their lives. 
    Now, if my present purpose thrives,
  I’ll prop my former proposition
  By building on a small addition. 
    A certain Wolf, in point of wit
    The prudent fisher’s opposite,
    A Dog once finding far astray,
    Prepared to take him as his prey. 
      The Dog his leanness plead;
      “Your lordship, sure,” he said,
      “Cannot be very eager
      To eat a dog so meagre. 
    To wait a little do not grudge: 
  The wedding of my master’s only daughter
  Will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter;
      And then, as you yourself can judge,
      I cannot help becoming fatter.” 
      The Wolf, believing, waived the matter,
      And so, some days therefrom,
        Return’d with sole design to see
        If fat enough his Dog might be. 
      The rogue was now at home: 
      He saw the hunter through the fence. 
          “My friend,” said he, “please wait;
      I’ll be with you a moment hence,
        And fetch our porter of the gate.” 
      This porter was a dog immense,
      That left to wolves no future tense. 
        Suspicion gave our Wolf a jog—­
        It might not be so safely tamper’d. 
      “My service to your porter dog,”
    Was his reply, as off he scampered. 
    His legs proved better than his head,
    And saved him life to learn his trade.

  The Ears of the Hare

  Some beast with horns did gore
      The Lion; and that sovereign dread,
  Resolved to suffer so no more,
    Straight banish’d from his realm, ’tis said,
  All sorts of beasts with horns—­
  Rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. 
    Such brutes all promptly fled. 
  A Hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving,
    Could hardly help believing
  That some vile spy for horns would take them,
  And food for accusation make them. 
    “Adieu,” said he, “my neighbour cricket;
    I take my foreign ticket. 
      My ears, should I stay here,
      Will turn to horns, I fear;
    And were they shorter than a bird’s,
    I fear the effect of words.” 
  “These horns!” the cricket answered; “why,
  God made them ears who can deny?”
  “Yes,” said the coward, “still they’ll make them horns,
  And horns, perhaps, of unicorns! 
    In vain shall I protest,
  With all the learning of the schools: 
    My reasons they will send to rest
      In th’ Hospital of Fools.”

  The Ass Carrying Relics

  An Ass, with relics for his load,
  Supposed the worship on the road
  Meant for himself alone,
    And took on lofty airs,
  Receiving as his own
    The incense and the prayers. 
  Some one, who saw his great mistake,
  Cried, “Master Donkey, do not make
    Yourself so big a fool. 
  Not you they worship, but your pack;
  They praise the idols on your back,
    And count yourself a paltry tool.”