He thought these shells the ships must be. 
  “My father was, in truth,” said he,
    “A coward, and an ignoramus;
  He dared not travel:  as for me,
    I’ve seen the ships and ocean famous;
  Have cross’d the deserts without drinking,
  And many dangerous streams, unshrinking.” 
  Among the shut-up shell-fish, one
  Was gaping widely at the sun;
  It breathed, and drank the air’s perfume,
  Expanding, like a flower in bloom. 
    Both white and fat, its meat
    Appear’d a dainty treat. 
  Our Rat, when he this shell espied,
  Thought for his stomach to provide. 
  “If not mistaken in the matter,”
  Said he, “no meat was ever fatter,
  Or in its flavour half so fine,
  As that on which to-day I dine.” 
  Thus full of hope, the foolish chap
    Thrust in his head to taste,
  And felt the pinching of a trap—­
    The Oyster closed in haste.

Now those to whom the world is new Are wonder-struck at every view; And the marauder finds his match When he is caught who thinks to catch.

  The Ass and the Dog

  Along the road an Ass and Dog
  One master following, did jog. 
  Their master slept:  meanwhile, the Ass
  Applied his nippers to the grass,
  Much pleased in such a place to stop,
  Though there no thistle he could crop. 
  He would not be too delicate,
  Nor spoil a dinner for a plate,
  Which, but for that, his favourite dish,
  Were all that any Ass could wish. 
    “My dear companion,” Towser said—­
  “’Tis as a starving Dog I ask it—­
  Pray lower down your loaded basket,
    And let me get a piece of bread.” 
  No answer—­not a word!—­indeed,
  The truth was, our Arcadian steed
  Fear’d lest, for every moment’s flight,
  His nimble teeth should lose a bite. 
  At last, “I counsel you,” said he, “to wait
    Till master is himself awake,
    Who then, unless I much mistake,
  Will give his Dog the usual bait.” 
  Meanwhile, there issued from the wood
  A creature of the wolfish brood,
  Himself by famine sorely pinch’d. 
  At sight of him the Donkey flinch’d,
  And begg’d the Dog to give him aid. 
  The Dog budged not, but answer made,
  “I counsel thee, my friend, to run,
  Till master’s nap is fairly done;
  There can, indeed, be no mistake
  That he will very soon awake;
  Till then, scud off with all your might;
  And should he snap you in your flight,
  This ugly Wolf—­why, let him feel
  The greeting of your well-shod heel. 
  I do not doubt, at all, but that
  Will be enough to lay him flat.” 
    But ere he ceased it was too late;
    The Ass had met his cruel fate.

  The Monkey and the Leopard