- The Woodman and Mercury
- The Earthen Pot and the Iron Pot
- The Little Fish and the Fisher
- The Ears of the Hare
- The Fox With His Tail Cut Off
- The Old Woman And Her Two Servants
- The Satyr and the Traveller
- The Horse and the Wolf
- The Ploughman and His Sons
- The Mountain In Labour
- Fortune and the Boy
- The Doctors by Jean de La Fontaine Fables
- The Hen With The Golden Eggs
- The Ass Carrying Relics
- The Stag and the Vine
Within a savage forest grot
A satyr and his chips
Were taking down their porridge hot;
Their cups were at their lips.
You might have seen in mossy den,
Himself, his wife, and brood;
They had not tailor-clothes, like men,
But appetites as good.
In came a traveller, benighted,
All hungry, cold, and wet,
Who heard himself to eat invited
With nothing like regret.
He did not give his host the pain
His asking to repeat;
But first he blew with might and main
To give his fingers heat.
Then in his steaming porridge dish
He delicately blew.
The wondering satyr said, “I wish
The use of both I knew.”
“Why, first, my blowing warms my hand,
And then it cools my porridge.”
“Ah!” said his host, “then understand
I cannot give you storage.
“To sleep beneath one roof with you,
I may not be so bold.
Far be from me that mouth untrue
Which blows both hot and cold.”
Once upon a time there was a group of merchants who wanted to go to the sea. A guide was ...
The Satyr and the Traveller by Jean de La Fontaine Fables – Book 5
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