One of your mischievous, accursed race?
As sure as I'm a Weasel, you're a Mouse!"
"Spare me," said the trembling refugee.
"That really is not my vocation;
Some wretched slanderer, I plainly see,
Has wronged me in your estimation.
A Mouse?—Oh, dear, no! What? With wings, like me?
I am a Bird, I say.
Long live the feathered race, that skims the air!"
Such reasoning sounded fair;
Proof positive, it seemed, was there.
And the Bat went his way.
Some two days afterwards the stupid creature
Into a second Weasel's lodgings flew.
Who was at feud with all the feathered crew:
Again, by reason of his doubtful feature.
He found himself in peril of his life:
Rising to meet him, the Weasel's long-nosed Wife
Thought him a Bird, and was prepared to eat him.
Again he made his piteous protest heard:
"Oh, Madam, you're mistaken! I a Bird!
Why, you can't see!
What makes a Bird? Feathers, not fur, like me!
No—I'm a Mouse: Long live the Mice and Rats!
And Jove confound all Cats!"
So by his two-fold plea
The Trimmer kept his life and liberty.
(La Fontaine, Fables, Vol. II, No. 5. Translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins.)
