 | The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe |  |
NOUS ET VOUS.
A GALLIC FABLE.
As two young friends were walking out, one day
(So Florian has told),
They chanced to see, before them, in the way
A well-filled purse of gold.
“By Jove! a pretty prize for us!” cried Ned;
While Tom with hasty hand
Was pocketing the purse. “For us?” he said;
“I do not understand
Your meaning, sir; for me, sir! that 's the word!”
(Joy beaming in his face.)
“Considering how the incident occurred,
‘Us’ is n't in the case!”
“Well—be it so!” the other made reply,
“Although 't is hardly fair;
I am not anxious, sir,—indeed, not I,
Your treasure-trove to share!”
Just then, two robbers plainly they espied
In waiting to accost
Our travelers,—when Tom, a-tremble, cried,
“Ah! brother, we are lost!”
“We?” answered Ned. “Oh, we have naught to fear:
'T is you the rogues must face;
You,—you, my boy! To me 't is very clear
‘We’ is n't in the case!”
And at the word away the fellow ran.
When, rushing from the wood,
The thieves attacked the unresisting man,
Who, pale with terror, stood
The while they robbed him of his precious purse,
Too weak for flight or strife,—
No friend to aid him—and (oh sad reverse!)
In peril of his life!
(So Florian has told),
They chanced to see, before them, in the way
A well-filled purse of gold.
“By Jove! a pretty prize for us!” cried Ned;
While Tom with hasty hand
Was pocketing the purse. “For us?” he said;
“I do not understand
Your meaning, sir; for me, sir! that 's the word!”
(Joy beaming in his face.)
“Considering how the incident occurred,
‘Us’ is n't in the case!”
“Well—be it so!” the other made reply,
“Although 't is hardly fair;
I am not anxious, sir,—indeed, not I,
Your treasure-trove to share!”
Just then, two robbers plainly they espied
In waiting to accost
Our travelers,—when Tom, a-tremble, cried,
“Ah! brother, we are lost!”
“We?” answered Ned. “Oh, we have naught to fear:
'T is you the rogues must face;
You,—you, my boy! To me 't is very clear
‘We’ is n't in the case!”
And at the word away the fellow ran.
When, rushing from the wood,
165
Who, pale with terror, stood
The while they robbed him of his precious purse,
Too weak for flight or strife,—
No friend to aid him—and (oh sad reverse!)
In peril of his life!
MORAL.
So wags the world!—where oft the selfish “nous”Seems fated to forget
The time may come when e'en the humblest “vous”
May pay a friendly debt.
The prosperous man who but himself regards
May chance to change his tone,
When Fortune leaves him to his losing cards,
Unpitied and alone!
| The poetical works of John Godfrey Saxe | |