A FLY sat on the axle-tree of a chariot, and addressing the

　　Draught-Mule said, "How slow you are! Why do you not go faster?

　　See if I do not prick1 your neck with my sting." The Draught-Mule

　　replied, "I do not heed2 your threats; I only care for him who

　　sits above you, and who quickens my pace with his whip, or holds

　　me back with the reins3. Away, therefore, with your insolence,

　　for I know well when to go fast, and when to go slow."