ONCE on a time, in Indostan, A thief conceived a cunning plan (So potent is the voice of Hope) To save his throttle from the rope, Though now the day was drawing nigh When he by law was doomed to die. He bade the jailer tell the King He fain would show a wondrous thing, -- A precious secret fairly worth The ear of any prince on earth. And now the culprit, being led Into the royal presence, said, "This golden coin which here you see, If planted, will become a tree Whose fruit, increased a hundred-fold, Will be -- like this -- the purest gold. I pray your Majesty to try If this be true before I die." With this, the King and courtiers went Into the garden with intent To plant the curious coin of gold; But now, when all was ready, "Hold!" Exclaimed the thief, -- "this hand of mine Would surely spoil our whole design. The hand that plants the gold must be (Else all is nought) entirely free From stain of fraud; and so I pray Your Gracious Majesty will lay The seed in earth." "Yes, -- no, -- in sooth" -- The King replied, "for in my youth I pilfered from my sire; some stain, For all my sorrow, may remain. My good Prime Minister is here; His hand, no doubt, is wholly clear Of any taint." "Nay," he replied, "That's more than I can well decide; As Tax-Receiver -- now -- I may Have kept a trifle. So I pray To be excused, for prudence' sake, And let our Commissary take The coin in hand. Sure that were best; For he, no doubt, can stand the test." "Faith!" said the Commissary, "I Would rather not. I can't deny My good intent; but since I pay Large sums of money every day For soldiers, sailors, and a herd Of spies, -- I would n't give my word I have not kept a small amount, Not entered in my book account. Since any error -- e'en the least -- Would spoil the charm, pray let the Priest Proceed to plant the coin of gold." "Nay, that I fear were over-bold; Despite my prayers and pious zeal," Replied his Reverence, "I deal In tithes and sacrificial dues; And so I beg you will excuse My sharing in a work like this Where nothing must be done amiss." "Faith!" said the thief, "since no man here (As we have learned) is wholly clear Of knavish tricks, I ask you whether We should not all be hung together?" The monarch, laughing, made reply, "Why, yes, if every rogue must die! Well, since we five are knaves confest, I pardon you, -- and spare the rest!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES I, 5 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS TO A GARDEN -- ON LEAVING IT by WILLIAM BARNES |