Vain boasters credit may surprise,
Till known; who knows them will despise.
A lion once a hunting took
An ass, and hid him in a nook.
To drive the forest made him bray,
That he might seize the passing prey.
Long-ears set up such horrid cries,
That every creature trembling flies;
The lion, practised in his trade,
Had soon abundant carnage made;
Satiate with spoil, the ass he calls,
And bid him cease his hideous brawls.
The king he found with slaughter weary,
Surrounded by his noble quarry,
And, puffed with self-importance, said:
"Sir, to some purpose I have bray'd!"
"No ass more famously could do,"
The lion says, "but thee I knew,
Or I might have been frightened too."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]