OF THE BITE OF THE ADDER
One day Zarathustra had fallen asleep under a fig-tree; it was hot, and he had folded his arms over his face. Then an adder came and bit his neck so that Zarathustra cried out with pain. Taking his arm from his face he looked at the serpent: which recognising Zarathustra's eyes tried awkwardly to wriggle away. "Not so," said Zarathustra; "thou hast not yet accepted my thanks! Thou wakedst me in due time, my way is long." "Thy way is short," said the adder, sadly; "my poison killeth." Zarathustra smiled: "When did ever a dragon die from a serpent's poison?" he said. "But take back thy poison! Thou art not rich enough to make me a gift of it." Then the adder again fell upon his neck and licked his wound.
Zarathustra once telling this unto his disciples they asked: "And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy tale?" Zarathustra thus answered:
"The destroyer of moral I am called by the good and just: my tale is immoral.
But if ye have an enemy return not good for evil: for that would make him ashamed. But prove that he hath done you a good turn.
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