Prevod
(What in medicine seems science and skill is often the work of pure chance.) The sick man battles His disease, He to stay alive, And she to kill. They strain their strength 5 To best each other, With no certainty Who will prevail. A man so shortsighted, So nearly blind, 10 That he can barely Make out their shapes, Takes up a stick To make them keep the peace: Down comes a blow, 15 Then down comes another; If he happens to strike The disease, The blind man wins renown For a lynx’s keen sight; 20 But if, by ill fortune, He strikes the sick man, The blind man proves no better Than a blundering mole. Who knows which would be 25 The greater folly: To let them kill each other, Or step in to make peace? Before you let yourself Be bled or purged, 30 Here is a little fable That makes good medicine.