don’t do this before many dogs, lest they devour us alive, when they know that such is the reward of guilt.”

The success of the wicked is a temptation to many.

An Eagle had made her nest at the top of an oak; a Cat who had found a hole in the middle, had kittened {there}; a Sow, a dweller in the woods, had laid her offspring at the bottom. Then thus does the Cat with deceit and wicked malice, destroy the community so formed by accident. She mounts up to the nest of the Bird: “Destruction,” says she, “is preparing for you, perhaps, too, for wretched me; for as you see, the Sow, digging up the earth every day, is insidiously trying to overthrow the oak, that she may easily seize our progeny on the ground.” Having {thus} spread terror, and bewildered {the Eagle’s} senses, the Cat creeps down to the lair of the bristly Sow: “In great danger,” says she, “are your offspring; for as soon as you go out to forage with your young litter, the Eagle is ready to snatch away from you your little pigs.” Having filled this place likewise with alarm, she cunningly hides herself in her safe hole. Thence she wanders forth on tiptoe by night, and having filled herself and her offspring with food, she looks out all day long, pretending alarm. Fearing the downfall, the Eagle sits still in the branches; to avoid the attack of the spoiler, the Sow stirs not abroad. Why make a long story? They perished through hunger, with their young ones, and afforded the Cat and her kittens an ample repast.

Silly credulity may take this as a proof how much evil a double-tongued man may often contrive.

There is a certain set of busybodies at Rome, hurriedly running to and fro, busily engaged in idleness, out of breath about nothing at all, with much ado doing nothing, a trouble to themselves, and most annoying to others. It is my object, by a true story, to reform this race, if indeed I can: it is worth your while to attend.

Tiberius Cæsar, when on his way to Naples, came to his country-seat at Misenum,[7] which, placed by the hand of Lucullus on the summit of the heights, beholds the Sicilian sea in the distance, and that of Etruria close at hand. One of the highly girt Chamberlains,[8] whose tunic of Pelusian linen was nicely smoothed from his shoulders downwards, with hanging fringes, while his master was walking through the pleasant shrubberies, began with bustling officiousness to sprinkle[9] the parched ground with a wooden watering-pot; but {only} got laughed at. Thence, by short cuts {to him} well known, he runs before into another walk,[10] laying the dust. Cæsar takes notice of the fellow, and discerns his object. Just as he is supposing that there is some extraordinary good fortune in store for him: “Come hither,” says his master; on which he skips up to him, quickened by the joyous hope of a sure reward. Then, in a jesting tone, thus spoke the mighty majesty of the prince: “You have not profited much; your labour is all in vain; manumission stands at a much higher price with me.”

No one is sufficiently armed against the powerful; but if a wicked adviser joins them, nothing can withstand such a combination of violence and unscrupulousness.[12]

An Eagle carried a Tortoise aloft, who had hidden her body in her horny abode, and in her concealment could not, while thus sheltered, be injured in any way. A Crow came through the air, and flying near, exclaimed: “You really have carried off a rich prize in your talons; but if I don’t instruct you what you must do, in vain will you tire yourself with the heavy weight.” A share being promised her, she persuades the Eagle to dash the hard shell from the lofty stars upon a rock, that, it being broken to pieces, she may easily feed upon the meat. Induced by her words, the Eagle attends to her suggestion, and at the same time gives a large share of the banquet to her instructress.

Thus she who had been protected by the bounty of nature, being an unequal match for the two, perished by an unhappy fate.

Laden with burdens, two Mules were travelling along; the one was carrying baskets[13] with money, the other sacks distended with store of barley. The former, rich with his burden, goes exulting along, with neck erect, and tossing to-and-fro upon his throat {his} clear-toned bell:[14] his companion follows, with quiet and easy step. Suddenly some Robbers rush from ambush upon them, and amid the slaughter[15] pierce the Mule with a sword, and carry off the money; the valueless barley they neglect. While, then, the one despoiled was bewailing their mishaps: “For my part,” says the other, “I am glad I was thought so little of; for I have lost nothing, nor have I received hurt by a wound.”

According to the moral of this Fable, poverty is safe; great riches are liable to danger.

A Stag, aroused from his woodland lair, to avoid impending death threatened by huntsmen, repaired with blind fear to the nearest farm-house, and hid himself in an ox-stall close at hand. Upon this, an Ox said to him, as he concealed himself: “Why, what do you mean, unhappy one, in thus rushing of your own accord upon destruction, and trusting your life to the abode of man?” To this he suppliantly replied: “Do you only spare me; the moment an opportunity is given I will again rush forth.” Night in her turn takes the place of day; the Neat-herd brings fodder, but yet sees him not. All the farm servants pass and repass every now and then; no one perceives him; even the Steward passes by, nor does he observe anything. Upon this, the stag, in his joy, began to return thanks to the Oxen who had kept so still, because they had afforded him hospitality in the hour of adversity. One of them made answer: “We really do wish you well; but if he, who has a hundred eyes, should come, your life will be placed in great peril.” In the meanwhile the Master himself comes back from dinner; and having lately seen the Oxen in bad condition, comes up to the rack: “Why,” says he, “is there so little fodder? Is litter scarce? What great trouble is it to remove those spiders’ webs?”[16] While he is prying into every corner, he perceives too the branching horns of the Stag, and having summoned the household, he orders him to be killed, and carries off the prize.

This Fable signifies that the master sees better than any one else in his own affairs.

TO EUTYCHUS.[1]

If you have a desire, Eutychus, to read the little books of Phædrus, you must keep yourself disengaged from business, that your mind, at liberty, may relish the meaning of the lines. “But,” you say, “my genius is not of such great value, that a moment of time should be lost {for it} to my own pursuits.” There is no reason then why that should be touched by your hands which is not suited for ears so engaged. Perhaps you will say, “some holidays will come,[2] which will invite me to study with mind unbent.” Will you {rather}, I ask you, read worthless ditties,[3] than bestow attention upon your domestic concerns, give moments to your friends, your leisure to your wife, relax your mind, and refresh your body, in order that you may return more efficiently to your wonted duties? You must change your purpose and your mode of life, if you have thoughts of crossing the threshold of the Muses. I, whom my mother brought forth on the Pierian hill,[4] upon which hallowed Mnemosyne, nine times fruitful, bore the choir of Muses to thundering Jove: although I was born almost in the very school itself, and have entirely erased {all} care for acquiring wealth from my breast, and with the approval of many have applied myself to these pursuits, am still with difficulty received into the choir {of the Poets}. What do you imagine must be the lot of him who seeks, with ceaseless vigilance, to amass great wealth, preferring the sweets of gain to the labours of learning?

But now, come of it what may (as Sinon said[5] when he was brought before the King of Dardania), I will trace a third book with the pen of Æsop, and dedicate it to you, in acknowledgment of your honor and your goodness.[6] If you read it, I shall rejoice; but if otherwise, at least posterity will have something with which to amuse themselves.

Now will I explain in a few words why Fabulous narrative was invented. Slavery,[7] subject to the will of another, because it did not dare to say what it wished, couched its sentiments in Fables, and by pleasing fictions eluded censure. In place of its foot-path I have made a road, and have invented more than it left, selecting some points to my own misfortune.[8] But if any other than Sejanus[9] had been the informer, if any other the witness, if any other the judge, in fine, I should confess myself deserving of such severe woes; nor should I soothe my sorrow with these expedients. If any one shall make erroneous surmises, and apply to himself what is applicable to all in common, he will absurdly expose the secret convictions of his mind. And still, to him I would hold myself excused; for it is no intention of mine to point at individuals, but to describe life itself and the manners of mankind. Perhaps some one will say, that I undertake a weighty task. If Æsop of Phrygia, if Anacharsis of Scythia[10] could, by their genius, found a lasting fame, why should I who am more nearly related to learned Greece, forsake in sluggish indolence the glories of my country? especially as the Thracian race numbers its own authors, and Apollo was the parent of Linus, a Muse of Orpheus, who with his song moved rocks and tamed wild beasts, and held the current of Hebrus in sweet suspense. Away then, envy! nor lament in vain, because to me the customary fame is due.

I have urged you to read {these lines}; I beg that you will give me your sincere opinion[11] of them with {your} well-known candour.

An Old Woman espied a Cask,[12] which had been drained to the dregs, lying on the ground, {and} which still spread forth from its ennobled shell a delightful smell of the Falernian lees.[13] After she had greedily snuffed it up her nostrils with all her might; “O delicious fragrance,[14]” said she, “how good I should say were your former contents, when the remains of them are such!”

What this refers to let him say who knows me.

Repayment in kind is generally made by those who are despised.

A Panther[16] had once inadvertently fallen into a pit. The rustics saw her; some belaboured her with sticks, others pelted her with stones; while some, on the other hand, moved with compassion, seeing that she must die even though no one should hurt her, threw her some bread to sustain existence. Night comes on apace; homeward they go without concern, making sure of finding her dead on the following day. She, however, after having recruited her failing strength, with a swift bound effected her escape from the pit, and with hurried pace hastened to her den. A few days intervening, she sallies forth, slaughters the flocks, kills the shepherds themselves, and laying waste every side, rages with unbridled fury. Upon this those who had shown mercy to the beast, alarmed for their safety, made no demur to the loss {of their flocks, and} begged only for their lives. But she {thus answered them}: “I remember him who attacked me with stones, {and} him who gave me bread; lay aside your fears; I return as an enemy to those {only} who injured me.”

One taught by experience is proverbially said to be more quick-{witted} than a wizard, but the reason is not told; which, now for the first time, shall be made known by my Fable.

The ewes of a certain Man who reared flocks, brought forth lambs with human heads. Dreadfully alarmed at the prodigy, he runs full of concern to the soothsayers. One answers that it bears reference to the life of the owner, and that the danger must be averted with a victim. Another, no wiser, affirms that it is meant that his wife is an adultress, and his children are spurious; but that it can be atoned for by a victim of greater age.[17] Why enlarge? They all differ in opinions, and greatly aggravate the anxiety of the Man. Æsop being at hand, a sage of nice discernment, whom nature could never deceive {by appearances}, remarked:-- “If you wish, Farmer, to take due precautions against {this} portent, find wives for your shepherds.”[18]

A man seeing an Ape hanging up at a Butcher’s among the rest of his commodities and provisions, enquired how it might taste;[19] on which the Butcher, joking, replied: “Just as the head is, such, I warrant, is the taste.”

[Footnote III.19: _How it might taste_)--Ver. 3. The Butcher puns upon the twofold meaning of “sapio,” “to taste of,” or “have a flavour,” and “to be wise.” The customer uses the word in the former sense, while the Butcher answers it in the latter, and perhaps in the former as well; “Such as the head is,” pointing to it, “I’ll warrant the wisdom of the animal to be;” the words at the same time bearing the meaning of, “It has an ape’s head, and therefore it can only taste like the head of an ape.” “Sapor” ordinarily means “flavour,” or “taste;” but Cicero uses it in the signification of wisdom or genius. Many other significations of this passage have been suggested by the various Editors.]

This I deem to be said more facetiously than correctly; for on the one hand I have often found the good-looking to be very knaves, and on the other I have known many with ugly features to be most worthy men.

Success leads many astray to their ruin.

An Insolent Fellow threw a stone at Æsop. “Well done,” said he, and then gave him a penny, thus continuing: “Upon my faith I have got no more, but I will show you where you can get some; see, yonder comes a rich and influential man; throw a stone at him in the same way, and you will receive a due reward.” The other, being persuaded, did as he was advised. His daring impudence, however, was disappointed of its hope, for, being seized, he paid the penalty on the cross.[20]

A Fly sat on the pole of a chariot, and rebuking the Mule: “How slow you are,” said she; “will you not go faster? Take care that I don’t prick your neck with my sting.” The Mule made answer: “I am not moved by your words, but I fear him who, sitting on the next seat, guides my yoke[21] with his pliant whip, and governs my mouth with the foam-covered reins. Therefore, cease your frivolous impertinence, for I well know when to go at a gentle pace, and when to run.”

In this Fable, he may be deservedly ridiculed, who, without {any} strength, gives utterance to vain threats.

I will shew in a few words how sweet is Liberty.

A Wolf, quite starved with hunger, chanced to meet a well-fed Dog, and as they stopped to salute each other, “Pray,” {said the Wolf}, “how is it that you are so sleek? or on what food have you made so much flesh? I, who am far stronger, am perishing with hunger.” The Dog frankly {replied}: “You may enjoy the same condition, if you can render the like service to your master.” “What {is it}?” said the other. “To be the guardian of his threshold, {and} to protect the house from thieves at night.” “I am quite ready for that,” {said the Wolf}; “at present I have to endure snow and showers, dragging on a wretched existence in the woods. How much more pleasant for me to be living under a roof, and, at my ease, to be stuffed with plenty of victuals.” “Come along, then, with me,” {said the Dog}. As they were going along, the Wolf observed the neck of the Dog, where it was worn with the chain. “Whence comes this, my friend?” “Oh, it is nothing.[22]” “Do tell me, though.” “Because I appear to be fierce, they fasten me up in the day-time, that I may be quiet when it is light, and watch when night comes; unchained at midnight, I wander wherever I please. Bread is brought me without my asking; from his own table my master gives me bones; the servants throw me bits, and whatever dainties each person leaves; thus, without trouble {on my part}, is my belly filled.” “Well, if you have a mind to go anywhere, are you at liberty?” “Certainly not,” replied {the Dog}. “{Then}, Dog, enjoy what you boast of; I would not be a king, to lose my liberty.”

Warned by this lesson, often examine yourself.

A certain Man had a very ugly Daughter, and also a Son, remarkable for his handsome features. These, diverting themselves, as children do, chanced to look into a mirror, as it lay upon their mother’s chair.[23] He praises his own good looks; she is vexed, and cannot endure the raillery of her boasting brother, construing everything (and how could she do otherwise?) as a reproach {against herself}. Accordingly, off she runs to her Father, to be avenged {on him} in her turn, and with great rancour, makes a charge against the Son, how that he, though a male, has been meddling with a thing that belongs to the women. Embracing them both, kissing them, and dividing his tender affection between the two, he said: “I wish you both to use the mirror every day: you, that you may not spoil your beauty by vicious conduct; you, that you may make amends by your virtues for your looks.”

The name of a friend is common; but fidelity is rarely found.

Socrates having laid for himself the foundation of a small house (a man, whose death I would not decline, if I could acquire {similar} fame, and {like him} I could yield to envy, if I might be but acquitted[24] when ashes); one of the people, no matter who, {amongst such passing remarks} as are usual in these cases, asked: “Why do you, so famed as you are, build so small a house?”

It is dangerous alike to believe or to disbelieve. Of either fact, I will briefly lay before you an instance.

Hippolytus met his death,[25] because his step-mother was believed: because Cassandra was not believed, Troy fell. Therefore, we ought to examine strictly into the truth of a matter, rather than {suffer} an erroneous impression to pervert our judgment. But, that I may not weaken {this truth} by referring to fabulous antiquity, I will relate to you a thing that happened within my own memory.

A certain married Man, who was very fond of his Wife, having now provided the white toga[26] for his Son, was privately taken aside by his Freedman, who hoped that he should be substituted as his next heir, {and} who, after telling many lies about the youth, and still more about the misconduct of the chaste Wife, added, what he knew would especially grieve one so fond, that a gallant was in the habit of paying her visits, and that the honor of his house was stained with base adultery. Enraged at the supposed guilt of his Wife, the husband pretended a journey to his country-house, and privately stayed behind in town; then at night he suddenly entered at the door, making straight to his Wife’s apartment, in which the mother had ordered her son to sleep, keeping a strict eye over his ripening years. While they are seeking for a light, while the servants are hurrying to and fro, unable to restrain the violence of his raging passion, he approaches the bed, and feels a head in the dark. When he finds the hair cut close,[27] he plunges his sword into {the sleeper’s} breast, caring for nothing, so he but avenge his injury. A light being brought, at the same instant he beholds his son, and his chaste wife sleeping in her apartment; who, fast locked in her first sleep, had heard nothing: on the spot he inflicted punishment on himself for his guilt, and fell upon the sword which a too easy belief had unsheathed. The accusers indicted the woman, and dragged her to Rome, before the Centumviri.[28] Innocent as she was, dark suspicion weighed heavily against her, because she had become possessor of his property: her patrons stand[29] and boldly plead the cause of the guiltless woman. The judges then besought the Emperor Augustus that he would aid them in the discharge of their oath, as the intricacy of the case had embarrassed them. After he had dispelled the clouds raised by calumny, and had discovered a sure source of truth[30]: “Let the Freedman,” said he, “the cause of the mischief, suffer punishment; but as for her, at the same instant bereft of a son, and deprived of a husband, I deem her to be pitied rather than condemned. If the father of the family had thoroughly enquired into the charge preferred, and had shrewdly sifted the lying accusations, he would not, by a dismal crime, have ruined his house from the very foundation.”

Let the ear despise nothing, nor yet let it accord implicit belief at once: since not only do those err whom you would be far from suspecting, but those who do not err are {sometimes} falsely and maliciously accused.

This also may be a warning to the simple, not to form a judgment on anything according to the opinion of another; for the different aims of mortals either follow the bias of their goodwill or their prejudice. He {alone} will be correctly estimated {by you}, whom you judge of by personal experience.

These points I have enlarged upon, as by too great brevity I have offended some.

A young Cock, while seeking for food on a dunghill, found a Pearl, and exclaimed: “What a fine thing are you to be lying in {so} unseemly a place. If any one sensible of your value had espied you here, you would long ago have returned to your former brilliancy. And it is I who have found you, I to whom food is far preferable! I can be of no use to you or you to me.”

This I relate for those who have no relish for me.[32]

Some Bees had made their combs in a lofty oak. Some lazy Drones asserted that these belonged to them. The cause was brought into court, the Wasp {sitting as} judge; who, being perfectly acquainted with either race, proposed to the two parties these terms: “Your shape is not unlike, and your colour is similar; so that the affair clearly and fairly becomes a matter of doubt. But that my sacred duty may not be at fault through insufficiency of knowledge, {each of you} take hives, and pour your productions into the waxen cells; that from the flavour of the honey and the shape of the comb, the maker of them, about which the present dispute exists, may be evident.” The Drones decline; the proposal pleases the Bees. Upon this, the Wasp pronounces sentence to the following effect: “It is evident who cannot, and who did, make {them}; wherefore, to the Bees I restore the fruits of their labours.”

This Fable I should have passed by in silence, if the Drones had not refused the proposed stipulation.[33]

An Athenian seeing Æsop in a crowd of boys at play with nuts,[34] stopped and laughed at him for a madman. As soon as the Sage,--a laugher at others rather than one to be laughed at,--perceived this, he placed an unstrung bow in the middle of the road: “Hark you, wise man,” said he, “unriddle what I have done.” The people gather round. The man torments his invention a long time, but cannot make out the reason of the proposed question. At last he gives up. Upon this, the victorious Philosopher says: “You will soon break the bow, if you always keep it bent; but if you loosen it, it will be fit for use when you want it.”

Thus ought recreation sometimes to be given to the mind, that it may return to you better fitted for thought.

A Dog said to a Lamb[35] bleating among some She-Goats: “Simpleton, you are mistaken; your mother is not here;” and pointed out some Sheep at a distance, in a flock by themselves. “I am not looking for her,” {said the Lamb}, “who, when she thinks fit, conceives, then carries her unknown burden for a certain number of months, and at last empties out the fallen bundle; but for her who, presenting her udder, nourishes me, and deprives her young ones of milk that I may not go without.” “Still,” said the Dog, “she ought to be preferred who brought you forth.” “Not at all: how was she to know whether I should be born black or white?[36] However, suppose she did know; seeing I was born a male, truly she conferred a great obligation on me in giving me birth, that I might expect the butcher every hour. Why should she, who had no power in engendering me, be preferred to her who took pity on me as I lay, and of her own accord shewed me a welcome affection? It is kindliness makes parents, not the ordinary course {of Nature}.”

By these lines the author meant to show that men are averse to fixed rules, but are won by kind services.

He who does not conform to courtesy, mostly pays the penalty of his superciliousness.

A Grasshopper was making a chirping that was disagreeable to an Owl, who was wont to seek her living in the dark, and in the day-time to take her rest in a hollow tree. She was asked to cease her noise, but she began much more loudly to send forth her note; entreaties urged again only set her on still more. The Owl, when she saw she had no remedy, and that her words were slighted, attacked the chatterer with this stratagem: “As your song, which one might take for the tones of Apollo’s lyre, will not allow me to go to sleep, I have a mind to drink some nectar which Pallas lately gave me;[37] if you do not object, come, let us drink together.” The other, who was parched with thirst, as soon as she found her voice complimented, eagerly flew up. The Owl, coming forth from her hollow, seized the trembling thing, and put her to death.

Thus what she had refused when alive, she gave when dead.

The Gods in days of yore made choice of such Trees as they wished to be under their protection. The Oak pleased Jupiter, the Myrtle Venus, the Laurel Phœbus, the Pine Cybele, the lofty Poplar Hercules. Minerva, wondering why they had chosen the barren ones, enquired the reason. Jupiter answered: “That we may not seem to sell the honor for the fruit.” “Now, so heaven help me,”[38] said she, “let any one say what he likes, but the Olive is more pleasing to me on account of its fruit.” Then said the Father of the Gods and the Creator of men: “O daughter, it is with justice that you are called wise by all; unless what we do is useful, vain is our glory.”[39]

This little Fable admonishes us to do nothing that is not profitable.

A Peacock came to Juno, complaining sadly that she had not given to him the song of the Nightingale; that it was the admiration of every ear, while he himself was laughed at the very instant he raised his voice. The Goddess, to console him, replied: “But you surpass the {nightingale} in beauty, you surpass {him} in size; the brilliancy of the emerald shines upon your neck; and you unfold a tail begemmed with painted plumage.” “Wherefore {give} me,” he retorted, “a beauty that is dumb, if I am surpassed in voice?” “By the will of the Fates,” {said she}, “have your respective qualities been assigned; beauty to you, strength to the Eagle, melody to the Nightingale, to the Raven presages, unpropitious omens to the Crow; all of {these} are contented with their own endowments.”

Covet not that which has not been granted you, lest your baffled hopes sink down to {useless} repinings.

When Æsop was the only servant of his master, he was ordered to prepare dinner earlier than usual. Accordingly, he went round to several houses, seeking for fire,[40] and at last found a place at which to light his lantern. Then as he had made a rather long circuit, he shortened the way back, for he went home straight through the Forum. There a certain Busybody in the crowd {said to him}: “Æsop, why with a light at mid-day?” “I’m in search of a man,”[41] said he; and went hastily homewards.

If the inquisitive fellow reflected on this {answer}, he must have perceived that the sage did not deem him a man, who could so unseasonably rally him when busy.

TO PARTICULO.

When I had determined to put an end to my labours, with the view that there might be material enough {left} for others, in my mind I silently condemned {my} resolve. For even if there is any one desirous of the like fame, how will he guess what it is I have omitted,[1] so as to wish to hand down that same to posterity; since each man has a turn of thinking of his own, and a tone peculiar to himself. It was not, therefore, {any} fickleness, but assured grounds, that set me upon writing {again}. Wherefore, Particulo,[2] as you are amused by Fables (which I will style “Æsopian,” not “those of Æsop;” for whereas he published but few, I have brought out a great many, employing the old style, but with modern subjects), now at your leisure you shall peruse a Fourth Book. If envy shall choose to carp at it, so long as it cannot imitate,[3] why let it carp. I have gained glory {enough}, in that you, and {others} like to you, have quoted my words in your writings, and have thought me worthy of being long remembered. Why should I stand in need of the applause of the illiterate?

He who has been born to ill luck, not only passes an unhappy life, but even after death the cruel rigour of destiny pursues him.

The Galli, {priests} of Cybele,[4] were in the habit, on their begging excursions, of leading about an Ass, to carry their burdens. When he was dead with fatigue and blows, his hide being stripped off, they made themselves tambourines[5] therewith. Afterwards, on being asked by some one what they had done with their favourite, they answered in these words: “He fancied that after death he would rest in quiet; but see, dead as he is, fresh blows are heaped upon him.”

This way of writing seems to you facetious; and no doubt, while we have nothing of more importance, we do sport with the pen. But examine these Fables with attention, {and} what useful lessons will you find {concealed} under them! Things are not always what they seem; first appearances deceive many: few minds understand what skill has hidden in an inmost corner. That I may not appear to have said this without reason, I will add a Fable about the Weasel and the Mice.

A Weasel, worn out with years and old age, being unable to overtake the active Mice, rolled herself in flour, and threw herself carelessly along in a dark spot. A Mouse, thinking her food, jumped upon her, and, being caught, was put to death: another in like manner perished, and then a third. Some others having followed, an {old} brindled fellow came, who had escaped snares and mouse-traps full oft; and viewing from afar the stratagem of the crafty foe: “So fare you well,[6]” said he, “you that are lying there, as you are flour.”

Urged by hunger, a Fox, leaping with all her might, tried to reach a cluster of Grapes upon a lofty vine. When {she found} she could not reach them, she left them, saying: “They are not ripe yet; I don’t like to eat them while sour.”

Those who disparage what they cannot perform, ought to apply this lesson to themselves.

While a Wild Boar was wallowing, he muddied the shallow water, at which a Horse had been in the habit of quenching his thirst. Upon this, a disagreement arose. The Horse,[7] enraged with the beast, sought the aid of man, and, raising him on his back, returned against the foe. After the Horseman, hurling his javelins, had slain {the Boar}, he is said to have spoken thus: “I am glad that I gave assistance at your entreaties, for I have captured a prey, and have learned how useful you are;” and so compelled him, unwilling as he was, to submit to the rein. Then {said the Horse}, sorrowing: “Fool that I am! while seeking to revenge a trifling matter, I have met with slavery.”

This Fable will admonish the passionate, that it is better to be injured with impunity, than to put ourselves in the power of another.

I will show to posterity, by a short story, that there is often more merit in one man than in a multitude.

A Person, at his death, left three Daughters; one handsome, and hunting for the men with her eyes; the second, an industrious spinner of wool,[8] frugal, and fond of a country life; the third, given to wine, and very ugly. Now the old man made their Mother his heir, on this condition, that she should distribute his whole fortune equally among the three, but in such a manner that they should not possess or enjoy what was given them; {and} further, that as soon as they should cease to have the property which they had received, they should pay over to their Mother a hundred thousand sesterces. The rumour spreads all over Athens. The anxious Mother consults the learned in the law. No one can explain in what way they are not to possess what has been given, or have the enjoyment {of it}; and then again, in what way those who have received nothing, are to pay money. After a long time had been wasted, and still the meaning of the will could not be understood, the Parent, disregarding the strict letter of the law, consulted equity.[9] For the Wanton, she sets aside the garments, female trinkets, silver bathing-vessels, eunuchs, {and} beardless boys: for the Worker in wool, the fields, cattle, farm, labourers, oxen, beasts of burden, and implements of husbandry: for the Drinker, a store-room,[10] well stocked with casks of old wine, a finely finished house,[11] and delightful gardens. When she was intending to distribute what was thus set apart for each, and the public approved, who knew them well; Æsop suddenly stood up in the midst of the multitude, {and exclaimed}: “O! if consciousness remained to their buried father, how would he grieve that the people of Athens are unable to interpret his will!”

On this, being questioned, he explained the error of them all: “The house and the furniture, with the fine gardens, and the old wines, give to the Worker in wool, so fond of a country life. The clothes, the pearls, the attendants, and other things, make over to her who spends her life in luxury. The fields, the vines, and the flocks, with the shepherds, present to the Wanton. Not one will be able to retain possession of what is alien to her taste. The Ungainly one will sell her wardrobe to procure wine; the Wanton will part with the lands to procure fine clothes; and she who delights in cattle, and attends to her spinning, will get rid of her luxurious abode at any price. Thus, no one will possess what was given, and they will pay to their Mother the sum named from the price of the things, which each of them has sold.”

Thus did the sagacity of one man find out what had baffled the superficial enquiries of many.

When the Mice, overcome by the army of the Weasels, (whose History is painted in {our} taverns[12]), took to flight, and crowded in trepidation about their narrow lurking-holes, with difficulty getting in, they managed, however, to escape death. Leaders, who had fastened horns to their heads, in order that they might have a conspicuous sign for {their} troops to follow in battle, stuck fast at the entrance, and were captured by the enemy. The victor, sacrificing them with greedy teeth, plunged them into the Tartarean recesses of his capacious paunch.

Whenever a people is reduced to the last extremity, the high position of its chiefs is in danger; the humble commonalty easily finds safety in obscurity.

You, fastidious {critic}, who carp at my writings, and disdain to read trifles of this kind, endure with some small patience this little book, while I smooth down the severity of your brow, and Æsop comes forward in a new and more lofty style.[13]

Would that the pine had never fallen on the summits of Pelion[14] under the Thessalian axe! and that Argus had never, with the aid of Pallas, invented a way boldly to meet certain death, {in the} ship which, to the destruction of Greeks and Barbarians, first laid open the bays of the inhospitable Euxine. For both had the house of the proud Æetes to lament it, and the realms of Pelias[15] fell by the guilt of Medea, who, after concealing by various methods the cruelty of her disposition, there effected her escape, by means of the limbs[16] of her brother, {and} here embrued the hands of the daughters of Pelias in their father’s blood.

What think you of this? “This, too, is mere folly,” say you, “and is an untrue story; for long before this, Minos, of more ancient date, subjected the Ægæan seas with his fleet, and by seasonable correction, punished {piratical} attacks.” What then can I possibly do for you, my Cato of a Reader, if neither Fables[17] nor Tragic Stories suit your taste? Do not be too severe upon {all} literary men, lest they repay you the injury with interest.

This is said to those who are over-squeamish in their folly, and, to gain a reputation for wisdom, would censure heaven itself.

Let him who with greedy teeth attacks one who can bite harder, consider himself described in this Fable.

A Viper came[18] into a smith’s workshop; {and} while on the search whether there was anything fit to eat, fastened her teeth upon a File. That, however, disdainfully exclaimed “Why, fool, do you try to wound me with your teeth, who am in the habit of gnawing asunder every kind of iron?”

As soon as a crafty man has fallen into danger, he seeks to make his escape by the sacrifice of another.

A Fox, through inadvertence, having fallen into a well,[19] and being closed in by the sides which were too high for her, a Goat parched with thirst came to the same spot, and asked whether the water was good, and in plenty. The other, devising a stratagem, {replied}: “Come down, {my} friend: such is the goodness of the water, that my pleasure {in drinking} cannot be satisfied.” Longbeard descended; then the Fox, mounting on his high horns, escaped from the well, and left the Goat to stick fast in the enclosed mud.

Jupiter has loaded us with a couple of Wallets: the one, filled with our own vices, he has placed at our backs, {the other}, heavy with those of others, he has hung before.

From this circumstance, we are not able to see our own faults: but as soon as others make a slip, we are ready to censure.

A Thief lighted his Lamp at the altar of Jupiter, and then plundered it by the help of its own light. Just as he was taking his departure, laden with the results of his sacrilege, the Holy Place suddenly sent forth these words: “Although these were the gifts of the wicked, and to me abominable, so much so that I care not to be spoiled of them, still, profane man, thou shalt pay the penalty with thy life, when hereafter, the day of punishment, appointed by fate, arrives. But, that our fire, by means of which piety worships the awful Gods, may not afford its light to crime, I forbid that {henceforth} there shall be any such interchange of light.” Accordingly, to this day, it is neither lawful for a lamp {to be lighted} at the fire of the Gods, nor yet a sacrifice kindled from a lamp.[20]

[Footnote IV.20: _From a lamp_)--Ver. 13. The ancients were compelled to light sacrifices to the Gods from torches, and not with fire from a lamp. More usually a fire was kept constantly burning in the temple for the purpose.]

No other than he who invented this Fable, could explain how many useful lessons it affords. In the first place, it teaches that those whom you yourself have brought up, may often be found the most hostile to you: then again, it shows that crimes are punished not through the wrath of the Gods, but at the time appointed by the Fates: lastly, it warns the good to use nothing in common with the wicked.

Riches are deservedly despised by a man of worth,[21] because a well-stored chest intercepts praise from its true objects.

When Hercules was received into heaven as the reward of his virtues, and saluted in turn the Gods who were congratulating him, on Plutus approaching, who is the child of Fortune, he turned away his eyes. {His} father, {Jupiter}, enquired the reason: “I hate him,” says he, “because he is the friend of the wicked, and at the same time corrupts all by presenting the temptation of gain.”

Nothing is more advantageous to a man than to speak the truth; a maxim that ought indeed to be approved of by all; but still sincerity is frequently impelled to its own destruction.

The Lion having made himself king of the wild beasts, and wishing to acquire the reputation of equity, abandoned his former course {of rapine}, and, content among them with a moderate supply of food, distributed hallowed justice with incorruptible fidelity. But after second thoughts began to prevail[22]

The She-Goats[23] having obtained of Jupiter the favour of a beard, the He-Goats, full of concern, began to be indignant that the females rivalled them in their dignity. “Suffer them,” said {the God}, “to enjoy their empty honours, and to use the badge that belongs to your rank, so long as they are not sharers in your courage.”

This Fable teaches you to bear that those who are inferior to you in merit should be like you in outside appearances.

On a certain man complaining of his {adverse} fortune, Æsop, for the purpose of consoling him, invented {this Fable}.

A ship which had been tossed by a fierce tempest (while the passengers were all in tears, and filled with apprehensions of death) on the day suddenly changing to a serene aspect, began to be borne along in safety upon the buoyant waves, and to inspire the mariners with an excess of gladness. On this, the Pilot, who had been rendered wise by experience, {remarked}: “We ought to be moderate in our joy, and to complain with caution; for the whole of life is a mixture of grief and joy.”

The Dogs once sent[24] Ambassadors to Jupiter, to entreat of him a happier lot in life, and that he would deliver them from the insulting treatment of man, who gave them bread mixed with bran, and satisfied their most urgent hunger with filthy offal. The ambassadors set out, {but} with no hasty steps, while snuffing with their nostrils for food in every filth. Being summoned, they fail to make their appearance. After some difficulty Mercury finds them at last, and brings them up in confusion. As soon, however, as they saw the countenance of mighty Jove, in their fright they bewrayed the whole palace. Out they go, driven away with sticks; but great Jove forbade that they should be sent back. {The Dogs}, wondering that their Ambassadors did not return, {and} suspecting that they had committed something disgraceful, after a while ordered others to be appointed to aid them. Rumour {soon} betrayed the former Ambassadors. Dreading that something of a similar nature may happen a second time, they stuff the Dogs behind with perfumes, and plenty of them. They give their directions; the Ambassadors are dispatched; at once they take their departure. They beg for an audience, {and} forthwith obtain it. Then did the most mighty Father of the Gods take his seat {on his throne}, and brandish his thunders; all things began to shake. The Dogs in alarm, so sudden was the crash, in a moment let fall the perfumes with their dung. All cry out, that the affront must be avenged. {But} before proceeding to punishment, thus spoke Jupiter:-- “It is not for a King to send Ambassadors away, nor is it a difficult matter to inflict a {proper} punishment on the offence; but by way of judgment this is the reward you shall have. I don’t forbid their return, but they shall be famished with hunger, lest they be not able to keep their stomachs in order. And as for those who sent such despicable {Ambassadors} as you, they shall never be free from the insults of man.”

And so it is,[25] that even now {the Dogs} of the present day are in expectation of their Ambassadors. When one of them sees a strange {Dog} appear, he snuffs at his tail.

He who gives relief to the wicked has to repent it before long.

A Man took up a Snake stiffened with frost, and warmed her in his bosom, being compassionate to his own undoing; for when she had recovered, she instantly killed the Man. On another one asking her the reason of {this} crime, she made answer: “That people may learn not to assist the wicked.”[26]

While a Fox, digging a lair, was throwing out the earth, and making deeper and more numerous burrows, she came to the farthest recesses of a Dragon’s den,[27] who was watching some treasure hidden there. As soon as {the Fox} perceived him, {she began}:-- “In the first place, I beg that you will pardon my unintentional {intrusion}; and next, as you see clearly enough that gold is not suited to my mode of life, have the goodness to answer me: what profit do you derive from this toil, or what is the reward, so great that you should be deprived of sleep, and pass your life in darkness?” “None {at all},” replied the other; “but this {task} has been assigned me by supreme Jove.” “Then you neither take {anything} for yourself, nor give to another?” “Such is the will of the Fates.” “Don’t be angry {then}, if I say frankly: the man is born under the displeasure of the Gods who is like you.”

As you must go to that place to which {others} have gone before, why in the blindness of your mind do you torment your wretched existence? To you I address myself, Miser, joy of your heir,[28] who rob the Gods of their incense, yourself of food; who hear with sorrow the musical sound of the lyre; whom the joyous notes of the pipes torment; from whom the price of provisions extorts a groan;[29] who, while adding some farthings to your estate, offend heaven by your sordid perjuries; who are for cutting down[30] every expense at your funeral, for fear Libitina[31] should be at all a gainer at the expense of your property.

A learned man has always a fund of riches in himself.

Simonides, who wrote {such} excellent {lyric} poems, the more easily to support his poverty, began to make a tour of the celebrated cities of Asia, singing the praises of victors for such reward as he might receive. After he had become enriched by this kind of gain, he resolved to return to his native land by sea; (for he was born, it is said, in the island of Ceos[32]). {Accordingly} he embarked in a ship, which a dreadful tempest, together with its own rottenness, caused to founder at sea. Some gathered together their girdles,[33] others their precious effects, {which formed} the support of their existence. One who was over inquisitive, {remarked}: “Are you going to save none of your property, Simonides?” He made reply: “All my {possessions} are about me.” A few {only} made their escape by swimming, for the majority, being weighed down by their burdens, perished. Some thieves make their appearance, and seize what each person has saved, leaving them naked. Clazomenæ, an ancient city, chanced to be near; to which the shipwrecked persons repaired. Here a person devoted to the pursuits of literature, who had often read the lines of Simonides, and was a very great admirer of him though he had never seen him, knowing from his very language {who he was}, received him with the greatest pleasure into his house, and furnished him with clothes, money, and attendants. The others {meanwhile} were carrying about their pictures,[34] begging for victuals. Simonides chanced to meet them; and, as soon as he saw them, remarked: “I told you that all my property was about me; what you endeavoured to save is lost.”

A Mountain[35] was in labour, sending forth dreadful groans, and there was in the districts the highest expectation. After all, it brought forth a Mouse.

This is designed for you, who, when you have threatened great things, produce nothing.

An Ant and a Fly were contending with great warmth which was of the greater importance. The Fly was the first to begin: “Can you possibly compare with my endowments? When a sacrifice is made, I am the first to taste of the entrails that belong to the Gods. I pass my time among the altars, I wander through all the temples; soon as I have espied it, I seat myself on the head of a king; and I taste of the chaste kisses of matrons. I labour not, and yet enjoy the nicest of things: what like to this, {good} rustic, falls to your lot?” “Eating with the Gods,” said the Ant, “is certainly a thing to be boasted of; but by him who is invited, not him who is loathed {as an intruder}. You talk about kings and the kisses of matrons. While I am carefully heaping up a stock of grain for winter, I see you feeding on filth about the walls. You frequent the altars; yes, and are driven away as often as you come. You labour not; therefore it is that you have nothing when you stand in need of it. And, further, you boast about what modesty ought to conceal. You tease me in summer; when winter comes you are silent. While the cold is shrivelling you up and putting you to death, a well-stored abode harbours me. Surely I have now pulled down your pride enough.”

A Fable of this nature distinctly points out the characters of those who set themselves off with unfounded praises, and of those whose virtues gain solid fame.

I have said, above, how greatly learning is esteemed among men: I will now hand down to posterity how great is the honor paid to it by the Gods.

Simonides, the very same of whom I have {before} made mention, agreed, at a fixed price, to write a panegyric for a certain Pugilist,[36] who had been victorious: {accordingly} he sought retirement. As the meagreness of his subject cramped his imagination, he used, according to general custom, the license of the Poet, and introduced the twin stars of Leda,[37] citing them as an example of similar honours. He finished the Poem according to contract, but received {only} a third part of the sum agreed upon. On his demanding the rest: “They,” said he, “will give it you whose praises occupy {the other} two-thirds; but, that I may feel convinced that you have not departed in anger, promise to dine with me, {as} I intend to-day to invite my kinsmen, in the number of whom I reckon you.” Although defrauded, and smarting under the injury, in order that he might not, by parting on bad terms, break off all friendly intercourse, he promised that he would. At the hour named he returned, {and} took his place at table. The banquet shone joyously with its cups; the house resounded with gladness, amid vast preparations, when, on a sudden, two young men, covered with dust, and dripping with perspiration, their bodies of more than human form, requested one of the servants to call Simonides to them, {and say} that it was of consequence to him to make no delay. The man, quite confused, called forth Simonides; {and} hardly had he put one foot out of the banquetting room, when suddenly the fall of the ceiling crushed the rest, and no young men were to be seen at the gate.

When the circumstances of the story I have told were made known, all were persuaded that the personal intervention of the Divinities had saved the Poet’s life by way of reward.

Two Soldiers having fallen in with a Robber, one fled, while the other stood his ground, and defended himself with a stout right-hand. The Robber slain, his cowardly companion comes running up, and draws his sword; then throwing back his travelling cloak,[4] says: “Let’s have him;” “I’ll take care he shall soon know whom he attacks.” On this, he who had vanquished {the robber made answer}: “I wish you had seconded me just now at least with those words; I should have been still more emboldened, believing them true; now keep your sword quiet, as well as your silly tongue, that you may be able to deceive others who don’t know you. I, who have experienced with what speed you take to your heels, know full well that no dependence is to be placed upon your valour.”

This story may be applied to him who is courageous in prosperity, in times of danger takes to flight.

A Fly bit the bare pate of a Bald Man; who, endeavouring to crush it, gave himself a heavy blow. Then said the Fly jeeringly: “You wanted to revenge the sting of a tiny insect with death; what will you do to yourself, who have added insult to injury?” {The Man} made answer: “I am easily reconciled to myself, because I know that there was no intention of doing harm. But you, worthless insect, and one of a contemptible race, who take a delight in drinking human blood, I could wish to destroy you, even at a heavier penalty.”

This Fable teaches that pardon is to be granted to him who errs through mistake. But him who is designedly mischievous, I deem to be deserving of {any} punishment.

A Man having sacrificed a young boar to the god Hercules, to whom he owed performance of a vow {made} for the preservation of his health, ordered the remains of the barley to be set for the Ass. But he refused {to touch it}, and said: “I would most willingly accept your food, if he who had been fed upon it had not had his throat cut.”

Warned by the significance of this Fable, I have always been careful to avoid the gain that exposed to hazard. “But,” say you, “those who have got riches by rapine, are {still} in possession of them.” Come, then, let us enumerate those, who, being detected, have come to a bad end; you will find that those {so} punished constitute a great majority.

Rashness brings luck to a few, misfortune to most.

Men are in the habit of erring through prejudice; and while they stand up in defence of their erroneous notions, {are wont} to be driven by plain facts to confession of their mistakes.

A rich Man, about to entertain the people with grand shows, invited all, by the promise of a reward, to exhibit whatever new piece of ingenuity any one could. The Performers came to the contest for fame, among whom a Buffoon, well known for his drollery, said that he had a kind of entertainment which had never yet been brought out at {any} theatre. The rumour, spreading, brought together the {whole} city; and the places, empty shortly before, sufficed not for the multitude. But as soon as he appeared on the stage, alone, {and} without any apparatus, any stage-assistants, the very intenseness of expectation produced silence. Suddenly, he dropped down his head towards his bosom, and so well did he imitate the voice of a pig with his own, that they concluded there was a real one under his cloak, and ordered it to be shaken out. This being done, as soon as they found that nothing was discovered, they loaded the Man with many praises, and bestowed upon him the greatest applause.

A Countryman seeing this take place: “Egad,” said he, “he shan’t surpass me;” and immediately gave out that he would do the same thing still better on the following day. A still greater crowd assembled. Prejudice had already taken possession of their minds, and they took their seats, determined to deride, and not as {unbiassed} spectators. Both Performers come forth. First, the Buffoon grunts away, and excites their applause, and awakens their acclamations. Next, the Countryman, pretending that he concealed a pig beneath his clothes (which, in fact, he did; but quite unsuspected, because they had found none about the other), twitched the ear of the real {pig}, which he was concealing, and with the pain forced from it its natural cry. The people shouted with one voice that the Buffoon had given a much more exact imitation, and ordered the Countryman to be driven from the stage. On this, he produced the pig itself from the folds of his cloak, and convicting them of their disgraceful mistake by a manifest proof: “Look,” said {he}, “this shows what sort of judges you are.”

A Bald Man chanced to find a comb in the public road. Another, equally destitute of hair, came up: “Come,” said he, “shares, whatever it is you have found.” The other showed the booty, and added withal: “The will of the Gods has favoured us, but through the malignity of fate, we have found, as the saying is, a coal instead of a treasure.”

This complaint befits him whom hope has disappointed.

When a weak mind, beguiled by frivolous applause, has once given way to insolent self-sufficiency, {such} foolish vanity is easily exposed to ridicule.

Princeps, the Flute-player, was pretty well known, being accustomed to accompany Bathyllus[5] with his music on the stage. It chanced that, at a representation, I don’t well remember what it was, while the flying-machine[6] was being whirled along, he fell heavily, through inadvertence, and broke his left leg, when he would much rather have parted with two right ones.[7] He was picked up and carried to his house groaning aloud. Some months pass by before his cure is completed. As is the way with the spectators, for {they are} a merry race, the man began to be missed, by whose blasts the vigour of the dancer was wont to be kept at full stretch.

A certain Nobleman was about to exhibit a show, just when Princeps was beginning to walk abroad. With a present {and} entreaties he prevailed upon him merely to present himself on the day of the show. When the day came a rumour about the Flute-player ran through the theatre. Some affirmed that he was dead, some that he would appear before them without delay. The curtain falling,[8] the thunders rolled,[9] and the Gods conversed in the usual form. At this moment the Chorus struck up a song unknown to him who had so recently returned; of which the burthen was this: “Rejoice, Rome, in security, for your prince [{Princeps}] is well.” All rise with one consent and applaud. The Flute-player kisses hands, {and} imagines that his friends are congratulating him. The Equestrian order perceive the ridiculous mistake, and with loud laughter encore the song. It is repeated. My man {now} throws himself {sprawling} at full length upon the stage.[10] Ridiculing him, the Knights applaud; while the people fancy he is {only} asking for a chaplet. When, however, the reality came to be known throughout all the tiers, Princeps, his leg bound up with a snow-white fillet, clad in snow-white tunic, {and} snow-white shoes,[11] while pluming himself on the honors really paid to the Deified House,[12] was thrust out headlong by common consent.

A Bald Man, balancing on a razor’s edge, fleet of foot, his forehead covered with hair,[13] his body naked--if you have caught him, hold him fast; when he has once escaped, not Jupiter himself can overtake him: he is the emblem how shortlived is Opportunity.

The ancients devised such a portraiture of Time, {to signify} that slothful delay should not hinder the execution of our purposes.

When a Bull was struggling with his horns in a narrow passage, and could hardly effect an entrance to the manger, a Calf began to point out in what way he might turn himself: “Hush,” said {the Bull}, “I knew that before you were born.”

Let him who would instruct a wiser man, consider {this as} said to himself.

A Dog, who had always given satisfaction to his master by his boldness against swift and savage beasts, began to grow feeble under increasing years. On one occasion, being urged to the combat with a bristling Boar, he seized him by the ear; but, through the rottenness of his teeth, let go his prey. Vexed at this, the Huntsman upbraided the Dog. Old Barker[14] {replied}: “It is not my courage that disappoints you, but my strength. You commend me for what I have been; and you blame me that I am not {what I was}.”

You, Philetus,[15] may easily perceive why I have written this.

The Greedy Man is not willing to give even from his superabundance._

An Ape asked a Fox for a part of her tail, that he might decently cover his naked hinder parts therewith; but the ill-natured creature {replied}: “Although it grow {even} longer {than it is}, still I will sooner drag it through mud and brambles, than give you ever so small a part {thereof}.”

We must not require what is unreasonable._

If Nature had[2] formed the human race according to my notions, it would have been far better endowed: for she would have given us every good quality that indulgent Fortune has bestowed on {any} animal: the strength of the Elephant, and the impetuous force of the Lion, the age of the Crow, the majestic port of the fierce Bull, the gentle tractableness of the fleet Horse; and Man should still have had the ingenuity that is peculiarly his own. Jupiter in heaven laughs to himself, no doubt, he who, in his mighty plan, denied these {qualities} to men, lest our audacity should wrest {from him} the sceptre of the world. Contented, therefore, with the gifts of unconquered Jove, let us pass the years of our time allotted by fate, nor attempt more than mortality permits.

Another Fable on the same subject._

Once on a time, two Women had given their guest, Mercury, a mean and sordid entertainment; one of the women had a little son in the cradle, while the profession of a Courtesan had its charms for the other. In order, therefore that he might give a suitable return for their services, when about to depart, and just crossing the threshold, he said: “In me you behold a God; I will give you at once whatever each may wish.” The Mother makes her request, and asks that she may immediately see her Son graced with a beard; the Courtesan {requests} that whatever she touches may follow her. Mercury flies away--the women return in-doors: behold the infant, with a beard, is crying aloud. The Courtesan happened to laugh heartily at this, on which the humours {of the head} filled her nostrils, as is often the case. Intending therefore to blow her nose, she seized it with her hand, and drew out its length to the ground; and {thus}, while laughing at another, she became herself a subject for laughter.[3]

On Truth and Falsehood._

When once Prometheus, the framer of a new race, had formed Truth from fine earth, that she might be able to dispense justice among mankind, being suddenly summoned by the messenger of great Jove, he left {his} workshop in charge of treacherous Cunning, whom he had lately received in apprenticeship. The latter, inflamed by zeal, with clever hand formed an image of similar appearance, corresponding stature, and like in every limb, so far as the time permitted. When nearly the whole had now been wondrously set up, he found he had no clay to make the feet. {His} master came back, and Cunning, confused by fear at his quick return, sat down in his own place. Prometheus, admiring so strong a resemblance, wished the merit to appear to belong to his own skill, {and} therefore placed the two images together in the furnace. When they were thoroughly baked, and life had been breathed into them, hallowed Truth moved on with modest gait; but her imperfect copy remained fixed on the spot. Thence the spurious image, the result of the stealthy work, was called Mendacity,[4] because they say, she has no feet,--an assertion with which I readily agree.

Nothing is long concealed._

* * * Pretended vices are sometimes profitable to men, but still the truth appears in time.

The meaning is to be considered, not the mere words._

The story of Ixion, whirling round upon the wheel, teaches {us} what a rolling thing is fortune. Sisyphus, with immense labour, pushing the stone up the lofty hill, which ever, his labour lost, rolls back from the top, shows that men’s miseries are endless. When Tantalus is athirst, standing in the midst of the river, the greedy are described, whom a sufficiency of blessings surrounds, but none can they enjoy. The wicked Danaïds carry water in urns, and cannot fill their pierced vessels; just so, whatever you bestow on luxury, will flow out beneath. Wretched Tityus is stretched over nine acres,[6] presenting for dire punishment a liver that ever grows again: by this it is shown that the greater the extent of land a man possesses, the heavier are his cares. Antiquity purposely wrapped up the truth, in order that the wise might understand--the ignorant remain in error.

On the Oracle of Apollo._

Phœbus! who dost inhabit Delphi and the beauteous Parnassus, say what is most useful to us. Why do the locks of the holy prophetess stand erect; the tripods shake; the holy shrines resound; the laurels, too,[7] quiver, and the very day grow pale? Smitten by the Divinity, the Pythia utters {these} words, and the warning of the Delian God instructs the nations: “Practise virtue; pay your vows to the Gods above; defend your country, your parents, your children, {and} your chaste wives with arms; repel the foe with the sword; assist your friends; spare the wretched; favour the good; meet the treacherous face to face; punish offences; chastise the impious; inflict vengeance on those who, by base adultery, defile the marriage couch; beware of the wicked; trust no man too far.” Thus having said, the Maiden falls frenzied to the ground: frenzied, indeed, for what she said, she said in vain.

On a bad Author who praised himself._

A Person had recited[8] some worthless composition to Æsop, in which he had inordinately bragged about himself. Desirous, therefore, to know what the Sage thought {thereof}: “Does it appear to you,” said he, “that I have been too conceited? I have no empty confidence in my own capacity.” Worried to death with the execrable volume, Æsop replied: “I greatly approve of your bestowing praise on yourself, for it will never be your lot to receive it from another.”

How difficult it is to understand a man._

A Soldier of Pompeius Magnus, a man of huge bulk, by talking mincingly and walking with an affected gait, had acquired the character of an effeminate wretch, {and that} most fully established. Lying in wait by night for the beasts of burden of his General, he drives away the mules {laden} with garments and gold, and a vast weight of silver. A rumour of what has been done gets abroad; the soldier is accused, {and} carried off to the Prætorium. On this, Magnus {says to him}: “How say you? Have you dared to rob me, comrade?” The soldier forthwith spits into his left hand, and scatters about the spittle with his fingers. “Even thus, General,” says he, “may my eyes drip out, if I have seen or touched {your property}.” Then Magnus, a man of easy disposition, orders the false accusers to be sent about their business,[9] and will not believe the man guilty of so great audacity.

Not long afterwards a barbarian, confiding in his strength of hand, challenges one of the Romans. Each man fears to accept the challenge, and the leaders of highest rank mutter {among themselves}. At length, this effeminate wretch in appearance, but Mars in prowess, approached the General, who was seated on his tribunal, and, with a lisping voice, said “May I?”[10] But Magnus, getting angry, as {well he might}, the matter being so serious, ordered him to be turned out. Upon this, an aged man among the Chieftain’s friends, {remarked}: “I think it would be better for this person to be exposed to the hazards of Fortune, since in him our loss would be but small, than a valiant man, who, if conquered through {some} mischance, might entail upon you a charge of rashness.” Magnus acquiesced, and gave the Soldier permission to go out to meet {the champion}, whose head, to the surprise of the army, he whipped off sooner than you could say it, and returned victorious. Thereupon said Pompeius: “With great pleasure I present you with the soldier’s crown, because you have vindicated the honor of the Roman name; nevertheless,” said he, “may my eyes drip out” (imitating the unseemly act with which the Soldier had accompanied his oath), “if you did not carry off my property from among the baggage.”

On the Lustfulness of Women._

When Juno[11] was praising her own chastity, Venus did not lose the opportunity of a joke, and, to show that there was no female equal to herself {in that virtue}, is said to have asked this question of the Hen: “Tell me, will you, with how much food could you be satisfied?” The hen replied: “Whatever you give me will be enough; but still you must let me scratch a bit with my feet.” “To keep you from scratching,” said {the Goddess}, “is a measure of wheat enough?” “Certainly; indeed it is too much; but still do allow me to scratch.” “In fine,” {said Venus}, “what do you require, on condition of not scratching at all?” Then at last the hen confessed the weak point in her nature: “Though a {whole} barn were open for me, still scratch I must.” Juno is said to have laughed at the joke of Venus, for by the Hen she meant the Female Sex.

How a bad-tempered Son may be tamed._

A Father of a family had a passionate Son, who, as soon as he had got out of his fathers sight, inflicted many a blow upon the servants, and gave loose to the impetuous temper of youth. Æsop consequently told this short story to the old man.

A certain Man was yoking an old Ox along with a Calf; and when the Ox shunning {to bear} the yoke with a neck so unfit for it, alleged the failing strength of his years: “You have no reason to fear,” said the Countryman, “I don’t do this that you may labour, but that you may tame him, who with his heels and horns has made many lame.” Just so, unless you always keep your son by you, and by your management restrain his temper, take care that the broils in your house don’t increase to a still greater degree. Gentleness is the remedy for a bad temper.

How Boastfulness may sometimes be checked._

A Philosopher chancing to find the Victor in a gymnastic contest too fond of boasting, asked him whether his adversary had been the stronger man. {To this} the other {replied}: “Don’t mention it; my strength was far greater.” “Then, you simpleton,” retorted {the Philosopher}, “what praise do you deserve, if you, being the stronger, have conquered one who was not so powerful? You might perhaps have been tolerated if you had told us that you had conquered one who was your superior in strength.”

How Genius is often wasted through Misfortune._

An Ass espied a Lyre lying in a meadow: he approached and tried the strings with his hoof; they sounded at his touch. “By my faith, a pretty thing,” said he; “it happens unfortunately that I am not skilled in the art. If any person of greater skill had found it, he might have charmed my ears with divine notes.”

So Genius is often wasted through Misfortune.

The great Inconstancy and Lustfulness of Women._

A certain Woman[14] had for some years lost her beloved Husband, and had placed his body in a tomb; and as she could by no means be forced from it, and passed her life in mourning at the sepulchre, she obtained a distinguished character for strict chastity. In the meantime, some persons who had plundered the temple of Jupiter suffered the penalty of crucifixion. In order that no one might remove their remains, soldiers were appointed as guards of the dead bodies, close by the monument in which the woman had shut herself up. Some time after, one of the Guards, being thirsty, asked, in the middle of the night, for some water, of a servant-maid, who chanced just then to be assisting her mistress, who was going to rest; for she had been watching by a lamp, and had prolonged her vigils to a late hour. The door being a little open, the Soldier peeps in, and beholds a Woman, emaciated indeed, but of beauteous features. His smitten heart is immediately inflamed, and he gradually burns with unchaste desires. His crafty shrewdness invents a thousand pretences for seeing her more frequently. Wrought upon by daily intercourse, by degrees she became more complaisant to the stranger, and soon enthralled his heart by a closer tie. While the careful Guard is here passing his nights, a body is missed from one of the crosses. The Soldier in his alarm relates to the Woman what has happened; but the chaste Matron replies: “You have no grounds for fear;” and gives up the body of her Husband to be fastened to the cross, that he may not undergo punishment for his negligence.

Thus did profligacy usurp the place of honour.

Fortune sometimes favours Men beyond their hopes and expectations._

Two Youths were courting a Maiden at the same time; the Rich man got the better of the birth and good looks of the Poor one. When the appointed day for the nuptials had arrived, the woe-begone Lover, because he could not endure his grief, betook himself to some gardens near at hand; a little beyond which, the splendid villa of the Rich man was about to receive the Maiden from her mother’s bosom, as his house in the city seemed not to be roomy enough. The marriage procession is arranged, a great crowd flocks to the scene, and Hymenæus gives the marriage torch. Now an Ass, which used to gain a living for the Poor man, was standing at the threshold of a gate; and it so happens the maidens lead him along, that the fatigues of the way may not hurt the tender feet {of the Bride}. On a sudden, by the pity of Venus, the heavens are swept by winds, the crash of thunder resounds through the firmament, and brings on a rough night with heavy rain; light is withdrawn from their eyes, and at the same moment a storm of hail, spreading in all directions, beats upon them, frightening and scattering them on all sides, compelling each to seek safety for himself in flight. The Ass runs under the well-known roof close at hand, and with a loud voice gives notice of his presence. The servants run out of doors, behold with admiration the beautiful Maiden, and then go and tell their master. He, seated at table with a few companions, was consoling his passion with repeated draughts. When the news was brought him, exulting with delight, {both} Bacchus and Venus exhorting him, he celebrated his joyous nuptials amid the applauses of his comrades. The bride’s parents sought their daughter through the crier, {while} the intended Husband grieved at the loss of his Wife. After what had taken place became known to the public, all agreed in approving of the favour shown by the Gods of heaven.

How injurious it often is to tell the Truth._

Æsop being in the service of an Ugly Woman, who wasted the whole day in painting herself up, and used fine clothes, pearls, gold, {and} silver, yet found no one who would touch her with a finger: “May I {say} a few words?” said he. “Say on,” {she replied}. “{Then} I think,” {said he}, “that you will effect anything you wish, if you lay aside your ornaments.” “Do I then seem to you so much preferable by myself?” {said she}. “Why, no; if you don’t make presents, your bed will enjoy its repose.” “But your sides,” she replied, “shan’t enjoy their repose;”[15] and ordered the talkative Slave to be flogged. Shortly after a thief took away a silver bracelet. When the Woman was told that it could not be found, full of fury she summoned all {her slaves}, and threatened them with a severe flogging if they did not tell the truth. “Threaten others,” said {Æsop}, “indeed you won’t trick me, mistress; I was lately beaten with the whip because I told the truth.”

An extreme feeling of Security often leads Men into Danger._

A Cock had some Cats to carry him in his litter: a Fox on seeing him borne along in this pompous manner, said: “I advise you to be on your guard against treachery, for if you were to examine the countenances of those creatures, you would pronounce that they are carrying a booty, not a burden.” As soon as the savage brotherhood[16] began to be hungry, they tore their Master to pieces, and went shares in the proceeds of their guilt.

We must first make trial of a Man before we entrust ourselves to him._

A Sow was lying and groaning, her travail coming on; a Wolf came running to her aid, and, offering his assistance, said that he could perform the duties of midwife. She, however, understanding the treachery of the wicked animal, rejected the suspicious services of the evil-doer, and said: “If you keep at a greater distance it is enough.”

But had she entrusted herself to the perfidious Wolf, she would have had just as much pain to cry for, and her death {into the bargain}.

There is no necessity to add evil to evil._

A Slave, when running away from a Master of severe disposition, met Æsop, to whom he was known as a neighbour: “Why {are} you in such a hurry?” {said Æsop}. “I’ll tell you candidly, father,” {said the other}, “for you are worthy to be called by that name, as our sorrows are safely entrusted to you. Stripes are in superabundance; victuals fail: every now and then I am sent to the farm as a slave to the rustics {there}: if he dines at home I am kept standing by him all night, or if he is invited out, I remain until daylight in the street. I have fairly earned my liberty; but with grey hairs I am {still} a slave. If I were conscious to myself of any fault, I should bear this patiently: I never have had a bellyful, and, unhappy that I am, I have to put up with a severe master besides. For these reasons, and {for others} which it would take too long to recount, I have determined to go wherever my feet may carry me.” “Listen then,” said Æsop; “When you have committed no fault, you suffer these inconveniences as you say: what if you had offended? What do you suppose you would {then} have had to suffer?”

By such advice he was prevented from running away.

Whatever happens, we must bear it with equanimity._

A certain Man withdrew from his chariot a Horse, ennobled by many victories, and sold him for the mill. As he was being led out of doors from the mill-stones to water, he saw his fellows going towards the Circus, to celebrate the joyous contests at the games. With tears starting forth, he said, “Go on and be happy; celebrate without me the festive day in the race; at the place to which the accursed hand of the thief has dragged me, will I lament my sad fate.”

Hunger sharpens the wits._

If at any time[17] sustenance is wanting to the Bear in the woods, he runs to the rocky shore, and, grasping a rock, gradually lets down his shaggy thighs into the water; and as soon as the Crabs have stuck to the long hair, betaking himself to shore, the crafty fellow shakes off his sea-spoil, and enjoys the food that he has collected in every quarter. Thus even in Fools does hunger sharpen the wits.

Men are very frequently imposed upon by words._

A Man while going through the fields along his solitary path, heard the word “Hail!” whereat he stopped for a moment, but seeing no one, went on his way. Again the same sound saluted him from a hidden spot; encouraged by the hospitable voice, he stopped short, that whoever it was might receive the like civility. When, looking all about, he had remained long in perplexity, and had lost the time in which he might have walked some miles, a Raven showed himself, and hovering above him, continually repeated “Hail!” Then, perceiving that he had been deluded: “Perdition seize you,” said he, “most mischievous bird, to have thus delayed me when I was in such a hurry.”

Nothing is secret which shall not be made manifest._[18]

A Shepherd had broken[19] the horn of a She-Goat with his staff, {and} began to entreat her not to betray him to his Master. “Although unjustly injured,” {said she}, “still, I shall be silent; but the thing itself will proclaim your offence.”

When the Lion’s skin fails, the Fox’s must be employed; that is to say, when strength fails, we must employ craftiness._

A Serpent chanced to catch a Lizard by the tail; but when she tried to devour it with open throat, it snatched up a little twig that lay close at hand, and, holding it transversely with pertinacious bite, checked the greedy jaws, agape to devour it, by this cleverly contrived impediment. So the Serpent dropped the prey from her mouth unenjoyed.

Many are in the habit of injuring the weak and cringing to the powerful._

An pestilent Crow had taken her seat upon a Sheep; which after carrying her a long time on her back and much against her inclination, remarked: “If you had done thus to a Dog with his sharp teeth, you would have suffered for it.” To this the rascally {Crow replied}: “I despise the defenceless, and I yield to the powerful; I know whom to vex, and whom to flatter craftily; by these means I put off my old age for years.”

There is no curse more severe than a bad conscience._

A Servant having been guilty[20] of a secret offence in debauching the wife of his master, on the latter coming to know of it, he said, in the presence of those standing by: “Are you quite pleased with yourself? For, when you ought not, you do please yourself; but not with impunity, for when you ought to be pleased, you cannot be.”

Many are kind in words, faithless at heart._

A Hare was flying from the Huntsman with speedy foot, and being seen by a Herdsman, as she was creeping into a thicket: “By the Gods of heaven, I beg of you,” said she, “and by all your hopes, do not betray me, Herdsman; I have never done any injury to this field.”[21] “Don’t be afraid,” the Countryman replied, “remain concealed without apprehension.” And now the Huntsman coming up, {enquired}: “Pray, Herdsman, has a Hare come this way?” “She did come, but went off that way to the left;” {he answered}, winking and nodding to the right. The Huntsman in his haste did not understand him, and hurried out of sight.

Then {said} the Herdsman: “Are you not glad that I concealed you?” “I don’t deny,” said she, “that to your tongue I owe most sincere thanks, and I return them, but I wish you may be deprived of your perfidious eyes.”

Many things are pleasing which still are not to our advantage._

While a perfidious Courtesan was fawning upon a Youth, and he, though wronged {by her} many a time and oft, still showed himself indulgent to the Woman, the faithless {Creature thus addressed him}: “Though many contend {for me} with {their} gifts, still do I esteem you the most.” The Youth, recollecting how many times he had been deceived, replied: “Gladly, my love, do I hear these words; not because you are constant, but because you administer to my pleasures.”

Many would escape, if for the sake of safety they would disregard their comforts._

The Beaver (to which the talkative Greeks have given the name of Castor, thus bestowing upon an animal the name of a God[22]--they who boast of the abundance of their epithets) when can no longer escape the dogs, is said to bite off his testicles, because he is aware that it is for them he is sought; a thing which I would not deny being done through an instinct granted by the Gods; for as soon as the Huntsman has found the drug, he ceases his pursuit, and calls off the dogs.

If men could manage, so as to be ready to part with what they own, in order to live in safety for the future, there would be no one to devise stratagems to the detriment of the naked body.

Not past but present Fortune must be regarded._

A Butterfly[23] seeing a Wasp flying by: “Oh, sad is our lot,” said she, “derived from the depths of hell, from the recesses of which we have received our existence. I, eloquent in peace, brave in battle, most skilled in every art, whatever I once was, behold, light and rotten, and mere ashes do I fly.[24] You, who were a Mule[25] with panniers, hurt whomsoever you choose, by fixing your sting in him.” The Wasp, too, uttered these words, well suited to her disposition: “Consider not what we were, but what we now are.”

Confidence is not to be placed in the wicked._

A Bird which the Rustics call a Ground-Swallow ({terraneola}), because it makes its nest in the ground, chanced to meet a wicked Fox, on seeing whom she soared aloft on her wings. “Save you,” said the other; “why, pray, do you fly from me, as though I had not abundance of food in the meadows,--crickets, beetles, {and} plenty of locusts. You have nothing to fear, I beg {to assure you}; I love you dearly for your quiet ways, and your harmless life.” {The Bird} replied: “You speak very fairly, indeed; however, I am not near you, but up in the air; I shall therefore proceed, and that is the way in which I trust my life to you.”

Of those who read this book._

Whatever my Muse has here written in sportive mood, both malice and worth equally join in praising; but the latter with candour, while the other is secretly annoyed.

He who cannot endure his own misfortune, let him look at others, and learn patience.

On one occasion, the Hares being scared in the woods by a great noise, cried out, that, on account of their continued alarms, they would end their lives. So they repaired to a certain pond, into which, in their despondency, they were going to throw themselves. Alarmed at their approach, some Frogs fled distractedly into the green sedge. “Oh!” says one {of the hares}, “there are others too whom fear of misfortune torments. Endure existence as others do.”

No fortune conceals baseness of nature.

Jupiter having changed a Fox into a human shape, while she was sitting as a Mistress on a royal throne, she saw a beetle creeping out of a corner, and sprang nimbly towards the well-known prey. The Gods of heaven smiled; the Great Father was ashamed, and expelled the Concubine, repudiated and disgraced, addressing her in these words: “Live on in the manner that you deserve, you, who cannot make a worthy use of my kindness.”

This Fable teaches that no one should hurt those of more humble condition.

While a Lion was asleep in a wood, where some Field-Mice were sporting about, one of them by chance leaped upon the Lion as he lay. The Lion awoke and seized the wretched {creature} with a sudden spring. The captive implored pardon {and} suppliantly confessed his crime, a sin of imprudence. The Monarch, not deeming it a glorious thing to exact vengeance for this, pardoned him and let him go. A few days after, the Lion, while roaming by night, fell into a trap. When he perceived that he was caught in the snare, he began to roar with his loudest voice. At this tremendous noise the Mouse instantly ran to his assistance, and exclaimed: “You have no need to fear; I will make an adequate return for your great kindness.” Immediately he began to survey all the knots and the fastenings of the knots; and gnawing the strings after he had examined them, loosened the snare. Thus did the Mouse restore the captured Lion to the woods.

Those perish, who give assistance to their foes.

A certain Man, having made an axe, besought the Trees to afford him a handle from their wood that would prove firm: they all desired that a piece of Olive-tree should be given. He accepted the offer, and, fitting on the handle, set to work with the axe to hew down the huge trunks. While he was selecting such as he thought fit, the Oak is reported thus to have said to the Ash: “We richly deserve to be cut down.”

A Mouse, in order that he might pass over a river with greater ease, sought the aid of a Frog. She tied the fore leg of the Mouse to her hinder thigh. Hardly had they swum to the middle of the river, when the Frog dived suddenly, trying to reach the bottom, that she might perfidiously deprive the Mouse of life. While he struggled with all his might not to sink, a Kite that was flying near at hand, beheld the prey, and seizing the floundering Mouse in his talons, at the same time bore off the Frog that was fastened to him.

Thus do men often perish while meditating the destruction others.

A Cock who had often fought with {another} Cock, and been beaten, requested a Hawk {to act as} umpire in the contest. The latter conceived hopes, if both should come, of devouring him who should first present himself. Shortly after, when he saw that they had come to plead their cause, he seized the one who first brought his case into court. The victim clamorously exclaimed: “’Tis not I that should be punished, but the one who took to flight;” the Bird {replied}: “Do not suppose that you can this day escape my talons; it is just that you should now yourself endure the treacheries you were planning for another.”[2]

He who often cogitates upon the death of others, little knows what sad Fate he may be preparing for himself.

A Snail, smitten with admiration of a Mirror which she had found, began to climb its shining face, and lick it, fancying she could confer no greater favour upon it, than to stain its brightness with her slime. An Ape, when he saw the Mirror {thus} defiled, remarked: “He who allows himself to be trodden by such {beings}, deserves to suffer such a disgrace.”

This Fable is written for those Women who unite themselves to ignorant and foolish Men.

A City Mouse being once entertained at the table of a Country one, dined on humble acorns in a hole. Afterwards he prevailed upon the Countryman by his entreaties to enter the city and a cellar that abounded with the choicest things. Here, while they were enjoying remnants of various kinds, the door is thrown open, and in comes the Butler; the Mice, terrified at the noise, fly in different directions, and the City one easily hides himself in his well-known holes; while the unfortunate Rustic, all trepidation in that strange house, and dreading death, runs to-and-fro along the walls. When the Butler had taken what he wanted, and had shut the door, the City Mouse bade the Country one again to take courage. The latter, still in a state of perturbation, replied: “I hardly can take any food for fear. Do you think he will come?” --“Why are you in such a fright?” said the City one; “come, let us enjoy dainties which you may seek in vain in the country.” The Countryman {replied}: “You, who don’t know what it is to fear, will enjoy all these things; but, free from care and at liberty, may acorns be my food!”

’Tis better to live secure in poverty, than to be consumed by the cares attendant upon riches.

An Ass, seeing the Dog fawn upon his master, and how he was crammed at his table each day, and had bits thrown to him in abundance by the Servants, thus remarked: “If the Master and the Servants are so very fond of a most filthy Dog, what must it be with me, if I should pay him similar attentions, who am much better than this Dog, and useful and praiseworthy in many respects; who am supported by the pure streams of undefiled water, and never in the habit of feeding upon nasty food? Surely I am more worthy than a whelp to enjoy a happy life, and to obtain the highest honor.” While the Ass is thus soliloquising, he sees his Master enter the stable; so running up to him in haste and braying aloud, he leaps upon him, claps both feet on his shoulders, begins to lick his face; and tearing his clothes with his dirty hoofs, he fatigues his Master with his heavy weight, as he stupidly fawns upon him. At their Master’s outcry the Servants run to the spot, and seizing everywhere such sticks and stones as come in their way, they punish the braying {beast}, and knocking him off his Master’s body, soon send him back, half-dead to the manger, with sore limbs and battered rump.

{This} Fable teaches that a fool is not to thrust himself upon those who do not want him, or affect to perform the part of one superior {to him}.

A Crane and a Crow had made a league on oath, that the Crane should protect the Crow against the Birds, {and} that the Crow should foretell the future, so that the Crane might be on her guard. After this, on their frequently flying into the fields of a certain Countryman, and tearing up by the roots what had been sown, the owner of the field saw it, and being vexed, cried out: “Give me a stone, Boy, that I may hit the Crane.” When the Crow heard this, at once she warned the Crane, who took all due precaution. On another day, too, the Crow hearing him ask for a stone, again warned the Crane carefully to avoid the danger. The Countryman, suspecting that the divining Bird heard his commands, said to the Boy: “If I say, give me a cake, do you secretly hand me a stone.” The Crane came {again}; he bade the Boy give him a cake, but the Boy gave him a stone, with which he hit the Crane, and broke her legs. The Crane, on being wounded, said: “Prophetic Crow, where now are your auspices? Why did you not hasten to warn your companion, as you swore you would, that no such evil might befall me?” The Crow made answer: “It is not my art that deserves to be blamed; but the purposes of double-tongued people are so deceiving, who say one thing and do another.”

Those who impose upon the inexperienced by deceitful promises, fail not to cajole them by-and-bye with pretended reasons.

Once on a time a Partridge was sitting in a lofty tree. A Fox came up, and began {thus} to speak: “O Partridge, how beautiful is your aspect! Your beak transcends the coral; your thighs the brightness of purple. And then, if you were to sleep, how much more beauteous you would be.” As soon as the silly Bird had closed her eyes, that instant the Fox seized the credulous thing. Suppliantly she uttered these words, mingled with loud cries: “O Fox, I beseech you, by the graceful dexterity of your exquisite skill, utter my name as before, and then you shall devour me.” The Fox, willing to speak, opened his mouth, and so the Partridge escaped destruction. Then said the deluded Fox: “What need was there for me to speak?” The Partridge retorted: “And what necessity was there for me to sleep, when my hour for sleep had not come?”

This is for those who speak when there is no occasion, and who sleep when it is requisite to be on the watch.

A Gnat having challenged a Bull to a trial of strength, all the People came to see the combat. Then {said} the Gnat: “’Tis enough that you have come to meet me in combat; for {though} little in my own idea, I am great in your judgment,” {and so saying}, he took himself off on light wing through the air, and duped the multitude, and eluded the threats of the Bull. {Now} if the Bull had kept in mind his strength of neck, and had contemned an ignoble foe, the vapouring of the trifler would have been all in vain.

He loses character who puts himself on a level with the undeserving.

A Steed, swelling {with pride} beneath his trappings, met an Ass, and because the latter, wearied with his load, made room very slowly: “Hardly,” said {the Horse}, “can I restrain myself from kicking you severely.” The Ass held his peace, only appealing with his groans to the Gods. The Horse in a short space of time, broken-winded with running, is sent to the farm. There the Ass espying him laden with dung, thus jeered him: “Where are your former trappings, vain boaster, who have now fallen into the misery which you treated with such contempt?”

Let not the fortunate man, unmindful of the uncertainty of fortune, despise the lowly one, seeing that he knows not what he may come to himself.

The Birds were at war with the Beasts, and the conquerors were defeated in their turn; but the Bat, fearing the doubtful issue of {the strife}, always betook himself to those whom he saw victorious. When they had returned to their former state of peace, the fraud was apparent to both sides; convicted therefore of a crime so disgraceful, {and} flying from the light, he thenceforth hid himself in deep darkness, always flying alone by night.

Whoever offers himself for sale to both sides, will live a life of disgrace, hateful to them both.

While a Hawk was sitting in a Nightingale’s nest, on the watch for a Hare, he found there some young ones. The Mother, alarmed at the danger of her offspring, flew up, and suppliantly entreated him to spare her young ones. “I will do what you wish,” he replied, “if you will sing me a tuneful song with a clear voice.” On this, much as her heart failed her, still, through fear, she obeyed, and being compelled, full of grief she sang. The Hawk, who had seized the prey, {then} said: “You have not sung your best;” and, seizing one of the young ones with his claws, began to devour it. A Fowler approaches from another direction, and stealthily extending his reed,[5] touches the perfidious {creature} with bird-lime, and drags him to the ground.

Whoever lays crafty stratagems for others, ought to beware that he himself be not entrapped by cunning.

A Wolf, in the course of time, had collected a store in his den, that he might have food, which he might enjoy at his ease for many months. A Fox, on learning this, went to the Wolf’s den, and {said} with tremulous voice: “Is all right, brother? For not having seen you on the look-out for prey in your woods, life has been saddened every day.” The Wolf, when he perceived the envy of his rival, {replied}: “You have not come hither from any anxiety on my account, but that you may get a share. I know what is your deceitful aim.” The Fox enraged, comes to a Shepherd, {and} says: “Shepherd, will you return me thanks, if to-day I deliver up to you the enemy of your flock, so that you need have no more anxiety?” The Shepherd {replied}: “I will serve you, and will with pleasure give you anything you like.” She points out the Wolf’s den to the Shepherd, who shuts him in, despatches him immediately with a spear, and gladly gratifies his rival with the property of another. When, however, the Fox had fallen into the Hunter’s hands, being caught and mangled by the Dogs, she said: “Hardly have I done an injury to another, ere I am now punished {myself}.”

Whoever ventures to injure another, ought to beware lest a greater evil befall himself.

When the Sheep and the Wolves[6] engaged in battle, the former, safe under the protection of the dogs, were victorious. The Wolves sent ambassadors, and demanded a peace, ratified on oath, on these terms; that the Sheep should give up the Dogs, and receive as hostages the whelps of the Wolves. The Sheep, hoping that lasting concord would be thus secured, did as the Wolves demanded. Shortly after, when the whelps began to howl, the Wolves, alleging as a pretext, that their young ones were being murdered, and that the peace had been broken by the Sheep, made a simultaneous rush on every side, and attacked the latter {thus} deprived of protectors; {and} so a late repentance condemned their folly in putting faith in their enemies.

If a person gives up to others the safeguard under which he has previously lived in security, he will afterwards wish it back, but in vain.

An Ape asked a Fox to spare him some part of her exceeding length of tail, with which he might be enabled to cover his most unseemly hinder parts. “For of what use,” said he, “is a tail of such extraordinary length? For what purpose do you drag such a vast weight along the ground?” The Fox {answered}: “Even if it were longer, and much bulkier, I would rather drag it along the ground and through mud and thorns, than give you a part; that you might not appear more comely through what covers me.”

Greedy and rich {man}, this Fable has a lesson for you, who, though you have a superabundance, still give nothing to the poor.

A Wolf, flying from the Huntsman’s close pursuit, was seen by a Shepherd, {who noticed} which way he fled, and in what spot he concealed himself. “Herdsman,” {said} the terrified fugitive, “by all your hopes, do not, I do adjure you by the great Gods, betray an innocent being, who has done you no injury.”

“Don’t fear,” the Shepherd replied; “I’ll point in another direction.” Soon after, the Huntsman comes up in haste: “Shepherd, have you not seen a Wolf come this way? Which way did he run?” The Shepherd replied, in a loud voice: “He certainly did come, but he fled to the left,” but he secretly motioned with his eyes towards the right. The other did not understand him, and went on in haste. Then {said} the Shepherd to the Wolf: “What thanks will you give me for having concealed you?” “To your tongue, I give especial ones,” said the Wolf, “but on your deceitful eyes I pray that the darkness of eternal night may fall.”

He who, courteous in his words, conceals deceit in his heart, may understand that he is himself described in this Fable.

A Liar and a Truthful Man, while travelling together, chanced to come into the land of the Apes. One of the number, who had made himself King, seeing them, ordered them to be detained, that he might learn what men said of him, {and} at the same time he ordered all the Apes to stand in lengthened array on the right and left; and that a throne should be placed for himself, as he had formerly seen was the practice with the Kings among men. After this he questions the men {so} ordered to be brought before him: “What do you think of me, strangers?” “You seem to be a most mighty King,” the Liar replied. “What of these whom you see now about me?” “These are ministers,[7] these are lieutenants, and leaders of troops.” The Ape thus lyingly praised, together with his crew, orders a present to be given to the flatterer. On this the Truth-teller {remarked} to himself: “If so great the reward for lying, with what gifts shall I not be presented, if, according to my custom, I tell the truth?” The Ape then {turns} to the Truthful Man: “And what do you think of me and those whom you see standing before me?” He made answer: “You are a genuine Ape, and all these {are} Apes, who are like you.” The King, enraged, ordered him to be torn with teeth and claws, because he had told the truth.

A courtly lie is praised by the wicked; plain-spoken truth brings destruction on the good.

A Man was disputing with a Lion which was the stronger of the two, and while they were seeking evidence on the matter in dispute, they came at last to a sepulchre, on which {the human disputant} pointed out a Lion, depicted with his jaws rent asunder by a Man--a striking proof of superior strength. The Lion made answer: “This was painted by a human hand; if Lions knew how to paint, you would see the man undermost. But I will give a more convincing proof of our valour.” He {accordingly} led the Man to some games,[8] where, calling his attention to men slain in reality by Lions, he said: “There is no need of the testimony of pictures here; real valour is shown by deeds.”

{This} Fable teaches that liars use colouring in vain, when a sure test is produced.

A Crow, sitting at her ease upon a Sheep’s back, pecked her with her beak. After she had done this for a long time, the Sheep, so patient under injury, remarked: “If you had offered this affront to the Dog, you could not have endured his barking.” But the Crow {thus answered} the Sheep: “I never sit on the neck of one so strong, as I know whom I may provoke; my years having taught me cunning, I am civil to the robust, but insolent to the defenceless. Of such a nature have the Gods thought fit to create me.”

{This} Fable was written for those base persons who oppress the innocent, {and} fear to annoy the bold.

In winter time, an Ant was dragging forth from her hole, and drying, the grains which, in her foresight, she had collected during the summer. A Grasshopper, being hungry, begged her to give him something: the Ant {replied}: “What were you doing in summer?” The other {said}: “I had not leisure to think of the future: I was wandering through hedges and meadows, singing away.” The Ant laughing, and carrying back the grains, said: “Very well, you who were singing away in the summer, dance in the winter.”

Let the sluggard always labour at the proper time, lest when he has nothing, he beg in vain.

An Ass asked a Horse for a little barley. “With all my heart,” said he, “if I had more than I wanted, I would give you plenty, in accordance with my dignified position; but bye-and-bye, as soon as I shall have come to my manger in the evening, I will give you a sackful of wheat.” The Ass replied: “If you now deny me on a trifling occasion, what am I to suppose you will do on one of greater importance?”

They who, while making great promises, refuse small favours, show that they are very tenacious of giving.

Worn with years, a Lion pretended illness. Many Beasts came for the purpose of visiting the sick King, whom at once he devoured. But a wary Fox stood at a distance before the den, saluting the King. On the Lion asking her why she did not come in: “Because,” {said she}, “I see many foot-marks of those who have gone in, but none of those who came out.”

The dangers of others are generally of advantage to the wary.

A Flea, chancing to sit on the back of a Camel who was going along weighed down with heavy burdens, was quite delighted with himself, as he appeared to be so much higher. After they had made a long journey, they came together in the evening to the stable. The Flea immediately exclaimed, skipping lightly to the ground: “See, I have got down directly, that I may not weary you any longer, {so} galled as you are.” The Camel {replied}: “I thank you; but neither when you were on me did I find myself oppressed by your weight, nor do I feel myself at all lightened now you have dismounted.”

He who, while he is of no standing, boasts to be of a lofty one, falls under contempt when he comes to be known.

A She-Goat, that she might keep her young one in safety, on going forth to feed, warned {her} heedless Kid not to open the door, because she knew that many wild beasts were prowling about the cattle stalls. When she was gone, there came a Wolf, imitating the voice of the dam, and ordered the door to be opened for him. When the Kid heard him, looking through a chink, he said to the Wolf: “I hear a sound like my Mother’s {voice}, but you are a deceiver, and an enemy to me; under my Mother’s voice you are seeking to drink my blood, and stuff yourself with my flesh. Farewell.”

’Tis greatly to the credit of children to be obedient to their parents.

In the house of a certain Poor Man, a Serpent was always in the habit of coming to his table, and being fed there plentifully upon the crumbs. Shortly after, the Man becoming rich, he began to be angry with the Serpent, and wounded him with an axe. After the lapse of some time he returned to his former poverty. When he saw that like the varying lot of the Serpent, his own fortunes also changed, he coaxingly begged him to pardon the offence. Then said the Serpent to him: “You will repent of your wickedness until my wound is healed; don’t suppose, however, that I take you henceforth with implicit confidence to be my friend. Still, I could wish to be reconciled with you, if only I could never recall to mind the perfidious axe.”

He deserves to be suspected, who has once done an injury; and an intimacy with him is always to be renewed with caution.

An Eagle was sitting on a branch with a Kite, in sorrowful mood. “Why,” {said} the Kite, “do I see you with such a melancholy air?” “I am looking out,” said she, “for a mate suited to myself, and cannot find one.” “Take me,” {said the Kite}, “who am so much stronger than you.” “Well, are you able to get a living by what you can carry away?” “Many’s the time that I have seized and carried off an ostrich in my talons.” Induced by his words, the Eagle took him as her mate. A short time having passed after the nuptials, the Eagle {said}: “Go and carry off for me the booty you promised me.” Soaring aloft, the Kite brings back a field-mouse, most filthy, and stinking from long-contracted mouldiness. “Is this,” said the Eagle, “the performance of your promise?” The Kite replied to her: “That I might contract a marriage with royalty, there is nothing I would not have pledged myself to do, although I knew that I was unable.”

Those who seek anxiously for partners of higher rank, painfully lament a deception that has united them to the worthless.