’Tis thus a brainless magistrate
    Is honoured for his robe of state.

  The Two Mules

  Two Mules were bearing on their backs,
  One, oats; the other, silver of the tax. 
    The latter glorying in his load,
    March’d proudly forward on the road;
  And, from the jingle of his bell,
  ’Twas plain he liked his burden well. 
    But in a wild-wood glen
    A band of robber men
  Rush’d forth upon the twain. 
    Well with the silver pleased,
    They by the bridle seized
  The treasure Mule so vain. 
  Poor Mule! in struggling to repel
  His ruthless foes, he fell
  Stabb’d through; and with a bitter sighing,
    He cried:  “Is this the lot they promised me? 
    My humble friend from danger free,
  While, weltering in my gore, I’m dying?”
    “My friend,” his fellow-mule replied,
  “It is not well to have one’s work too high. 
  If thou hadst been a miller’s drudge, as I,
    Thou wouldst not thus have died.”

  The Lion and the Gnat

  “Go, paltry insect, nature’s meanest brat!”
  Thus said the royal Lion to the Gnat. 
      The Gnat declared immediate war. 
  “Think you,” said he, “your royal name
        To me worth caring for? 
  Think you I tremble at your power or fame? 
    The ox is bigger far than you;
    Yet him I drive, and all his crew.” 
    This said, as one that did no fear owe,
      Himself he blew the battle charge,
    Himself both trumpeter and hero. 
      At first he play’d about at large,
  Then on the Lion’s neck, at leisure, settled,
  And there the royal beast full sorely nettled. 
    With foaming mouth, and flashing eye,
    He roars.  All creatures hide or fly—­
      Such mortal terror at
      The work of one poor Gnat! 
  With constant change of his attack,
  The snout now stinging, now the back,
  And now the chambers of the nose;
  The pigmy fly no mercy shows. 
    The Lion’s rage was at its height;
    His viewless foe now laugh’d outright,
    When on his battle-ground he saw,
    That every savage tooth and claw
      Had got its proper beauty
      By doing bloody duty;
  Himself, the hapless Lion tore his hide,
  And lash’d with sounding tail from side to side. 
    Ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse! 
    He beat the harmless air, and worse;
      For, though so fierce and stout,
      By effort wearied out,
    He fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel;
    The Gnat retires with verdant laurel.

        We often have the most to fear
          From those we most despise;
        Again, great risks a man may clear
          Who by the smallest dies.

  The Countryman and the Serpent