The Ape
:
A Hundred Fables Of La Fontaine
There is an ape in Paris,
To which was given a wife:
Like many a one that marries,
This ape, in brutal strife,
Soon beat her out of life.
Their infant cries,--perhaps not fed,--
But cries, I ween, in vain;
The father laughs: his wife is dead,
And he has other loves again,
Which he will also beat, I think,--
Return'd from tavern drown'd in drink.
_For aught that's good, you need not look_
_Among the imitative tribe;_
_A monkey be it, or what makes a book--_
_The worse, I deem--the aping scribe._