Fables of La Fontaine — Fables LXIII and LXIV
THE WOLF, THE GOAT, AND THE KID.
The She-Goat going out to feed Upon the young grass in the mead, Closed not the latch until she bid Her youngest born, her darling kid, Take care to open door to none, Or if she did, only to one Who gave the watchword of the place-- "Curse to the Wolf and all his race!"
The Wolf was just then passing by, And having no bad memory, Laid the spell by, a perfect treasure Ready to be used at leisure.
The Kid, so tender and so small, Had never seen a wolf at all.
The mother gone, the hypocrite Assumes a voice demure and fit-- "The Wolf be cursed!
come, pull the latch."
The Kid says, peeping through a chink, "Show me a white foot" (silly patch), "Or I'll not open yet the door, I think."
White paws are rare with wolves--not yet in fashion.
The Wolf surprised, and dumb with secret passion, Went as he came, and sneaked back to his lair: The Kid had lost her life without that care, Had she but listened to the word The watchful Wolf had overheard.
Two sureties are twice as good as one, Without them she had been undone.
And so I boldly say, That too much caution's never thrown away.
FABLE LXIV.
THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD.
This Wolf recalls another to my mind-- A friend who found Fate more unkind-- Caught in a neater way, you'll see;
He perished--here's the history: A peasant dwelt in a lone farm;
The Wolf, his watch intent to keep, Saw in and out, not tearing harm, Slim calves and lambs, and old fat sheep, And regiment of turkeys strutting out;
In fact, good fare was spread about.
[Illustration: THE WOLF, THE MOTHER, AND THE CHILD.
] The thief grew weary of vain wishes For dainty dishes;
But just then heard an Infant cry, The mother chiding angrily-- "Be quiet!
No riot;
Or to the Wolf I'll give you, brat!"
The Wolf cried, "Now, I quite like that;"
And thanked the gods for being good.
The Mother, as a mother should, Soon calmed the Child.
"Don't cry, my pet!
If the Wolf comes, we'll kill him, there!"
"What's this?"
the thief was in a fret;
"First this, then that, there's no truth anywhere;
I'm not a fool, you know, And yet they treat me so.
Some day, when nutting, it may hap I may surprise the little chap."
As these reflections strike the beast, A mastiff stops the way, at one fierce bound, To any future feast, And rough men gird him round.
"What brought you here?"
cries many a one;
He told the tale as I have done.
"Good Heavens!"
loud the Mother cried;
"You eat my boy!
what!
darling here To stop your hunger?
Hush!
my dear."
They killed the brute and stripped his hide;
His right foot and his head in state Adorn the Picard noble's gate;
And this was written underneath The shrivelled eyes and grinning teeth-- "Good Master Wolves, believe not all That mothers say when children squall."
FABLE LXV.
