How avarice loses all, By striving all to gain, I need no witness call But him whose thrifty hen,
The selfsame patient put to test Two doctors, Fear-the-worst and Hope-the-best. The latter hoped; the former did maintain The man would take all medicine in vain.
Beside a well, uncurbed and deep, A schoolboy laid him down to sleep: (Such rogues can do so anywhere.) If some kind man had seen him there, He would have leaped as if distracted;
A mountain was in travail pang; The country with her clamour rang. Out ran the people all, to see, Supposing that the birth would be
Within a savage forest grot A satyr and his chips Were taking down their porridge hot; Their cups were at their lips.
A beldam kept two spinning maids, Who plied so handily their trades, Those spinning sisters down below Were bunglers when compared with these.
A cunning old fox, of plundering habits, Great crauncher of fowls, great catcher of rabbits, Whom none of his sort had caught in a nap, Was finally caught in somebody's trap.
A little fish will grow, If life be spared, a great; But yet to let him go, And for his growing wait,