Some ass had seen a nightingale and said to it:”I say, my buddy! You as they speak are a great master to sing. I’d like very much to judge for myself whether is fine your skill?” Then the nightingale began showing off his art: it started to warble and to whistle in a thousand ways; held a note, its voice poured forth, now it weakened gently and echoed as a languid flute at the distance, now its trills were heard throughout the grove. At that instant everything listened to Aurora’s glorifier and favorite; breezes had calmed down, the choirs of birds had become silent and the herds had lain down. Barely breathing, a shepherd admired the nightingale and only sometimes, listening to it, he smiled at his shepherdess. The singer had finished singing. The ass, staring at the ground, said: “Jolly good, it’s true, you can be listened to without getting bored; however it’s a pity that you are not familiar with our cock; you would got trained even more, if you learned a little bit from it”. Hearing such judgment, my poor nightingale fluttered up – and flew to distant fields.
Oh, that sort of judges, God forbid!
