Scar'd with approaching hunters' cries,
A Stag precipitately flies;
For the next village blindly makes,
And in a cow-house refuge takes.
"What," says an Ox, who stabled there,
"Ill-fated creature, seek you here?
Man's cruelty you try to shun,
And to his roofs for shelter run!"
The Stag replies, "Admit me, pray,
Till I, unmark'd, can steal away."
At night the neatherd fodder brought;
The Stag he neither saw nor sought;
And all the servants, to and fro,
Without observing, come and go.
The weary bailiff was the last,
Who, like the rest, unweeting past.
The Stag takes heart, thinks all is over,
And meditates to seek his cover;
For their protection thanks the stable,
And will return it when he's able.
"We wish you safe," the Ox replies,
"From him who has an hundred eyes;
If he should come, 'tis to be fear'd,"
The master, while he spoke, appear'd;
Whose watchful care had lately seen,
His servants negligent had been.
Bustling he enters, "Hey!" says he,
"What is this carelessness I see!
More litter there, and clean this stall
And rack; the labour is but small!"
As every nook he curious eyes,
The Stag's unhappy horns he spies,
The family then quickly calls;
And the poor beast a victim falls.
The reader from this fable learns,
The master's eye still best discerns.
Source: Boothby - Phaedrus 2.8.
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