Fables of La Fontaine — Fables LXV and LXVI

THE LION GROWN OLD.

A Lion, once the terror of the plain (Borne clown with age, and weakened by decay) Against rebellious vassals fought in vain, And found his foes the victors of the fray.

The Horse advanced, and gave his king a kick-- The Wolf a bite--the Ox a brutal butt: Meanwhile the Lion, worn, and sad, and sick, Could scarce resent this, the "unkindest cut."

But when an Ass came running to the place, The monarch murmured, with his latest breath, "Enough!

I wished to die, but this disgrace Imparts a twofold bitterness to death."

FABLE LXVI.

THE DROWNED WOMAN.

I am not one of those who coolly say, "It's nought but just a woman who is drowned!"

I say it's much, yes, much in every way.

The sex I reverence.

Taking them all round, They are the joy of life, then let their praise resound.

And these remarks are really <i>apropos</i>: My fable treating of a woman lost In a deep river.

Ill luck willed it so.

Her husband sought her, at each ford she'd crossed, To place her body in a fitting tomb.

And as he wandered by the fatal shore Of the swift stream that bore his wife away, The people passing he asked o'er and o'er, If they had seen her on that luckless day.

They'd not e'en heard of his sad loss before.

"No," said the first; "but seek her lower down: Follow the stream, and you will find her yet."

Another answer'd: "Follow her!

no, no; that's wrong.

Go further up, and she'll be there, I bet, Whether the current's weak, or the tide strong."

It's my conviction, Such is a woman's love of contradiction, She'll float the other way, your soul to fret.

The raillery was out of season;

And yet the heedless boor had reason, For such is woman's humour still, To follow out her own good will;

Yes, from her very birthday morn Till to the churchyard she is borne, She'd contradict to her last breath, And wish she could e'en after death.

FABLE LXVII.