a fly sat on the axle-tree of a chariot, and addressing the draught-mule said, “how slow you are! why do you not go faster? see if i do not prick your neck with my sting.” the draught-mule replied, “i do not heed your threats; i only care for him who sits above you, and who quickens my pace with his whip, or holds me back with the reins. away, therefore, with your insolence, for i know well when to go fast, and when to go slow.”