THE Tortoise had the boldness to declare
That for a Wager she would race the Hare.
The Hare pronounced it madness. "To restore
Your muddled wits," he said, "you ought to take
Two grains of clarifying Hellebore,
Gossip of mine." "Well, mad or not, I make
The Bet." The Bet was made; terms fixed; the whole
Amount agreed on placed beside the Goal.
The Umpire or the nature of the Stake
I know not: for the Distance—in four bounds
Our Hare had cleared it when, escaped the grip
Of panting Foes, he's given them all the slip
And doubling, set at fault the sorry Hounds.
Therefore to linger he was not afraid.
A moment sleeping, biting now a blade,
Round him a casual glance bestowing
Or listening which way the wind is blowing,
He leaves his Friend against old Time to race—
Who shuffles on at Senatorial pace
And, slowly hurrying, keeps the end in view.
He deigns not yet the Plodder to pursue,
Reflects what little glory is to get
Winning of such a rival such a Bet,
Considers it a point of honour due
Not till the latest moment to engage her.
Meanwhile he feeds, he dreams,
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FRENCH FABLES
333
THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE
