An ancient Duck, complacent, fat,
Whose miserable habitat
Had been the stagnant pool behind
The barnyard of Baeotian hind, —
Save when she waddled by the fence
Among the roosters and the hens,
To snap with bony bill at corn
Her owner scattered every morn,
Or when within the crib she sate
To hatch her eggs and meditate, —
Began to make some slight pretense
To wisdom and experience.
She heard at dark a Nightingale
At no great distance down the dale —
The winged Nightingale who'd flown
In every sky, in every zone,
And sung while moon or morning star
Descended over hills afar —
And thus the Dame began to quack:
" O Nightingale, you'll surely crack
That voice of yours, unless your soul
Can learn a little self-control;
Try settling down and doing good,
And earn a sober livelihood. "

MORAL

Conceited ignorance with ease
Pronounces its banalities.