A FLY sat on the axle-tree of a chariot, and addressing the
Draught-Mule said, “How slow you are! Why do you not go faster? See if
I do not prick your neck with my sting.” The Draught-Mule replied, “I
do not heed your threats; I only care for him who sits above you, and
who quickens my pace with his whip, or holds me back with the reins.
Away, therefore, with your insolence, for I know well when to go fast,
and when to go slow.”