The Greeks, for their amusement, used to bring aboard their ships monkeys and dogs.
One ship thus freighted foundered; every soul, if not for aid of dolphins, would have drowned. These strange and marvelous sea-creatures are, says Pliny, great friends to man. They rescued whom they could.
A monkey, too, by accident was saved, so like a man he looked. As gravely as a judge he sat upon the dolphin’s back.
The dolphin, making conversation, asked, “Are you from Athens?”
“Yes,” the monkey said, “I know it well. In fact, if ever you have business there, be sure to look me up. My people run the place; the mayor is my cousin.”
“Thanks,” the dolphin smiled. “You must then know Piraeus well?”
“Of course! Why, he and I go way back; we’re old pals.”
This made the dolphin laugh and turn her head to look more closely at her passenger. No real Athenian could mistake the famous port’s name for a man’s.
She saw that she’d mistook for man mere beast. In search of more esteemed a beneficiary, she turned and plunged—and from his seat the monkey was deposed.
A wisdom feigned is foolishness exposed.