The Rat Retired from the World

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  "source_title": "The Rat Retired from the World",
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  "title": "The Rat Retired from the World",
  "slug": "rat-retired-world",
  "url": "https://fairytalez.com/rat-retired-world/",
  "collection": "La Fontaine",
  "published_date": "January 17, 2015",
  "regions": [
    "French"
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    "The sage Levantines have a tale About a rat that weary grew Of all the cares which life assail, And to a Holland cheese withdrew. His solitude was there profound, Extending through his world so round. Our hermit lived on that within; And soon his industry had been With claws and teeth so good, That in his novel hermitage, He had in store, for wants of age, Both house and livelihood. One day this personage devout, Whose kindness none might doubt, Was ask’d, by certain delegates That came from Rat-United-States, For some small aid, for they To foreign parts were on their way, For succour in the great cat-war. Ratopolis beleaguer’d sore, Their whole republic drain’d and poor, No morsel in their scrips they bore. Slight boon they craved, of succour sure In days at utmost three or four. “My friends,” the hermit said, “To worldly things I’m dead. How can a poor recluse To such a mission be of use? What can he do but pray That God will aid it on its way? And so, my friends, it is my prayer That God will have you in his care.” His well-fed saintship said no more, But in their faces shut the door. What think you, reader, is the service For which I use this stingy rat? To paint a monk? No, but a dervish A monk, I think, however fat, Must be more bountiful than that."
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  "body_text": "The sage Levantines have a tale About a rat that weary grew Of all the cares which life assail, And to a Holland cheese withdrew. His solitude was there profound, Extending through his world so round. Our hermit lived on that within; And soon his industry had been With claws and teeth so good, That in his novel hermitage, He had in store, for wants of age, Both house and livelihood. One day this personage devout, Whose kindness none might doubt, Was ask’d, by certain delegates That came from Rat-United-States, For some small aid, for they To foreign parts were on their way, For succour in the great cat-war. Ratopolis beleaguer’d sore, Their whole republic drain’d and poor, No morsel in their scrips they bore. Slight boon they craved, of succour sure In days at utmost three or four. “My friends,” the hermit said, “To worldly things I’m dead. How can a poor recluse To such a mission be of use? What can he do but pray That God will aid it on its way? And so, my friends, it is my prayer That God will have you in his care.” His well-fed saintship said no more, But in their faces shut the door. What think you, reader, is the service For which I use this stingy rat? To paint a monk? No, but a dervish A monk, I think, however fat, Must be more bountiful than that.",
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    "The sage Levantines have a tale About a rat that weary grew Of all the cares which life assail, And to a Holland cheese withdrew. His solitude was there profound, Extending through his world so round. Our hermit lived on that within; And soon his industry had been With claws and teeth so good, That in his novel hermitage, He had in store, for wants of age, Both house and livelihood. One day this personage devout, Whose kindness none might doubt, Was ask'd, by certain delegates That came from Rat-United-States, For some small aid, for they To foreign parts were on their way, For succour in the great cat-war. Ratopolis beleaguer'd sore, Their whole republic drain'd and poor, No morsel in their scrips they bore. Slight boon they craved, of succour sure In days at utmost three or four. \"My friends,\" the hermit said, \"To worldly things I'm dead. How can a poor recluse To such a mission be of use? What can he do but pray That God will aid it on its way? And so, my friends, it is my prayer That God will have you in his care.\" His well-fed saintship said no more, But in their faces shut the door. What think you, reader, is the service For which I use this stingy rat? To paint a monk? No, but a dervish A monk, I think, however fat, Must be more bountiful than that."
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    "The sage Levantines have a tale About a rat that weary grew Of all the cares which life assail, And to a Holland cheese withdrew. His solitude was there profound, Extending through his world so round. Our hermit lived on that within; And soon his industry had been With claws and teeth so good, That in his novel hermitage, He had in store, for wants of age, Both house and livelihood. One day this personage devout, Whose kindness none might doubt, Was ask'd, by certain delegates That came from Rat-United-States, For some small aid, for they To foreign parts were on their way, For succour in the great cat-war. Ratopolis beleaguer'd sore, Their whole republic drain'd and poor, No morsel in their scrips they bore. Slight boon they craved, of succour sure In days at utmost three or four.",
    "\"My friends,\" the hermit said, \"To worldly things I'm dead. How can a poor recluse To such a mission be of use? What can he do but pray That God will aid it on its way? And so, my friends, it is my prayer That God will have you in his care.\" His well-fed saintship said no more, But in their faces shut the door. What think you, reader, is the service For which I use this stingy rat? To paint a monk? No, but a dervish A monk, I think, however fat, Must be more bountiful than that."
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