Fable XX The Goat and Fox
Studious from diff’ring tales to show
That virtue makes our bliss below,
My warning voice to ev’ry heart,
May ev’ry faithful ear impart;
This one important truth believ’d,
Who can by vice be still deceiv’d?
Bliss is our aim, and bliss our end,
And he who points the path, a friend.
A Goat and Fox, by joint consent,
Together once a journey went;
With patient steps from morning’s dawn,
They measur’d hill, and vale, and lawn;
When Phœbus in the zenith rode,
A cheerless, pathless waste they trod;
The fainting wand’rers wide around,
With sighs survey’d the burning ground;
Again, and yet again they look,
To find the welcome cooling brook;
The welcome cooling brook in vain
They sought around the sun-burnt plain.
Onward they slowly pass, when lo!
A pit—and water—deep below;
Urg’d by a strong desire to drink,
They both leap headlong from the brink.
For appetite still foremost goes,
Quite blind to all beyond its nose;
And reason, impotently kind,
A tardy friend, limps far behind.
Now when our pair had drank amain,
They thought of getting out again;
And long with aching hearts they try’d,
But this the steep ascent denied.
Reynard at length the goat addrest,
And thus his wily thought exprest:
“Courage, my friend,—be rul’d by me,
We’ll soon from this mischance be free;
Here—of the pit the shallowest place,
On your hind legs your body raise,
And while thy horns my weight sustain,
At one light bound the shore I’ll gain;
And thence effectual aid can lend
To save thee, too, my dearest friend?”—
The Goat consents—and by his aid
The Fox his leap successful made;
His friend look’d up, well pleased no doubt,
And deem’d himself as good as out;
But the false Fox with barb’rous sneer,
Cry’d, “Pox! how came you scrambling here?”
The Goat reply’d, “Forbear to flout,
Lest I should ask how you got out.”
Said he, “Of that no doubt remains,
You’d horns, my friend,—and I had brains,
You wear that wisdom on your chin,
Which I, more modest, hide within.
We beasts of sprightly thought despise
All who like thee look gravely wise—
Improve these useful hints aright,
You’ll profit much—and so good night.”
This said, he titt’ring slunk away,
The Goat remain’d to death a prey.
In wonder lost, with horror chill’d,
With anguish, indignation fill’d,
The traitor-friend’s enormous guile,
Engross’d his shudd’ring soul awhile;
Awhile the wretched beast forgot
His pity’d, helpless, hopeless lot;
But after short suspense his woes
Return’d—as the stem’d torrent flows,
With trebled force—he scarce sustain’d
The shock—and thus at length profan’d:
“For ever let that maxim cease,
‘That virtue’s paths are paths of peace.’
Where’s that reward which learned pride
Boasts none from virtue can divide?
Where the sure woes of various kinds,
Which fate to vice for ever binds?
Life, joy (or what could make him smile).
The Fox obtains thro’ horrid guile;
My life, my humble guiltless joys,
At once a gen’rous trust destroys;
Jove’s slumb’ring vengeance lets him fly,
His goodness slumbers while I die.”
A sylvan god who pass’d that way
(Of old none wander’d more than they),
By chance the rash impeachment heard,
And instant on the brink appear’d.
“Look up,” he cries, “no more despair,
The help you wish prevents your prayer;
Safe on the wish’d substantial plain,
I’ll set thy dying feet again.
The Fox with envy didst thou see?
Henceforth thyself a Fox shalt be.—
Thou shalt his prosp’rous vice possess,
And taste a Fox’s happiness.”
The thing was done as soon as said,
A Fox, the Goat enfranchis’d, fled;
But feels within his alter’d mind,
His narrow’d love to self confin’d.
No more from others good his breast
The social joy serene possess’d;
No more by kind compassion mov’d,
His mercy is by foes approv’d.
Now mutual wants, love’s band below,
No means to fix a friend bestow;
Unlov’d, unloving, deep in earth
He gives his schemes of plunder birth.
From injur’d man, his friend so late,
He fears the stroke of potent hate;
With grief looks back on periods past,
His bloodless food, a blest repast!
Which late he cropt in peace profound,
With flocks, and herds, and men around;
Yet now abhors that guiltless food,
To rapine doom’d, and thirst of blood;
And mourns the days (to this a slave)
When heav’n a happier nature gave:
“By dear experience now I know,
That virtue’s only bliss below,”
He, sighing, said, in sad despair,
And thus prefers a falt’ring pray’r:
“Ye gracious pow’rs who rule above!
Who virtue and it’s vot’ries love!
I see my fault, my fault repent,
And own I ask’d the pains you sent.
I now th’ unrighteous thought forego.
That vice is bliss, and virtue woe:
Oh! make me what I was again,
Tho’ faint I tread the scorching plain;
Tho’ with a faithless Fox I stray,
Me tho’ again his wiles betray,
Make me a goat, tho’ void of wit,
You leave me dying in the pit:
’Tis better far than thus alone
To live without one joy my own;
For while the past my mind retains,
My present pleasures are but pains.”
He pray’d, to Jove the pray’r ascends;
His ear to pray’rs like these He lends.
“I (said the god) thy wish fulfil,
Henceforth, be virtuous—if you will
Be man—to him that pow’r I give;
Go, and by past experience live.”
Transform’d again with lifted eyes,
The man his story thus applies:—
“From what appears, how little do we know
What others feel of happiness or woe!
Is vice your envy when of health possess’d,
With power, and pelf, and all externals blest?
Know that amidst that health, and power and pelf,
The thriving villain must abhor himself;
For who can bear, tho’ desperately brave,
The voice of conscience when it calls him knave?
Or who so dull, without regret to miss
Of conscious goodness the substantial bliss?
Ask your own heart, and search thro’ all you know,
Consult each various scene of life below,
All, all this universal truth attest,
The virtuous are, and can alone be blest.”