The Poetry Corner

The Coach And The Fly.

By Jean de La Fontaine

[1] Upon a sandy, uphill road, Which naked in the sunshine glow'd, Six lusty horses drew a coach. Dames, monks, and invalids, its load, On foot, outside, at leisure trode. The team, all weary, stopp'd and blow'd: Whereon there did a fly approach, And, with a vastly business air. Cheer'd up the horses with his buzz, - Now pricked them here, now prick'd them there, As neatly as a jockey does, - And thought the while - he knew 'twas so - He made the team and carriage go, - On carriage-pole sometimes alighting - Or driver's nose - and biting. And when the whole did get in motion, Confirm'd and settled in the notion, He took, himself, the total glory, - Flew back and forth in wondrous hurry, And, as he buzz'd about the cattle, Seem'd like a sergeant in a battle, The files and squadrons leading on To where the victory is won. Thus charged with all the commonweal, This single fly began to feel Responsibility too great, And cares, a grievous crushing weight; And made complaint that none would aid The horses up the tedious hill - The monk his prayers at leisure said - Fine time to pray! - the dames, at will, Were singing songs - not greatly needed! Thus in their ears he sharply sang, And notes of indignation ran, - Notes, after all, not greatly heeded. Erelong the coach was on the top: 'Now,' said the fly, 'my hearties, stop And breathe; - I've got you up the hill; And Messrs. Horses, let me say, I need not ask you if you will A proper compensation pay.' Thus certain ever-bustling noddies Are seen in every great affair; Important, swelling, busy-bodies, And bores 'tis easier to bear Than chase them from their needless care.