Thou art the fox, O man, that, maugre all
His cunning, did into the water fall.
This fox was travelling once o’er hill and dell,
And reached at length the margin of a well;
His head he stooped into the well, when, lo!
Another fox did in the water show.
He winks, he nods—the other fox replies:
“What, ho! we must be better friends,” he cries;
And more acquaintance covetous to win,
Without more thought jumped Reynard headlong in.
He reached the bottom at a single bound,
But there no fox beside himself he found:
Upward again he now would gladly spring,
But to ascend was no such easy thing.
He splashes, struggles, and in sad voice cries,
“Fool that I was! I deemed myself more wise.
Ah wretch! will no one come unto my aid?”—
But prayer and effort both were vainly made:
Soon did the water drag him down to death;
With a loud cry he sank the waves beneath.
Thou art the fox of which the fable tells—
This world of sense the Devil’s well of wells.
Thou saw’st reflected thine own image there,
And didst plunge headlong in without a care.
Oh happy! if thou struggle back to-day,
Ere the strong whirlpool drags thee down for aye.