A Fox having fallen into a well, made a shift, by sticking his claws
into the sides, to keep his head above water. Soon after, a Wolf came
and peeped over the brink, to whom the Fox applied, and very earnestly
implored his assistance to help him out, or he should be lost. Ah! poor
Reynard, says he, I pity your misfortune; poor creature, I am sorry for
you with all my heart: how did you happen to slip into this well? pray
how long have you been in this melancholy situation? Nay, I prithee
friend, replies the Fox, if you wish me well, do not stand pitying
me, but lend me some succour as soon as you can; for pity is but cold
comfort when one is up to the chin in water, and within a hair’s
breadth of starving or drowning.