Fables of La Fontaine — Fables LXXV and LXXVI

FABLE LXXV.

THE LITTLE FISH AND THE FISHERMAN.

A little Fish will larger grow, in time, If God will only grant him life; and yet To let him free out of the tangling net Is folly; and I mean it, though I rhyme: The catching him again is not so sure, <i>c'est tout.

</i> A little Carp, who half a summer knew, Was taken by an angler's crafty hook.

"All count," the man said; "this begins my feast: I'll put it in my basket."

"Here, just look!"

Exclaimed, in his own way, the tiny beast.

"Now what on earth can you, sir, want with me?

I'm not quite half a mouthful, as you see.

Let me grow up, and catch me when I'm tall, Then some rich epicure will buy me dear;

But now you'll want a hundred, that is plain, Aye, and as much again, To make a dish; and what dish, after all?

Why, good for nothing."

"Good for nothing, eh?"

Replied the Angler.

"Come, my little friend, Into the pan you go; so end.

Your sermon pleases me, exceedingly.

To-night we'll try How you will fry."

The present, not the future, tense Is that preferred by men of sense.

The one is sure that you have got: The other, verily, is not.

[Illustration] [Illustration] FABLE LXXVI.

BATTLE BETWEEN THE RATS AND WEASELS.

The Weasel nation, like the Cats, Are always fighting with the Rats;

And did the Rats not squeeze their way Through doors so narrow, I must say, The long-backed creatures would slip in, And swallow all their kith and kin.

One certain year it did betide, When Rats were greatly multiplied, Their king, illustrious Ratapon, His army to the field led on.

The Weasels, too, were soon arrayed, And the old flag again displayed.

If Fame reported just and true, Victory paused between the two;

Till fallows were enriched and red With blood the rival armies shed;

But soon in every place Misfortune met the Rattish race.

The rout was so complete, the foe More dreadful grew at every blow;

And what avails brave Artapax, Meridarpax, Psicarpax?

Who, covered both with dust and gore, Drove back the Weasels thrice and more, Till driven slowly from the plain, E'en their great courage proved in vain!

'Twas Fate that ruled that dreadful hour: Then each one ran who had the power;

Soldier and captain, jostling fled, But all the princes were struck dead;

The private, nimble in his feet, Unto his hole made snug retreat.

The noble, with his lofty plume, Found that he had by no means room.

To strike with terror--yes, or whether A mark of honour--rose the feather, That led to much calamity, As very soon the nobles see;

Neither in cranny, hole, or crack, Was space found for the plumed pack.

In the meantime, the populace Found access to each lurking-place, So that the largest heap of slain From the Rat noblemen is ta'en.

A nodding feather in the cap Is oftentimes a great mishap;

A big and over-gilded coach Will sometimes stop up an approach;

The smaller people, in most cases, Escape by unregarded places: Men soon are on great people's traces.

[Illustration] [Illustration] FABLE LXXVII.