passed,
  In file unbroken by a fast,
        Had they nor dam nor sire?”
        “They had them both.”  “Then I desire,
  Since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot,
  While mothers died of grief beneath your fiat,
  To know why you yourself cannot be quiet?”
        “I quiet!—­I!—­a wretch bereaved! 
        My only son!—­such anguish be relieved! 
        No, never!  All for me below
        Is but a life of tears and woe!”—­
  “But say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?”
  “Alas! ’tis Destiny that is my foe.”

    Such language, since the mortal fall,
    Has fallen from the lips of all. 
    Ye human wretches, give your heed;
    For your complaints there’s little need. 
  Let him who thinks his own the hardest case,
    Some widowed, childless Hecuba behold,
    Herself to toil and shame of slavery sold,
  And he will own the wealth of heavenly grace.

  The Cat and the Two Sparrows

  Contemporary with a Sparrow tame
    There lived a Cat; from tenderest age,
    Of both, the basket and the cage
  Had household gods the same. 
  The Bird’s sharp beak full oft provoked the Cat,
  Who play’d in turn, but with a gentle pat,
  His wee friend sparing with a merry laugh,
  Not punishing his faults by half. 
    In short, he scrupled much the harm,
    Should he with points his ferule arm. 
    The Sparrow, less discreet than he,
    With dagger beak made very free. 
    Sir Cat, a person wise and staid,
    Excused the warmth with which he play’d: 
      For ’tis full half of friendship’s art
      To take no joke in serious part. 
      Familiar since they saw the light,
    Mere habit kept their friendship good;
  Fair play had never turn’d to fight,
    Till, of their neighbourhood,
  Another sparrow came to greet
  Old Ratto grave and Saucy Pete. 
  Between the birds a quarrel rose,
    And Ratto took his side. 
  “A pretty stranger, with such blows
    To beat our friend!” he cried. 
  “A neighbour’s sparrow eating ours! 
  Not so, by all the feline powers.” 
  And quick the stranger he devours. 
    “Now, truly,” saith Sir Cat,
    “I know how sparrows taste by that. 
  Exquisite, tender, delicate!”
  This thought soon seal’d the other’s fate. 
  But hence what moral can I bring? 
  For, lacking that important thing,
  A fable lacks its finishing: 
  I seem to see of one some trace,
  But still its shadow mocks my chase.

  The Sick Stag

  A Stag, where stags abounded,
  Fell sick and was surrounded
  Forthwith by comrades kind,
    All—­pressing to assist,
    Or see, their friend, at least,
  And ease his anxious mind—­
    An irksome multitude. 
  “Ah, sirs!” the sick was fain to cry,
  “Pray leave me here to die,