The Fishes and the Cormorant

No pond nor pool within his haunt / But paid a certain cormorant / Its contribution from its fishes, / And stock'd his kitchen with good dishes. / Yet, when old age the bird had chill'd, / His kitchen was less amply fill'd. / All cormorants, however grey, / Must die, or for themselves purvey. / But ours had now become so blind, / His finny prey he could not find; / And, having neither hook nor net, / His appetite was poorly met. / What hope, with famine thus infested? / Necessity, whom history mentions, / A famous mother of inventions, / The following stratagem suggested: / He found upon the water's brink / A crab, to which said he, 'My friend, / A weighty errand let me send: / Go quicker than a wink -- / Down to the fishes sink, / And tell them they are doom'd to die; / For, ere eight days have hasten'd by, / Its lord will fish this water dry. ' / The crab, as fast as she could scrabble, / Went down, and told the scaly rabble. / What bustling, gathering, agitation! / Straight up they send a deputation / To wait upon the ancient bird. / 'Sir Cormorant, whence hast thou heard / This dreadful news? And what / Assurance of it hast thou got? / How such a danger can we shun? / Pray tell us, what is to be done? / 'Why, change your dwelling-place,' said he, / 'What, change our dwelling! How can we? ' / 'O, by your leave, I'll take that care, / And, one by one, in safety bear / You all to my retreat: / The path's unknown / To any feet, / Except my own. / A pool, scoop'd out by Nature's hands, / Amidst the desert rocks and sands, / Where human traitors never come, / Shall save your people from their doom. ' / The fish republic swallow'd all, / And, coming at the fellow's call, / Were singly borne away to stock / A pond beneath a lonely rock; / And there good prophet cormorant, / Proprietor and bailiff sole, / From narrow water, clear and shoal, / With ease supplied his daily want, / And taught them, at their own expense, / That heads well stored with common sense / Give no devourers confidence. -- / Still did the change not hurt their case, / Since, had they staid, the human race, / Successful by pernicious art, / Would have consumed as large a part. / What matters who your flesh devours, / Of human or of bestial powers? / In this respect, or wild or tame, / All stomachs seem to me the same: / The odds is small, in point of sorrow, / Of death to-day, or death to-morrow.[1]

[1]: Bidpaii.