[Illustration: THE MAN AND THE WOODEN GOD.]
Some beast with horns did gore The lion; and that sovereign dread, Resolved to suffer so no more, Straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, All sorts of beasts with horns-- Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. Such brutes all promptly fled. A hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, Could hardly help believing That some vile spy for horns would take them, And food for accusation make them. "Adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket; I take my foreign ticket. My ears, should I stay here, Will turn to horns, I fear; And were they shorter than a bird's, I fear the effect of words." "These horns!" the cricket answer'd; "why, God made them ears who can deny?" "Yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns, And horns, perhaps, of unicorns! In vain shall I protest, With all the learning of the schools: My reasons they will send to rest In th' Hospital of Fools."
A beldam kept two spinning maids, Who plied so handily their trades, Those spinning sisters down below Were bunglers when compared with these. No care did this old woman know But giving tasks as she might please. No sooner did the god of day His glorious locks enkindle, Than both the wheels began to play, And from each whirling spindle Forth danced the thread right merrily, And back was coil'd unceasingly. Soon as the dawn, I say, its tresses show'd, A graceless cock most punctual crow'd. The beldam roused, more graceless yet, In greasy petticoat bedight, Struck up her farthing light, And then forthwith the bed beset, Where deeply, blessedly did snore Those two maid-servants tired and poor. One oped an eye, an arm one stretch'd, And both their breath most sadly fetch'd, This threat concealing in the sigh-- "That cursed cock shall surely die!" And so he did:--they cut his throat, And put to sleep his rousing note. And yet this murder mended not The cruel hardship of their lot; For now the twain were scarce in bed Before they heard the summons dread. The beldam, full of apprehension Lest oversleep should cause detention, Ran like a goblin through her mansion.
_Thus often, when one thinks_ _To clear himself from ill,_ _His effort only sinks_ _Him in the deeper still._ _The beldam acting for the cock,_ _Was Scylla for Charybdis' rock._