XV. The Fox and the Dragon

A Fox was throwing up the soil,

And while with his assiduous toil

He burrow’d deep into the ground,

A Dragon in his den he found,

A-watching hidden treasure there,

Whom seeing, Renard speaks him fair:

“First, for your pardon I apply

For breaking on your privacy;

Then, as you very plainly see

That gold is of no use to me,

Your gentle leave let me obtain

To ask you, what can be the gain

Of all this care, and what the fruit,

That you should not with sleep recruit

Your spirits, but your life consume

Thus in an everlasting gloom?”

“’Tis not my profit here to stay,”

He cries; “but I must Jove obey.”

“What! will you therefore nothing take

Yourself, nor others welcome make?”

“Ev’n so the fates decree:” —“Then, sir,

Have patience, whilst I do aver

That he who like affections knows

Is born with all the gods his foes.

Since to that place you needs must speed,

Where all your ancestors precede,

Why in the blindness of your heart

Do you torment your noble part?”

All this to thee do I indite,

Thou grudging churl, thy heir’s delight,

Who robb’st the gods of incense due,

Thyself of food and raiment too;

Who hear’st the harp with sullen mien,

To whom the piper gives the spleen;

Who’rt full of heavy groans and sighs

When in their price provisions rise;

Who with thy frauds heaven’s patience tire

To make thy heap a little higher,

And, lest death thank thee, in thy will

Hast tax’d the undertaker’s bill.

Riley