Kriloff’s Original Fables
A rich man in the town there was named Melibceus,
A name not chosen from the stress of rhyme to free us
No, it is well the names of such men to recall. His neighbours on our rich man fall, And not, perhaps, without good reason : They say there is a million in his coffers, And yet that he a poor man never offers A coin, however bad the season.
Who does not wish to bear an honoured name ? To gain himself among the people fame. Our Meliboeus started the report,
That beggars he on Saturdays would feed
And truly each, that came into his court That day, his gates found wide indeed. “Alas !” they think, “the poor man’s ruined quite \”
Be not afraid, the stingy cur’s all right
On Saturdays his dogs are out, and full of spite
The beggar, though with naught to eat or drink,
Is lucky who out of his yard can slink. Almost a saint now Melibceus counts,
All cry : ”Who Meliboeus can enough admire?
A pity, though, his dogs have so much fire, And no one easily his staircase mounts :
But, while a crust remains, of giving he’ll not tire.”
I’ve often seen, and not forgot,
How hard the mansions of the great to enter
But then the fault in dogs doth centre

For Melibceus’s of course ’tis not

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