A leopard sultan ruled a meadowful of oxen, many sheep upon a plain, and deer past counting in a forest.
There was born, in the adjacent sultanate, a lion cub.
The leopard proffered his congratulations, as was proper, to the mother; then he called the old vizier, his veteran counselor, the fox.
“You fear,” he said, “the little lion, I suppose. But why? He’s powerless. His father’s dead—and that’s the least of many troubles. No, pity the orphan, rather. If he keeps what’s his, he’s lucky.”
“I’ve no pity,” said the fox, “for orphans such as that. I’ve cast his horoscope, my lord: he’ll whet his teeth and claws on war. You’ll want him for a friend—or dead.”
This wisdom went unheeded, and the sultan sleepwalked through the years.
The cub became a lion—and a terror. Now alarms were sounded everywhere.
The fox, consulted, sighed: “Why consternate yourself? The ill is irremediable. Enlist a thousand men to fight for us; the net result will be a thousand eaten sheep. My lord, appease the lion; he is more redoubtable alone than all our costly hirelings put together. He has only three, which cost him nothing: courage, strength, and vigilance. I urge you: send him gifts of mutton, beef—the finest that we have—and so preserve the rest.”
The sultan wouldn’t take this good advice, and suffered for his stubbornness, and made his allies suffer too. They all lost all.
This every leopard ought to know: Don’t let a lion grow to be your foe.