"Once on a time -- such is
the tale -- a country mouse welcomed a city mouse in
his poor hole, host and guest old friends both.
Roughly he fared, frugal of his store, yet could
open his thrifty soul in acts of hospitality. In
short, he grudged not his hoard of vetch or long
oats, but bringing in his mouth a dried raisin and
nibbled bits of bacon he served them, being eager
by varying the fare to overcome the daintiness of
a guest, who, with squeamish tooth, would barely
touch each morsel. Meanwhile, outstretched on
fresh straw, the master of the house himself ate
spelt and darner, leaving the titbits to his
friend. At last the city mouse cries to him:
"What pleasure can you have, my friend,
in living so hard a life on the ridge of a steep
wood? Wouldn't you put people and the city above
these wild woods? Take my advice: set out with
me. Inasmuch as all creatures that live on earth
have mortal souls, and for neither great nor small
is there escape from death, therefore, good sir,
while you may, live happy amid joys; live mindful
ever of how brief your time is!" These words
struck home with the rustic, who lightly leaped
forth from his house. Then both pursue the
journey as planned, eager to creep under the city
walls by night.
And now night was holding the mid space of heaven,
when the two set foot in a wealthy palace, where
covers dyed in scarlet glittered on ivory couches,
and many courses remained over from a great dinner
of the evening before, in baskets piled up hard
by. So when the town mouse has the rustic
stretched out on purple covers, he himself bustles
about in waiter-style, serving course after
course, and doing all the duties of the home-bred
slave, first tasting everything he serves. The
other, lying at ease, enjoys his changed lot, and
amid the good cheer is playing the happy guest,
when of a sudden a terrible banging of the doors
tumbled them both from their couches. In panic
they run the length of the hall, and still more
terror-stricken were they, as the lofty palace
rang with the barking of Molossian hounds. Then
says the rustic: "No use have I for such a life,
and so farewell: my wood and hole, secure from
alarms, will solace me with homely vetch."