A hare, closely pursued, thought it prudent and meet To a bramble for refuge awhile to retreat; He enter'd the covert, but entering, found That briers and thorns did on all sides abound; And that, though he was safe, yet he never could stir, But his sides they would wound, or would tear off his fur: He shrugg'd up his shoulders, but would not complain: "To repine at small evils," quoth puss, "is in vain: That no bliss can be perfect, I very well knew-- But from the same source good and evil doth flow-- And full sorely my skin though these briers may rend, Yet they keep off the dogs, and my life will defend: For the sake of the good, then, let evil be borne-- For each sweet has its bitter, each bramble its thorn."