by Robert Greene
When tender ewes, brought home with evening sun,
Wend to their folds,
And to their holds
The shepherds trudge when light of day is done,
Upon a tree
The eagle, Jove's fair bird, did perch;
There resteth he:
A Little fly his harbour then did search,
And did presume, though others laughed therat,
To perch whereas the princely eagle sat.
The eagle frown'd, and shook his royal wings,
And charg'd the fly
From thence to hie:
Afraid, in haste, the little creature flings
Yet seeks again,
Fearful, to perk him by the eagle's side:
With moody vein,
The speedy post of Ganymede replied,
" Vassal, avaunt, or with my wings you die;
Is't fit an eagle seat him with a fly? "
The fly craved pity, still the eagle frown'd:
The silly fly,
Ready to die,
Disgrac'd, displac'd, fell grovelling to the ground:
The eagle saw,
And with a royal mind said to the fly,
" Be not in awe,
I scorn by me the meanest creature die.
Then seat thee here. " The joyful fly up flings,
And sat safe-shadow'd with the eagle's wings.
Last updated September 24, 2017