Moral: No Moral. Suggest us a moral of this fable in comment section.
Seeing yourselves are wise, ye smile
On fools and folly for a while;
But water wears the rocks, and sense
Is wearied by impertinence.
The wind was southerly, the sky
Proclaimed that a good scent would lie—
Forth from the kennel burst the hounds,
As schoolboys sally out of bounds.
They hailed the huntsman; he by name
Greeted each dog, who thought it fame.
See them obey command: when bade,
They scattered thro’ the copse and glade;
They snuffed the scent upon the gale,
And sought the remnant of a trail.
Ringwood, a pup, on the alert,
Was very young and very pert;
He opened—from exuberant spirit—
But old dogs heard the puppy in it;
But when his note of “Full−cry” rose,
The huntsman to the puppy goes,—
Down falls the lash,—up rose the yelp,
And murmured thus the puppy whelp:
“Why lash me? Are you malcontent
That I possess superior scent?”
The huntsman answered: “Puppy slips
Must be restrained by lash of whips;
Puppies our scorn, not envy, raise—
For envy is akin to praise.
Had not that forward noisy tongue
The patience of your elders wrung,
You might have hunted with the pack;
But now the whip assails your back:
You must be taught to know your ground,
And from a puppy grow a hound.”
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