The Ass Loaded With Sponges

: A Hundred Fables Of La Fontaine

A man, whom I shall call an ass-eteer,

His sceptre like some Roman emperor bearing,

Drove on two coursers of protracted ear,

The one, with sponges laden, briskly faring;

The other lifting legs

As if he trod on eggs,

With constant need of goading,

And bags of salt for loading.

O'er hill and dale our merry pilgrims pass'd,
<
r /> Till, coming to a river's ford at last,

They stopp'd quite puzzled on the shore.

Our asseteer had cross'd the stream before;

So, on the lighter beast astride,

He drives the other, spite of dread,

Which, loath indeed to go ahead,

Into a deep hole turns aside,

And, facing right about,

Where he went in, comes out;

For duckings, two or three

Had power the salt to melt,

So that the creature felt

His burden'd shoulders free.

The sponger, like a sequent sheep,

Pursuing through the water deep,

Into the same hole plunges

Himself, his rider, and the sponges.

All three drank deeply: asseteer and ass

For boon companions of their load might pass;

Which last became so sore a weight,

The ass fell down,

Belike to drown

His rider risking equal fate.

A helper came, no matter who.



_The moral needs no more ado--_

_That all can't act alike,--_

_The point I wish'd to strike._



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