And ferret out the hidden sin. 
  Himself let no one spare nor flatter,
  But make clean conscience in the matter. 
  For me, my appetite has play’d the glutton
  Too much and often upon mutton. 
  What harm had e’er my victims done? 
      I answer, truly, None. 
  Perhaps, sometimes, by hunger pressed,
  I’ve eat the shepherd with the rest. 
  I yield myself, if need there be;
  And yet I think, in equity,
  Each should confess his sins with me;
  For laws of right and justice cry,
  The guiltiest alone should die.” 
  “Sire,” said the Fox, “your majesty
  Is humbler than a king should be,
  And over-squeamish in the case. 
    What! eating stupid sheep a crime? 
    No, never, sire, at any time. 
  It rather was an act of grace,
  A mark of honour to their race. 
  And as to shepherds, one may swear,
    The fate your majesty describes
  Is recompense less full than fair
    For such usurpers o’er our tribes.”

    Thus Reynard glibly spoke,
  And loud applause from flatterers broke,
  Of neither tiger, boar, nor bear,
  Did any keen inquirer dare
  To ask for crimes of high degree;
    The fighters, biters, scratchers, all
  From every mortal sin were free;
    The very dogs, both great and small,
  Were saints, as far as dogs could be.

    The Ass, confessing in his turn,
  Thus spoke in tones of deep concern: 
  “I happen’d through a mead to pass;
  The monks, its owners, were at mass;
  Keen hunger, leisure, tender grass,
    And add to these the devil too,
    All tempted me the deed to do. 
  I browsed the bigness of my tongue;
  Since truth must out, I own it wrong.”

  On this, a hue and cry arose,
  As if the beasts were all his foes: 
  A Wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise,
  Denounced the Ass for sacrifice—­
  The bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout,
  By whom the plague had come, no doubt. 
  His fault was judged a hanging crime. 
    “What? eat another’s grass?  O shame! 
  The noose of rope and death sublime,
    For that offence, were all too tame!”
    And soon poor Grizzle felt the same.

    Thus human courts acquit the strong,
    And doom the weak, as therefore wrong.

  The Fowler, the Hawk, and the Lark

  From wrongs of wicked men we draw
    Excuses for our own;
  Such is the universal law. 
    Would you have mercy shown,
    Let yours be clearly known.

  A Fowler’s mirror served to snare
  The little tenants of the air. 
  A Lark there saw her pretty face,
  And was approaching to the place. 
    A Hawk, that sailed on high,
    Like vapour in the sky,
  Came down, as still as infant’s breath,
  On her who sang so near her death. 
  She thus escaped the Fowler’s steel,
  The Hawk’s malignant claws to feel.