Monday's Fable

[tyresias]

Deux Mulets cheminaient, l'un d'avoine chargé,
L'autre portant l'argent de la Gabelle.
Celui-ci, glorieux d'une charge si belle,
N'eût voulu pour beaucoup en être soulagé.
Il marchait d'un pas relevé,
Et faisait sonner sa sonnette :
Quand, l'ennemi se présentant,
Comme il en voulait à l'argent,
Sur le Mulet du fisc une troupe se jette,
Le saisit au frein et l'arrête.
Le Mulet, en se défendant
Se sent percer de coups : il gémit, il soupire.
"Est-ce donc là, dit-il, ce qu'on m'avait promis ?
Ce Mulet qui me suit du danger se retire,
Et moi j'y tombe, et je péris.
- Ami, lui dit son camarade,
Il n'est pas toujours bon d'avoir un haut Emploi :
Si tu n'avais servi qu'un Meunier, comme moi,
Tu ne serais pas si malade."

 
As always there are discrepencies between the stories in either language but far fewer, and less significant, this time in the previous fable I posted.

Two mules were bearing on their backs,
One, oats; the other, silver of the tax.
The latter glorying in his load,
Marched proudly forward on the road;
And, from the jingle of his bell,
It was plain he liked his burden well.
But in a wild-wood glen
A band of robber men
Rushed forth on the twain.
Well with the silver pleased,
They by the bridle seized
The treasure-mule so vain.
Poor mule! in struggling to repel
His ruthless foes, he fell
Stabbed through; and with a bitter sighing,
He cried, "Is this the lot they promised me?
My humble friend from danger free,
While, weltering in my gore, I'm dying?"
"My friend," his fellow-mule replied,
"It is not well to have one's work too high.
If you had been a miller's drudge, as I,
You would not thus have died."