A _Fox_ and a _Dragon_.
As a _Fox_ was Earthing Himself, he Digg’d so Deep, ’till at last he
came to a _Dragon_’s _Den_, where he found a Prodigious Mass of Hidden
Treasure. He made his Excuse for his Intrusion, and begg’d the Dragon’s
leave but to Ask him One Question. Pray (says he) where’s the Pleasure
or the Profit of Spending all your Days in a Hole thus, without either
Light or Sleep? Why, ’tis my _Fate_, says the _Dragon_, and there’s no
more to be said. Here’s a Monstrous Hord, says the _Fox_, and I cannot
find that you either Give or Use One Penny out of all this Store. ’Tis a
Misery, says the other, that I am Doom’d to, and there’s no Avoiding it.
Why then, says the _Fox_, He that’s Born under Your Stars is certainly
the most Wretched of Creatures.
The MORAL.
_We are apt to do Amiss, and to Persevere in so Doing, and then to lay
the Blame upon our Stars, or our Fortune as we call it, which in truth,
is neither Better nor worse then making Heaven the Author of Evil. The
very sooth of it is, that an Ill Habit has the Force of that which we
call an Ill Fate; and we Tye up our Selves, where Providence has left us
at Liberty._