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On a steep, sandy, and difficult road,
And on every side exposed to the Sun,
Six strong horses were pulling a Coach.
Women, Monk, old men, all had gotten down.
The team was sweating, panting, was spent.
A Fly comes along, and approaches the horses;
Claims to spur them on with her buzzing;
Stings one, stings another, and thinks at every moment
That she is making the machine move,
Sits on the shaft, on the Coachman’s nose;
As soon as the cart moves forward,
And she sees the people walking,
She claims the glory solely for herself;
Goes, comes, bustles about; it seems she is
A battle Sergeant going to every place
To urge his men forward, and hasten victory.
The Fly in this common need
Complains that she acts alone, and that she bears all the care;
That no one helps the horses to get themselves out of trouble.
The Monk was saying his Breviary;
He chose his time well! a woman was singing;
Songs were surely what mattered then!
Dame Fly goes to sing in their ears,
And does a hundred foolish things of the like.
After much labor the Coach reaches the top.
Let us breathe now, says the Fly at once:
I have done so much that our people are finally on the plain.
Come, Gentlemen Horses, pay me for my pains.
Thus certain people, acting busy,
Introduce themselves into affairs:
They make themselves necessary everywhere,
And, troublesome everywhere, should be driven off.
Jean de La Fontaine
Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.
Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/fable-the-coach-and-the-fly-jean-de-la-fontaine/