The Gardener and his Master by Tomás de Iriarte

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A copious fountain played / In a garden's flowery bed, / And served to form a basin / Where many fish were fed.

Of the watering of his flowers / The Gardener thought alone; / And drained it dry, till due supply / For carp and tench was gone.

His Master soon the mischief saw, / And scolds the careless sinner.

"The flowers I love; but also like / My mess of fish for dinner."

The Gardener, grown crusty, / So reads his Master's whim, / That he lets the plants go thirsty, / That carp and tench may swim.

In the garden, shortly after, / The indignant owner found / His flowers, all dry and withered, / Upon the parching ground.

"Booby! you need not water waste, / And leave me not a fish to taste; / Nor yet deny -- to save the fish -- / A single flower to grace the dish,"

Though the maxim may be trite, -- / Unless you have the skill, / Taste and profit to unite, -- / Lay by the author's quill.

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