A close-fist had his money hoarded
Beyond the room his till afforded.
His avarice aye growing ranker,
(Whereby his mind of course grew blanker,)
He was perplex'd to choose a banker;
For banker he must have, he thought,
Or all his heap would come to nought.
'I fear,' said he, 'if kept at home,
And other robbers should not come,
It might be equal cause of grief
That I had proved myself the thief.'
The thief! Is to enjoy one's pelf
To rob or steal it from one's self?
My friend, could but my pity reach you,
This lesson I would gladly teach you,
That wealth is weal no longer than
Diffuse and part with it you can:
Without that power, it is a woe.
Would you for age keep back its flow?
Age buried 'neath its joyless snow?
With pains of getting, care of got
Consumes the value, every jot,
Of gold that one can never spare.
To take the load of such a care,
Assistants were not very rare.
The earth was that which pleased him best.
Dismissing thought of all the rest,
He with his friend, his trustiest,--
A sort of shovel-secretary,--
Went forth his hoard to bury.
Safe done, a few days afterward,
The man must look beneath the sward--
When, what a mystery! behold
The mine exhausted of its gold!
Suspecting, with the best of cause,
His friend was privy to his loss,
He bade him, in a cautious mood,
To come as soon as well he could,
For still some other coins he had,
Which to the rest he wish'd to add.
Expecting thus to get the whole,
The friend put back the sum he stole,
Then came with all despatch.
The other proved an overmatch:
Resolved at length to save by spending,
His practice thus most wisely mending,
The total treasure home he carried--
No longer hoarded it or buried.
Chapfallen was the thief, when gone
He saw his prospects and his pawn.From this it may be stated,
That knaves with ease are cheated.

[9] Abstemius.

VI.--THE WOLF AND THE SHEPHERDS.[10]

A Wolf, replete
With humanity sweet,
(A trait not much suspected,)
On his cruel deeds,
The fruit of his needs,
Profoundly thus reflected.'I'm hated,' said he,
'As joint enemy,
By hunters, dogs, and clowns.
They swear I shall die,
And their hue and cry
The very thunder drowns.'My brethren have fled,
With price on the head,
From England's merry land.
King Edgar came out,
And put them to rout,[11]
With many a deadly band.'And there's not a squire
But blows up the fire
By hostile proclamation;
Nor a human brat,
Dares cry, but that
Its mother mocks my nation.'And all for what?
For a sheep with the rot,
Or scabby, mangy ass,
Or some snarling cur,
With less meat than fur,
On which I've broken fast!'Well, henceforth I'll strive
That nothing alive
Shall die to quench my thirst;
No lambkin shall fall,
Nor puppy, at all,
To glut my maw accurst.
With grass I'll appease,
Or browse on the trees,
Or die of famine first.'What of carcass warm?
Is it worth the storm
Of universal hate?'
As he spoke these words,
The lords of the herds,
All seated at their bait,
He saw; and observed
The meat which was served
Was nought but roasted lamb!
'O! O!' said the beast,
'Repent of my feast--
All butcher as I am--
On these vermin mean,
Whose guardians e'en
Eat at a rate quadruple!--
Themselves and their dogs,
As greedy as hogs,
And I, a wolf, to scruple!''Look out for your wool
I'll not be a fool,
The very pet I'll eat;
The lamb the best-looking,
Without any cooking,
I'll strangle from the teat;
And swallow the dam,
As well as the lamb,
And stop her foolish bleat.
Old Hornie, too,--rot him,--
The sire that begot him
Shall be among my meat!'