The Tortoise and the Two Ducks

A light-brain'd tortoise, anciently, / Tired of her hole, the world would see. / Prone are all such, self-banish'd, to roam -- / Prone are all cripples to abhor their home. / Two ducks, to whom the gossip told / The secret of her purpose bold, / Profess'd to have the means whereby / They could her wishes gratify. / 'Our boundless road,' said they, 'behold! / It is the open air; / And through it we will bear / You safe o'er land and ocean. / Republics, kingdoms, you will view, / And famous cities, old and new; / And get of customs, laws, a notion, -- / Of various wisdom various pieces, / As did, indeed, the sage Ulysses. ' / The eager tortoise waited not / To question what Ulysses got, / But closed the bargain on the spot. / A nice machine the birds devise / To bear their pilgrim through the skies. -- / Athwart her mouth a stick they throw: / 'Now bite it hard, and don't let go,' / They say, and seize each duck an end, / And, swiftly flying, upward tend. / It made the people gape and stare / Beyond the expressive power of words, / To see a tortoise cut the air, / Exactly poised between two birds. / 'A miracle,' they cried, 'is seen! / There goes the flying tortoise queen! ' / 'The queen! ' ('twas thus the tortoise spoke; ) / 'I'm truly that, without a joke. ' / Much better had she held her tongue / For, opening that whereby she clung, / Before the gazing crowd she fell, / And dash'd to bits her brittle shell.

Imprudence, vanity, and babble, / And idle curiosity, / An ever-undivided rabble, / Have all the same paternity.[1]