At even-time they brought fresh hay, As was their custom day by day; Men went and came, ah! very near, And last of all the overseer, Yet carelessly, for horns nor hair Showed that the hiding stag was there. The forest dweller's gratitude Was great, and in a joyous mood He waited till the labour ceased, And oxen were from toil released, Leaving the exit once more free, To end his days of slavery. A ruminating bullock cried, "All now goes well; but woe betide When that man with the hundred eyes Shall come, and you, poor soul! surprise? I fear the watchful look he'll take, And dread his visit for your sake; Boast not until the end, for sure Your boasting may be premature." She had not time to utter more, The master opened quick the door. "How's this, you rascal men?" said he; "These empty racks will never do! Go to the loft; this litter, too, Is not the thing. I want to see More care from those that work for me; Whose turn these cobwebs to brush out? These collars, traces?--look about!" Then gazing round, he spies a head, Where a fat ox should be instead; The frightened stag they recognise. In vain the tears roll from his eyes; They fall on him with furious blows, Each one a thrust, until, to close, They kill and salt the wretched beast, And cook him up for many a feast.
Phædrus hath put it pithily, The master's is the eye for me, The lover's, too, is quick to see.
Wolves are too prone to play the glutton. One, at a certain feast, 'tis said, Fell with such fury on his mutton, He gave himself quite up for dead, For in his throat a bone stuck fast. A Stork, by special stroke of luck, As he stood speechless, came at last. He beckoned, and she ran to aid, No whit afraid. A surgeon, and a very friend in need, She drew the bone out. For the cure she'd made She simply asked her fee. "Fie!" said the Wolf, "you jeer at me, My worthy gossip. Only see: What! is it not enough that, sound and safe, You drew your neck back from my gullet, My pretty pullet? You are ungrateful. Now, then, go; Beware, another time, my blow."
A picture was exhibited, one day, In which an artisan had sought To paint a lion which had fought, And had been beaten in the fray. The passers-by were full of self-applause. A Lion who looked on reproached the crowd: "Yes, here I see," he said, "the victory is man's: The artisan had his own plans; But if my brothers painted, they'd be proud To show you man prostrate beneath our claws."