The Razors

Kriloff’s Original Fables
With an acquaintance once—we met upon the road

It chanced that to an inn I went to pass the night.
And, when I rub my eyes with morning’s light,
What do I see ?—my friend some angry devil goad !
Joking, and free from care, we both went late to bed
But now I see and hear—my friend has lost his head. He shouts, exclaims, -of sighs heaves up a load. ” What’s come to thee, old fellow ? May I hope,
Not ill?”—”Oh, no ! I’m shaving off the soap.” —” What ! nothing more ? ” I rise, look round, and

there he is, Crying before the glass, twisting up such a phiz,
As if to flay his skin off tormentors had begun.
On seeing then the cause of woe that looked like fun, ” No wonder in’t,” said I, “if thou thyself dost tickle. Look there, I pray ! To torture, not to shave, thou’st found a way, Thou hast not got a razor, but a sickle.” —”Well, friend, to you I’ll own My razors all are blunt
How not know that ? I’m not so stupid as to hunt
For sharp ones, that I may for cuts have but to groan.”
And I say—may I not thine anger earn

That a blunt razor’s sure thy chin to cut, While with a sharp one thou’lt shave safer, but

To use it thou must learn.
My story to explain I’m ready here : Are there not many such, ashamed though they may be
To own it, who a man that’s clever—fear, And fools alone around them care to see ?

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