The Weasel in the Granary

La Fontaine January 15, 2015
1 min read
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    A weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze,
    (She was recovering from disease,)
    Which led her to a farmer’s hoard.
    There lodged, her wasted form she cherish’d;
    Heaven knows the lard and victuals stored
    That by her gnawing perish’d!
    Of which the consequence
    Was sudden corpulence.
    A week or so was past,
    When having fully broken fast,
    A noise she heard, and hurried
    To find the hole by which she came,
    And seem’d to find it not the same;
    So round she ran, most sadly flurried;
    And, coming back, thrust out her head,
    Which, sticking there, she said,
    “This is the hole, there can’t be blunder:
    What makes it now so small, I wonder,
    Where, but the other day, I pass’d with ease?”
    A rat her trouble sees,
    And cries, “But with an emptier belly;
    You enter’d lean, and lean must sally.”

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