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?