There is an ape in Paris to whom a wife was once given; and he,
imitating many another husband, beat the poor creature to such an extent
that she sighed all the breath out of her body and died.
Their son uttered the most doleful howls as a protest to this terrible
The father laughs now. His wife is dead and he already has found other
lady companions, whom, no doubt, he beats in the same way; for he haunts
the taverns and is frequently tipsy.
Never expect anything good from people who imitate, whether they be apes
or authors. Of the two the worst kind is the imitating author.