Then, observing that Gay-Neck and his retainers were caught in a snare, he sadly said: "My good friend, what is this, and whence? Tell me."
"My good friend," answered Gay-Neck, "why do you ask me? For you know it well. As the proverb says:
Whence, what, by whom, how long, when, where,
And how deserved is good or ill,
Thence, that, by him, so long, then, there,
And so it comes. Fate has its will.
And again:
The peacock seems the world to view
From thousand eyes that mock the hue
Of some bright water-lily;
When fear of death beclouds his mind,
His conduct is of one born blind;
He sinks disheartened, silly.
A hundred leagues and twenty-five
The vulture spies his meat,
But—fate decreeing—fails to see
The snare before his feet.
And again:
Snake, bird, and elephant are caged;
The moon and sun go through eclipse;
The wise are poor: all this I see,
And think how dreadfully fate grips.
And once again:
The birds that in the sky securely soar,
Endure calamities;
While fish are plucked by men from ocean's floor
In far, unsounded seas:
