Into each fissure sundry wedges fit
To keep the void and render work more light.
Out groan d the pine, "Why should I vent my spite
Against the axe which never touch'd my root,
So much as these curst wedges, mine own fruit,
Which rend me through inserted here and there!"
A fable this, intended to declare,
That not so dreadful is a stranger's blow
As wrongs which men receive from those they know.
Source: Davies: Fables of Babrius = Babrius 38.