Fables of La Fontaine — Fables CXXVII and CXXVIII
FABLE CXXVII.
THE HERON.
One day, on his stilt legs, walked, here and there, A Heron, with long neck and searching beak;
Along a river side he came to seek.
The water was transparent, the day fair, Gossip, the Carp, was gambolling in the stream: The Pike, her neighbour, was in spirits, too.
The Heron had no trouble, it would seem, But to approach the bank, and snap the two;
But he resolved for better appetite To calmly wait:--he had his stated hours: He lived by rule.
At last, there came in sight Some Tench, that exercised their finny powers.
They pleased him not, and so he waited still, Scornful, like rat of whom good Horace wrote.
"What!
eat a tench?
--I, who can take my fill, Munch such poor trash?"
--he'll sing another note.
The tench refused, a gudgeon next came by: "A pretty dish for such as me, forsooth!
The gods forgive me if I eat such fry: I'll never open beak for that:"--and yet, in truth, He opened for far less.
The fish no more Returned.
Then Hunger came;--thus ends my tale.
He who'd rejected dishes half a score, Was forced, at last, to snap a paltry snail.
Do not be too exacting.
The cleverer people are The sooner pleased, by far.
We all may lose by trying for too much;-- I have known such.
Hold nothing in contempt, and the less so, If you are needing help, for know In that trap many fall, not only birds, Like Herons, to whom now I gave some words.
Listen, my fellow-men,--another fable: Some lessons can be found amid your lords.
FABLE CXXVIII.
THE MAN BADLY MARRIED.
Oh, that the good and beautiful were wedded!
From early morrow I will seek the pair;
But since they are divorced, the addle-headed Alone would track them long through sea or air.
Few beauteous bodies shelter beauteous souls;
So don't be angry if I cease pursuit.
Marriages many I have seen.
The goals To which men strive my fancies seldom suit.
The full four-fourths of men rush reckless on, And brave the deadliest risks;--four-fourths repent.
I'll produce one who, being woe-begone, Found no resource but sending where he'd sent Before his hopeless wife, jealous and miserly, Peevish and fretful;--nothing was done right.
They went to bed too soon--rose tardily;
The white was black, the black was staring white;
The servants groaned, the master swore outright.
"Monsieur is always busy;--he, of course, Will think of nothing--squanders everything."
So much of this, in fact.
Monsieur, <i>par force</i>, Weary of all this squabble, and the sting, Sends her back to the country and her friends,-- Phillis, who drives the turkeys, and the men Who watch the pigs, and very soon she mends.
Grown calmer, he writes for her kindly then:-- "Well, how did time pass?
was it pleasant there?
How did you like the country innocence?"
"It's bearable," she said; "the only care That vexed me was to see the vile pretence Of industry.
Why, those base, lazy patches Let the herds starve;--not one of them has sense To do their proper work, except by snatches."
"Come, madam," cried the husband in a rage, "If you're so peevish that folk out all day Weary of you, and long to see the stage That bears you from them anywhere away, What must the servants feel who, every hour, Are chased about by your outrageous tongue!
And what the husband, who is in your power By night and day?
Adieu!
May I be hung If I again recall you from the farm;
Or if I do, may I atone the sin By having Pluto's gloomy realms within Two wives like you, a shrew for either arm."
