A wagoner was passing with his load of hay through isolated regions far from any human habitation when his cart was mired in claggy mud. May God preserve us from a like ordeal, which He sends those He means to madden!
Furious, enraged, the wagoner inveighed against the bog, then cursed his horses, damned his cart, and execrated finally himself for having such poor luck.
Invoking then that god whose labors are so well renowned, “Oh, Hercules,” he cried, “come help! If you can bear celestial spheres upon your back for Atlas, surely you can free these wheels for me.”
In answer to his prayer there came from out the clouds a voice that said, “If you’ll bestir yourself a bit, then Hercules will help. First look around: what’s stopping you? Remove the mud from all around each wheel; with pickaxe break that stone you’re grounded on; and fill that rut. That’s it. All done?”
“All done,” the driver said.
“Okay! I’ll help you now. Take up your whip.”
“I have it. —But what’s this? My cart now glides as smoothly as a rill of oil! May Hercules be praised!”
The voice said, “Yes, your horses find it not so hard to move when they are not by mud waylaid!”
Aid first yourself, and Heaven will give aid.