The tale of that bold bird who clutched the King Is told two ways. The second now I'll sing. A woodman that, by luck or wit, A Hawk had seized, went off with it, To lay it at his monarch's feet. Such captures we but seldom meet-- Once in a hundred years; indeed, 'Tis written in the falconer's creed That woodman who a Hawk can catch In nest, is any woodman's match. Through all the crowd of courtiers, then, Our huntsman, happiest of men, Thrust with his prize, at last secure His fortune now was firm and sure. But, just as he had reached the throne, Seized with a rage before unknown, The savage bird, untamed as yet, In spite of chained foot, turned and set His claws deep in his master's nose. All laughed, as you may well suppose-- The courtiers and the monarch, too; Such very comic sight to view, I'd give a crown, though it were new. If Popes may laugh, I'm not quite sure But kings could not their lives endure, If they might laugh not--'tis divine; And Jove, though mostly saturnine, With all his comrades, laughs, at times, Enough to shake these earthly climes. And Jove laughed loudest when, I think, Poor hobbling Vulcan gave him drink. Whether or no, 'tis well arranged That gods should laugh, my subject's changed, With reason; for 'tis time to ask What moral lies beneath the mask Of falconer unfortunate? This simple lesson I will state:-- To every land each cycle brings More foolish woodmen than good kings.
Against a Fox, a tree served well The Turkeys for a citadel. The cunning rascal made the round, And sentries at each opening found. "What! these fools mock me, then?" he cried, "And at the common lot deride? Forbid it, gods! forbid it, pride!" And this vow of his chivalry He soon performed, as you will see. The moon came just then shining out, As if the Turkeys' foes to rout; But he, no novice in assault Like this, was not, of course, at fault; And from his bag of schemes so sly Drew one, to trap the weak and shy. He feigns to climb, with rampant paws, And next apes death, with close-fixed jaws. He then revives, resuscitated: No harlequin so much elated: Raises his tail, and makes it shine, And in the moonlight glitter fine. No single Turkey dares to sleep, But ceaseless, tiring watch they keep. Worn out, they try their eyes to fix Upon their foeman's wicked tricks; At last, half giddy, one by one Fall headlong, and his game is done. He puts them carefully aside, Till nearly half of them have died; Then the bold rascal quickly bore Away the heap, to fill his store.