A Farmer was driving his wagon along a miry country road after a heavy rain. Now that I think of it, I have a wonderful wine here, sent me from Olympus, of which I am told Apollo drinks before he sings to the high gods. He had no chance to bite the watchful Countryman. Wolf!, But though the Villagers heard the cry, they did not run to help him as they had before. As they went along, picking up provisions on the way - a stray mouse here, a fat chicken there - they began an argument to while away the time between bites. Or is it his wrinkled hide? They have taken all they can hold. What! At the ford the Ass again tumbled over; but when he had scrambled to his feet, it was a very disconsolate Ass that dragged himself homeward under a load ten times heavier than before.
Do not let anything turn you from your purpose.