(14) "Have you never heard how the youth of Shou-ling went to study at Han-tan? They did not learn what they wanted at Han-tan, and forgot all they knew before into the bargain, so that they returned home in disgrace. And you, if you do not go away, you will forget all you know, and waste your time into the bargain." Kung Sun Lung's jaw dropped; his tongue clave to his palate; and he slunk away. Chuang Tzŭ was fishing in the P'u when the prince of Ch'u sent two high officials to ask him to take charge of the administration of the Ch'u State. Chuang Tzŭ went on fishing, and without turning his head said, "I have heard that in Ch'u there is a sacred tortoise which has been dead now some three thousand years. And that the prince keeps this tortoise carefully enclosed in a chest on the altar of his ancestral temple. Now would this tortoise rather be dead and have its remains venerated, or be alive and wagging its tail in the mud?" "It would rather be alive," replied the two officials, "and wagging its tail in the mud." "Begone!" cried Chuang Tzŭ. "I too will wag my tail in the mud." Hui Tzŭ was prime minister in the Liang State. Chuang Tzŭ went thither to visit him. Some one remarked, "Chuang Tzŭ has come. He wants to be minister in your place." Thereupon Hui Tzŭ was afraid, and searched all over the State for three days and three nights to find him.

(3) As I was holding raised on them my brows, Behold! a serpent with six feet darts forth In front of one, and fastens wholly on him. With middle feet it bound him round the paunch, And with the forward ones his arms it seized; Then thrust its teeth through one cheek and the other; The hindermost it stretched upon his thighs, And put its tail through in between the two, And up behind along the reins outspread it. Ivy was never fastened by its barbs Unto a tree so, as this horrible reptile Upon the other's limbs entwined its own. Then they stuck close, as if of heated wax They had been made, and intermixed their colour; Nor one nor other seemed now what he was; E'en as proceedeth on before the flame Upward along the paper a brown colour, Which is not black as yet, and the white dies. The other two looked on, and each of them Cried out: "O me, Agnello, how thou changest! Behold, thou now art neither two nor one." Already the two heads had one become, When there appeared to us two figures mingled Into one face, wherein the two were lost.

(1) Silent, alone, and without company We went, the one in front, the other after, As go the Minor Friars along their way. Upon the fable of Aesop was directed My thought, by reason of the present quarrel, Where he has spoken of the frog and mouse; For 'mo' and 'issa' are not more alike Than this one is to that, if well we couple End and beginning with a steadfast mind. And even as one thought from another springs, So afterward from that was born another, Which the first fear within me double made. Thus did I ponder: "These on our account Are laughed to scorn, with injury and scoff So great, that much I think it must annoy them. If anger be engrafted on ill-will, They will come after us more merciless Than dog upon the leveret which he seizes," I felt my hair stand all on end already With terror, and stood backwardly intent, When said I: "Master, if thou hidest not Thyself and me forthwith, of Malebranche I am in dread; we have them now behind us; I so imagine them, I already feel them."

(2) As on the brink of water in a ditch The frogs stand only with their muzzles out, So that they hide their feet and other bulk, So upon every side the sinners stood; But ever as Barbariccia near them came, Thus underneath the boiling they withdrew. I saw, and still my heart doth shudder at it, One waiting thus, even as it comes to pass One frog remains, and down another dives; And Graffiacan, who most confronted him, Grappled him by his tresses smeared with pitch, And drew him up, so that he seemed an otter. I knew, before, the names of all of them, So had I noted them when they were chosen, And when they called each other, listened how. "O Rubicante, see that thou do lay Thy claws upon him, so that thou mayst flay him," Cried all together the accursed ones. And I: "My Master, see to it, if thou canst, That thou mayst know who is the luckless wight, Thus come into his adversaries' hands." Near to the side of him my Leader drew, Asked of him whence he was; and he replied: "I in the kingdom of Navarre was born;

(4) Ayaz was afflicted with the evil eye, and had to leave the court of the Sultan Mahmud. In despair he fell into a state of despondency and lay on his bed and wept. When Mahmud heard about it he said to one of his attendants: 'Go to Ayaz and say, "I know that you are sad, but I also am in the same state. Though my body is far from you my spirit is near. O you who love me, I am not absent from you for a moment. The evil eye has indeed done ill in afflicting one so charming.'' ' He added to his attendant: 'Go at once, go like fire, go as the rushing water, go as the lightning before the thunder!'

The attendant set off like the wind and in no time reached Ayaz. But he found the Sultan already there, sitting before his slave. And trembling, he said to himself: 'What a misfortune to have to serve a king; no doubt my blood will be shed today.' Then he said to the Sultan: 'I assure you that I haven't stopped for a moment, sitting or standing; how then has the King got here before me? Does the King believe me? If I have been negligent in any way I acknowledge my fault.'

'You are not Mahram,' said Mahmud, 'how then should you be able to travel as I have? I came by a secret way. When I asked for news of Ayaz my spirit was already with him.'

(10) The walrus said to the centipede, "I hop about on one leg, but not very successfully. How do you manage all these legs you have?" "I don't manage them," replied the centipede. "Have you never seen saliva? When it is ejected, the big drops are the size of pearls, the small ones like mist. They fall promiscuously on the ground and cannot be counted. And so it is that my mechanism works naturally, without my being conscious of the fact." The centipede said to the snake, "With all my legs I do not move as fast as you with none. How is that?" "One's natural mechanism," replied the snake, "is not a thing to be changed. What need have I for legs?" The snake said to the wind, "I can manage to wriggle along, but I have a form. Now you come blustering down from the north sea to bluster away to the south sea, and you seem to be without form. How is that?" "'Tis true," replied the wind, "that I bluster as you say; but any one who can point at me or kick at me, excels me. On the other hand, I can break huge trees and destroy large buildings. That is my strong point. Out of all the small things in which I do not excel I make one great one in which I do excel. And to excel in great things is given only to the Sages." When Confucius visited K'uang, the men of Sung surrounded him closely. Yet he went on playing and singing to his guitar without ceasing.

(2) His tail was wholly quivering in the void, Contorting upwards the envenomed fork, That in the guise of scorpion armed its point. The Guide said: "Now perforce must turn aside Our way a little, even to that beast Malevolent, that yonder coucheth him." We therefore on the right side descended, And made ten steps upon the outer verge, Completely to avoid the sand and flame; And after we are come to him, I see A little farther off upon the sand A people sitting near the hollow place. Then said to me the Master: "So that full Experience of this round thou bear away, Now go and see what their condition is. There let thy conversation be concise; Till thou returnest I will speak with him, That he concede to us his stalwart shoulders." Thus farther still upon the outermost Head of that seventh circle all alone I went, where sat the melancholy folk. Out of their eyes was gushing forth their woe; This way, that way, they helped them with their hands Now from the flames and now from the hot soil.

(6) The one uprose and down the other fell, Though turning not away their impious lamps, Underneath which each one his muzzle changed. He who was standing drew it tow'rds the temples, And from excess of matter, which came thither, Issued the ears from out the hollow cheeks; What did not backward run and was retained Of that excess made to the face a nose, And the lips thickened far as was befitting. He who lay prostrate thrusts his muzzle forward, And backward draws the ears into his head, In the same manner as the snail its horns; And so the tongue, which was entire and apt For speech before, is cleft, and the bi-forked In the other closes up, and the smoke ceases. The soul, which to a reptile had been changed, Along the valley hissing takes to flight, And after him the other speaking sputters.

(10) The trapper went, bringing the harlot, Shamhat, with him. They set off on the journey, making direct way. On the third day they arrived at the appointed place, and the trapper and the harlot sat down at their posts(?). A first day and a second they sat opposite the watering hole. The animals arrived and drank at the watering hole, the wild beasts arrived and slaked their thirst with water. Then he, Enkidu, offspring of the mountains, who eats grasses with the gazelles, came to drink at the watering hole with the animals, with the wild beasts he slaked his thirst with water. Then Shamhat saw him--a primitive, a savage fellow from the depths of the wilderness! "That is he, Shamhat! Release your clenched arms, expose your sex so he can take in your voluptuousness. Do not be restrained--take his energy!

(2) A king had a daughter as beautiful as the moon, who was loved by everone. Passion was awakened by her sleepy eyes and by the sweet intoxication of her presence. Her face was white as camphor, her hair musk-black. Jealousy of her lips dried up a ruby of the finest water, while sugar melted in them for shame.

By the will of destiny a dervdsh caught sight of her, and the bread he held dropped from his hand. She passed him like a flame, and as she passed, she laughed. At this the

derush fell in the dust almost deprived of life. He could rest neither by day nor night and wept continually. When he thought of her smile he shed tears as a cloud drops rain. This frantic love went on for seven years, the while he lived in the street with dogs. At last her attendants resolved to put an end to him. But the princess spoke to him in secret and said: 'How is it possible for there to be intimate rela> tions between you and me? Go at once, or you will be killed: don't stay any longer at my door, but get up and go.'

The poor dervish replied: 'The day I fell in love with you I washed my hands of life. Thousands such as I sacrifice themselves to your beauty. Since your men are bent on killing me unjustly, answer one simple question. On the day you became the cause of my death, why did you smile at me?' 'O you fool,' she said, 'when I saw that you were about to humiliate yourself, I smiled from pity. I am permitted to smile from pity but not from mockery.' So saying, she vanished like a wisp of smoke, leaving the dervish desolate.

(5) There was once a king who had a son as charming as Joseph, full of grace and beauty. He was loved by ever)'one, and all who saw him would gladly have been the dust under his feet. If he went out at night, it was as if a new sun had risen over the desert. His eyes were the black narcissus, and when they glanced they set a world on fire. His smile scattered sugar, and wherever he walked a thousand roses bloomed, not waiting for the spring.

Now there was a simple dervish who had lost his heart to this young prince. Day and night he sat near the prince's palace, neither eating nor sleeping. His face became like yellow gold, and his ecs shed tears of silver, for his heart was cut in two. He would have died, but that from time to time he caught a glimpse of the young prince when he appeared in the bazaar. But how could such a prince comfort a poor dervish in this state? Yet the simple man, who was a shadow, a particle of an atom, wished to take the radiant sun on his breast.

One day when the prince was riding at the head of his attendants the dervish stood up and gave a cry and said: ' My reason has left me, my heart is consumed, I no longer have patience or strength to suffer,' and he beat his head on the ground in front of the prince. One of the courtiers wanted to have him killed, and went to the king. 'Sire,' he said, 'a libertine has fallen in love with your son.' The

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king was very angr)': 'Have this audacious scoundrel impaled/ he said. 'Bind him hand and foot and put his head on a stake.' The courtier went at once to do his bidding. They put a running noose on the neck of the beggar and dragged him to the stake. No one knew what it was about and no one interceded for him. When the wazir had had him brought under the gibbet, the dervish gave a cry of grief and said: 'For the love of God, give me a respite, so that at least I can say a prayer under the gibbet.' This was allowed, and the dervish prostrated himself and prayed: ' O God, since the king has given orders for my death - I, who am innocent - grant me, your ignorant servant, before I die, the good fortune to see only once the face of this young man, so that I may offer myself as a sacrifice. O God, my King, you who give ear to a thousand prayers, grant this last wish of mine.'

No sooner had the dervish uttered this prayer than the arrow of his desire reached its mark. The wazir divined his secret and took pity on him. He went to the king and explained the true state of things. At this the king became thoughtful; then compassion filled his heart and he pardoned the dervish, and said to the prince: 'Go and fetch this poor man from under the gibbet. Be gentle with him and drink with him, for he has tasted of your poison. Take him to your garden and then bring him to me.'

The young prince, another Joseph, went at once - the sun with a face of fire came face to face with an atom. This ocean of beautiful pearls went to seek a drop of water. Beat your head for joy, set your feet dancing, clap your hands! But the dervish was in despair; his tears turned the dust to mud and the world became heavy with his sighs. Even the prince himself could not help but weep. When the dervdsh saw his tears he said: 'O Prince, now you may take my life.' And so saying, he gave up the ghost and died. When he knew that he was united to his beloved no other desires were left.

O you, who at once exist and are yet a non-entity, whose happiness is mingled with unhappiness, if you have never experienced unrest, how will you appreciate tranquillity? You stretch out your hand towards the lightning and are stopped by swept-up heaps of snow. Strive valiantly, burn reason, and give yourself up to folly. If you wish to use this alchemy reflect a little and, by my example, renounce yourself; withdraw from your wandering thoughts into your soul so that you may come to spiritual poverty. As for me, who am neither I nor not-I, I have strayed from myself, and I find no other remedy than despair.

(2) When Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ was on his way to Ch'i, he broke his journey in Lu. A certain man of Lu begged for an interview, but Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ said, "No. I have heard that the gentlemen of the Middle Kingdom are experts in ceremonies and obligations, but wanting in knowledge of the human heart. I do not wish to see him." So he went on to Ch'i; but once more at Lu, on his way home, the same man again begged to have an interview. "When I was last here," cried Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ, "he asked to see me, and now again he asks to see me. Surely he must have something to communicate." Whereupon he went and received the stranger, and on returning gave vent to sighs. Next day he received him again, and again after the interview gave vent to sighs. Then his servant asked him, saying, "How is it that whenever you receive this stranger, you always sigh afterwards?" "I have already told you," replied Wên Po Hsüeh Tzŭ, "that the people of the Middle Kingdom are experts in ceremonies and obligations but wanting in knowledge of the human heart. The man who visited me came in and went out as per compasses and square. His demeanour was now that of the dragon, now that of the tiger. He criticised me as though he had been my son. He admonished me as though he had been my father. Therefore I gave vent to sighs."

(23) The actual ordeals of the Xibalbian Mysteries were seven in number. As a preliminary the two adventurers crossed a river of mud and then a stream of blood, accomplishing these difficult feats by using their sabarcans as bridges. Continuing on their way, they reached a point where four roads converged--a black road, a white road, a red road, and a green road. Now Hunahpu and Xbalanque knew that their first test would consist of being able to discriminate between the princes of Xibalba and the wooden effigies robed to resemble them; also that they must call each of the princes by his correct name without having been given the information. To secure this information, Hunahpu pulled a hair from his leg, which hair then became a strange insect called Xan; buzzing along the black road, the Xan entered the council chamber of the princes of Xibalba and stung the leg of the figure nearest the door, which it discovered to be a manikin. By the same artifice the second figure was proved to be of wood, but upon stinging the third, there was an immediate response. By stinging each of the twelve assembled princes in turn the insect thus discovered each one's name, for the princes called each other by name in discussing the cause of the mysterious bites. Having secured the desired information in this novel manner, the insect then flew back to Hunahpu and Xbalanque, who thus fortified, fearlessly approached the threshold of Xibalba and presented themselves to the twelve assembled princes.

(25) My son, do not swim in any water, and do not allow yourself to be defiled by strange kinds of knowledge. Certainly you know that the schemes of the Adversary are not few, and (that) the tricks which he has are varied? Especially has the noetic man been robbed of the intelligence of the snake. For it is fitting for you to be in agreement with the intelligence of (these) two: with the intelligence of the snake and with the innocence of the dove - lest he (the Adversary) come into you in the guise of a flatterer, as a true friend, saying, "I advise good things for you."

(2) "Yes," said the prince. "I am just about collecting the revenue of my fief, and will then lend you three hundred ounces of silver. Will that do?" At this Chuang Tzŭ flushed with anger and said, "Yesterday, as I was coming along, I heard a voice calling me. I looked round, and in the cart-rut I saw a stickleback. "'And what do you want, stickleback?' said I. "'I am a denizen of the eastern ocean,' replied the stickleback. 'Pray, Sir, a pint of water to save my life.' "'Yes,' said I. 'I am just going south to visit the princes of Wu and Yüeh. I will bring you some from the west river. Will that do?' "At this the stickleback flushed with anger and said, 'I am out of my element. I have nowhere to go. A pint of water would save me. But to talk to me like this,—you might as well put me in a dried-fish shop at once.'" Jên Kung Tzŭ got a huge hook on a big line, which he baited with fifty oxen. He squatted down at Kuei-chi, and cast into the eastern ocean. Every day he fished, but for a whole year he caught nothing. Then came a great fish which swallowed the bait, and dragging the huge hook dived down below. This way and that way it plunged about, erecting the dorsal fin. The white waves rolled mountain high. The great deep was shaken up. The noise was like that of so many devils, terrifying people for many miles around.

(15) Then Chuang Tzŭ went to see Hui Tzŭ, and said, "In the south there is a bird. It is a kind of phœnix. Do you know it? It started from the south sea to fly to the north sea. Except on the wu-t'ung tree, it would not alight. It would eat nothing but the fruit of the bamboo, drink nothing but the purest spring water. An owl which had got the rotten carcass of a rat, looked up as the phœnix flew by, and screeched. Are you not screeching at me over your kingdom of Liang?" Chuang Tzŭ and Hui Tzŭ had strolled on to the bridge over the Hao, when the former observed, "See how the minnows are darting about! That is the pleasure of fishes." "You not being a fish yourself," said Hui Tzŭ, "how can you possibly know in what consists the pleasure of fishes?" "And you not being I," retorted Chuang Tzŭ, "how can you know that I do not know?" "If I, not being you, cannot know what you know," urged Hui Tzŭ, "it follows that you, not being a fish, cannot know in what consists the pleasure of fishes." "Let us go back," said Chuang Tzŭ, "to your original question. You asked me how I knew in what consists the pleasure of fishes. Your very question shows that you knew I knew. I knew it from my own feelings on this bridge."

(5) Prince Yüan of Sung dreamed one night that a man with dishevelled hair peeped through a side door and said, "I have come from the waters of Tsai-lu. I am a marine messenger attached to the staff of the River God. A fisherman, named Yü Ch'ieh, has caught me." When the prince awaked, he referred his dream to the soothsayers, who said, "This is a divine tortoise." "Is there any fisherman," asked the prince, "whose name is Yü Ch'ieh?" Being told there was, the prince gave orders for his appearance at court; and the next day Yü Ch'ieh had an audience. "Fisherman," said the prince, "what have you caught?" "I have netted a white tortoise," replied the fisherman, "five feet in semi-circumference." "Bring your tortoise," said the prince. But when it came, the prince could not make up his mind whether to kill it or keep it alive. Thus in doubt, he had recourse to divination, and received the following response:— Slay the tortoise for purposes of divination and good fortune will result. So the tortoise was despatched. After which, out of seventy-two omens taken, not a single one proved false. "A divine tortoise," said Confucius, "can appear to prince Yüan in a dream, yet it cannot escape the net of Yü Ch'ieh. Its wisdom can yield seventy-two faultless omens, yet it cannot escape the misery of being cut to pieces. Truly wisdom has its limits; spirituality, that which it cannot reach.

(8) A man who had been to see the prince of Sung and had been presented with ten chariots, was putting on airs in the presence of Chuang Tzŭ. "At Ho-Shang," said the latter, "there was a poor man who supported his family by plaiting rushes. One day his son dived into the river and got a pearl worth a thousand ounces of silver. The father bade him fetch a stone and smash it to pieces, explaining that he could only have got such a pearl very deep down from under the nose of the dragon, which must have been asleep. And he said he was afraid that when the dragon waked, the boy would have a poor chance. "Now the State of Sung is deeper than a deep river, and the prince of Sung is fiercer than a dragon. To get these chariots, you must have caught him asleep. And when he wakes, you will be ground to powder." Some prince having invited Chuang Tzŭ to enter his service, Chuang Tzŭ said in reply to the envoy, "Sir, have you ever noticed a sacrificial ox? It is bedecked with ribbons and fares sumptuously. But when it comes to be slaughtered for the temple, would it not gladly exchange places with some neglected calf?" When Chuang Tzŭ was about to die, his disciples expressed a wish to give him a splendid funeral. But Chuang Tzŭ said, "With Heaven and Earth for my coffin and shell; with the sun, moon, and stars as my burial regalia; and with all creation to escort me to the grave,—are not my funeral paraphernalia ready to hand?"

(9) "Are you afraid?" asked Tzŭ Ssŭ. "I am not," replied Tzŭ Yü. "What have I to fear? Ere long I shall be decomposed. My left shoulder will become a cock, and I shall herald the approach of morn. My right shoulder will become a cross-bow, and I shall be able to get broiled duck. My buttocks will become wheels; and with my soul for a horse, I shall be able to ride in my own chariot. I obtained life because it was my time: I am now parting with it in accordance with the same law. Content with the natural sequence of these states, joy and sorrow touch me not. I am simply, as the ancients expressed it, hanging in the air, unable to cut myself down, bound with the trammels of material existence. But man has ever given way before God: why, then, should I be afraid?" By-and-by, another of the four, named Tzŭ Lai, fell ill, and lay gasping for breath, while his family stood weeping around. The fourth friend, Tzŭ Li, went to see him. "Chut!" cried he to the wife and children; "begone! you balk his decomposition." Then, leaning against the door, he said, "Verily, God is great! I wonder what he will make of you now. I wonder whither you will be sent. Do you think he will make you into a rat's liver or into the shoulders of a snake?" "A son," answered Tzŭ Lai, "must go whithersoever his parents bid him. Nature is no other than a man's parents.

(5) Be silent Ovid, of Cadmus and Arethusa; For if him to a snake, her to fountain, Converts he fabling, that I grudge him not; Because two natures never front to front Has he transmuted, so that both the forms To interchange their matter ready were. Together they responded in such wise, That to a fork the serpent cleft his tail, And eke the wounded drew his feet together. The legs together with the thighs themselves Adhered so, that in little time the juncture No sign whatever made that was apparent. He with the cloven tail assumed the figure The other one was losing, and his skin Became elastic, and the other's hard. I saw the arms draw inward at the armpits, And both feet of the reptile, that were short, Lengthen as much as those contracted were. Thereafter the hind feet, together twisted, Became the member that a man conceals, And of his own the wretch had two created. While both of them the exhalation veils With a new colour, and engenders hair On one of them and depilates the other,