Who buildeth not, sometimes, in air,
  His cots, or seats, or castles fair? 
  From kings to dairywomen—­all—­
  The wise, the foolish, great and small—­
  Each thinks his waking dream the best. 
  Some flattering error fills the breast: 
  The world, with all its wealth, is ours,
  Its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers. 
  Instinct with valour, where alone,
  I hurl the monarch from his throne;
  The people glad to see him dead,
  Elect me monarch in his stead,
  And diadems rain on my head. 
  Some accident then calls me back,
  And I’m no more than simple Jack!

  The Monkey and the Cat

  Sly Bertrand and Ratto in company sat,
  (The one was a Monkey, the other a Cat,)
    Co-servants and lodgers: 
    More mischievous codgers
  Ne’er mess’d from a platter, since platters were flat. 
  Was anything wrong in the house or about it,
  The neighbours were blameless—­no mortal could doubt it;
  For Bertrand was thievish, and Ratto so nice,
  More attentive to cheese than he was to the mice. 
  One day the two plunderers sat by the fire,
  Where chestnuts were roasting, with looks of desire. 
  To steal them would be a right noble affair. 
  A double inducement our heroes drew there—­
  ’Twould benefit them, could they swallow their fill,
  And then ’twould occasion to somebody ill. 
  Said Bertrand to Ratto, “My brother, to-day
  Exhibit your powers in a masterly way,
    And take me these chestnuts, I pray. 
    Which were I but otherwise fitted
    (As I am ingeniously wilted)
    For pulling things out of the flame,
    Would stand but a pitiful game.” 
  “’Tis done,” replied Ratto, all prompt to obey;
  And thrust out his paw in a delicate way. 
    First giving the ashes a scratch,
    He open’d the coveted batch;
    Then lightly and quickly impinging,
    He drew out, in spite of the singeing,
  One after another, the chestnuts at last—­
  While Bertrand contrived to devour them as fast. 
    A servant girl enters.  Adieu to the fun. 
    Our Ratto was hardly contented, says one.

    No more are the princes, by flattery paid
    For furnishing help in a different trade,
      And burning their fingers to bring
      More power to some mightier king.

  The Lioness and the Bear

  The Lioness had lost her young;
    A hunter stole it from the vale;
  The forests and the mountains rung
    Responsive to her hideous wail. 
  Nor night, nor charms of sweet repose,
  Could still the loud lament that rose
      From that grim forest queen. 
    No animal, as you might think,
    With such a noise could sleep a wink. 
      A Bear presumed to intervene. 
        “One word, sweet friend,” quoth she,
        “And that is all, from me. 
  The young that through your teeth have