The Weasel In The Granary

: A Hundred Fables Of La Fontaine

A weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze,

(She was recovering from disease,)

Which led her to a farmer's hoard.

There lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd;

Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored

That by her gnawing perish'd!

Of which the consequence

Was sudden corpulence.

A week or so was past,

When having fully broken fast,

A noise she heard, and hurried

To find the hole by which she came,

And seem'd to find it not the same;

So round she ran, most sadly flurried;

And, coming back, thrust out her head,

Which, sticking there, she said,

"This is the hole, there can't be blunder:

What makes it now so small, I wonder,

Where, but the other day, I pass'd with ease?"

A rat her trouble sees,

And cries, "But with an emptier belly;

You enter'd lean, and lean must sally."