Classic Poem

Peter adviseth to read Esop's Fables.

The Frogs so happy, 'midst their peaceful pond,
Of emperors grew at once extremely fond;
Yes, yes, an emperor was a glorious thing:
Each really took it in his addle pate,
'Twould be so charming to exchange their state!
An emperor would such heaps of blisses bring!

Sudden out hopp'd the Nation on the grass,
Frog-man and yellow Wife, and Youth and Lass,
A numerous tribe, to knuckle down to Jove,
And pray the God to send an emperor down;
'Twas such a pretty thing, th'Imperial Crown!
So form'd their pleasures, honours, to improve!

Forth from his old blue Weather-box, the Skies,
Jove briskly stepp'd, with two wide-wondering eyes:
" Mynheers," quoth Jove, " if ye are wise, be quiet;
Know when you're happy. " — But he preach'd in vain;
They made the most abominable riot:
" An Emperor, Emperor, yes, we must obtain." —

" Well, take one," cried the God; and down he swopp'd
A monstrous Piece of Wood, from whence he chopp'd
Kings for the gentlefolks of ancient days:
Stunn'd at the sound, the Frogs all shook with dread;
Like Dab-chicks, under water push'd each head,
Afraid a single nose so pale to raise.

At length one stole a peep, and then a second,
Who, slily winking, to a third Frog beckon'd;
And so on, till they all obtain'd a peep.
Now nearer, nearer, edging on they drew;
And finding nothing terrible, nor new,
Bold on his Majesty began to leap:

Such hopping this way, that way, off and on!
Such croaking, laughing, ridiculing, fun!

In short, so very shameful were they grown,
So much of grace and manners did they lack,
One little Villain saucily squat down,
And, with a grin, defiled the Royal back.

Now unto Jove they kneeling pray'd again:
" O Jupiter, this is so sad a beast,
So dull a Monarch, so devoid of brain!
Give us a King of spirit, Jove, at least."

The God complied, and sent them Emperor Stork,
Who with his loving Subjects went to work;
Chased the poor sprawling imps from pool to pool,
Resolv'd to get a handsome bellyful.

Now gasping, wedged within his iron beak,
Did wriggling scores most lamentably squeak:
Bold push'd the Emperor on, with stride so noble,
Bolting his Subjects with majestic gobble.

Again the croaking tribe began to pray,
'Midst hoppings, scramblings, murder, and dismay:
" Oh save us, Jove, from this inhuman Turk!
Oh save us from this Imp of Hell!" —
" Mynheers," quoth Jove, " pray keep your Emperor Stork:
Fools never know when they are well ."