The cicada, having sung
All summer long,
Found herself entirely destitute 
When the north wind came:
Not a single tiny morsel
Of fly or of worm.
She went to cry famine
At the ant's house next door,
Imploring her to lend her
Some speck to tide her over
Until the next spring.
"I'll pay you," she said,
"Before the harvest, animal's honor,
Interest and principal."
The ant was not one to lend,
That was the least of her faults.
"What did you do in the warm weather?"
Said she to that borrower.
"Night and day to all and sundry
I sang, if you don't mind."
"You sang? I'm so delighted.
Well then! Now you can dance."

Master Raven, perched in a tree,
Held a cheese in his beak.
Master Fox, drawn by the aroma,
Spoke to him more or less these words:
"Hey, good day, Mister Raven,
How attractive you are! How handsome you seem to me!
To speak truly, if your song
Is a match for your plumage, 
You are the phoenix of the hosts of this wood."
At these words the raven was beside himself with joy;
And, to show off his beautiful voice,
He opened his beak wide, dropping his prey.
The fox seized it, and said, "My good sir,
Learn that every flatterer
Lives at the expense of those who listen to him:
This lesson is doubtless well worth a cheese."
The raven, ashamed and embarrassed,
Swore, but a little late, that he wouldn't be taken in again.

A frog once saw an ox
Who seemed to her of a fine size.
She, who was in all not as big as an egg,
Envious, stretched, and puffed up, and exerted herself,
So as to equal the animal in size,
Saying, "Look closely, my sister;
Is it enough? Tell me, am I not there yet?"
"No " — "Now, then? — "Not at all." — "And now?"
"You're not even close." The little ninny
Became so puffed up that she burst.
The world is full of folk who are no wiser:
Every burgher wants to build like a great lord,
Every princeling has ambassadors,
Every marquis wants to have pages.

The argument of the strongest is always the best:
        We will demonstrate this right away.

        A lamb was quenching its thirst
        In the current of a pure stream.
A wolf arrived with an empty stomach, seeking adventure,
    And drawn to that area by hunger.
"What makes you so bold as to foul my drink?"
        Said that animal, full of rage:
"You will be punished for your effrontery."
"Sire," replied the lamb, "let Your Majesty 
        Not be moved to anger,
        But rather let him consider 
        That I came to quench my thirst 
                In the current
        More than twenty paces downstream;
And that as a result there is no way
         That I could foul his drink.
"You are fouling it!" replied that cruel beast,
"And I know that you spoke ill of me last year."
"How could I have done that, if I wasn't yet born?"
    Replied the lamb: "I'm still suckling my mother."
        "If it wasn't you, then it was your brother."
    "I have none." "Then it was someone of yours;
        For you hardly leave me alone,
        You, your shepherds and your dogs.
    I've been told: I must have my revenge."
        Thereupon, deep into the forest
        The wolf took the lamb, and then ate it,
        Without any further disputation.

       Work, and take pains:
        It is the resource least apt to fail.

A rich farmer, sensing his impending death,
Called together his children, and spoke to them without witnesses.
"Be sure," he told them, "not to sell the inheritance 
        That our forebears have left us:
        A treasure is hidden therein.
I don't know the location; but with a little fortitude
You will find it: you will get through the task.
Dig up your field after the harvest is done;
Burrow, delve, shovel; leave not a single spot
        Your hand has not gone over and over."
When their father was dead, the sons turned over the field,
Here, there, everywhere; so well that at the end of the year 
        Its yield increased as a result.
Of hidden money there was none. But the father was wise
        To show them, before his death,
        That work itself is a treasure.

Greed loses everything in its desire to gain everything.
As witness to this I have need only
Of him whose hen, as the fable relates,
Laid every day a golden egg.
He thought she had a treasure inside her body.
He killed her, opened her up, and found her no different
From those whose eggs yielded him nothing,
Having deprived himself of the most valuable of his goods.
A fine lesson for miserly folk:
In recent times, how many have we seen
Who have become poor overnight
Through wanting to get rich too fast?

It does no good to run; one must set out in good time.
The hare and the tortoise are evidence of this.
"Let us wager," said the latter, "that you won't reach
That goal as soon as I." "As soon? are you thinking clearly?"
        Replied the nimble animal.
        "My chatterbox, you must purge yourself 
        With four grains of hellebore."
        "Thinking clearly or not, I still bet."
        So it was done: and each one's
        Stake was placed near the goal:
        To know what, is not the point,
        Nor upon which judge they settled.
Our hare had only to take four paces;
I mean, such as he takes when, about to be caught,
He pulls away from the dogs, sends them off to the kalends,
        And sets them to exploring the moors.
Having, I say, time left over for grazing,
        For sleeping, and for listening
    For the direction of the wind, he leaves the tortoise 
        To keep up her Senatorial pace.
        She sets off, she tries her hardest;
        She makes haste slowly.
He however scorns such a victory,
        Finds little glory in the wager,
        Believes that it adds to his honor
    To set out late. He grazes, he relaxes,
        He distracts himself with everything else
    Besides the wager. At the end when he saw
That the other was almost reaching the end of the course,
He was off like a shot; but the bounds that he took 
Were in vain: the tortoise got there first.
Well! She cried to him, wasn't I right?
        What good is your speed to you?
        Me, the winner! And how would it be 
        If you had to carry a house?

Perrette with a jug of milk on her head
Well balanced on a little cushion,
Expected to reach town without a hitch.
She strode along lightly in short clothing,
Having worn that day, to be more nimble,
A simple petticoat and flat shoes.
Our milkmaid thus kitted out
Was already counting in her head
The price her milk would fetch, and using that money
Bought a hundred eggs, yielding three broods;
The thing turned out well by her diligent care.
"It is easy for me," she said,
"To raise chickens around my house:
The fox will be quite skilled 
If he doesn't leave me enough to have a pig.
The pig will cost but little bran to fatten;
When I got him he was already reasonably large;
If I sell him I will earn quite a tidy sum.
And who will prevent me from putting in our stable,
Given the price it fetches, a cow and her calf,
That I will see leaping in the midst of the herd?"
Perrette, carried away, thereupon leapt also.
The milk fell; farewell calf, cow, pig, brood;
The mistress of these goods, leaving with a teary eye
Her fortune thus scattered about, 
Went to apologize to her husband,
In great danger of being beaten.
A farcical tale was made of this;
It was called The Jug of Milk.

What mind does not wander?
Who doesn't build castles in the air?
Picrochole, Pyrrhus, the milkmaid, everyone in the end,
Wise men just as much as fools?
Everyone daydreams, there's nothing sweeter;
A flattering error then carries our spirits away:
Everything good in the world is ours,
All the honors, all the women.
When I am alone, I challenge the bravest,
I travel far, I go to dethrone the Shah;
I am elected king, my people love me;
Diadems rain down upon my head;
Some chance occurrence calls me back to myself;
I am just the ordinary Joe I was before.