Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists/Fable CXIII
Fab. CXIII.
Death and an Old Man.
AN Old Man that had Travell'd a Great Way under a Huge Burden of Sticks, found himself so Weary, that he Cast it Down, and call'd upon Death to Deliver him from a more Miserable Life. Death came presently at his Call, and Asked him his Bus'ness, Pray Good Sir, says he, Do me but the favour to Help me up with my Burden again.
The Moral.
REFLEXION.
'Tis Matter of Custom, and in Passion, rather then in Earnest, that Men in Pain and Misery are so ready to call for Death: For when he comes, they are affraid of him, It may be said to be the Motto of Humane Nature, rather to Suffer then to Dye, though ‘tis Good however to be always ready for That which Must come at Last, The Doctrine is This, That Skin, and All that a man has will he give for bis Life. We are apt to Pick Quarrels with the World for Every Little Foolery. Oh that I were e'en in my Grave, cryes my Lady. My Pretty Pearl is Dead. Never did any thing go so near my Heart, I Praise the Lord for't. Pray Madam Bethink your self; says a Good Woman to her upon a Condoling Vifit. Why you have Out-liv’d the Loss of a most Excellent Husband. Ay Madam, says the sorrowful Widow: But the Lord may send me such Another Husband; I shall never have such Another Dog. Every Trivial Cross makes us think we are Weary of the World; but our Tongues run quite to Another Tune when we come once to parting with it in Earnest. Then, ‘tis Call the Doctor, Pothecary, Surgeon; Purge, Flux, Launce, Burn, Saw: I'le Endure Any thing in This World, if you can but keep Life and Soul together. When it comes to That once, ’tis not Help me Off with my Burden, but Help me Up with it.