The Ass and the Lap-Dog
An Ass observed his master's pet,
The Lap Dog, and began to fret:
" I tread the mill to grind the grain;
I drag the plow, the log, the wain;
I feed on water, hay, and oats;
I sleep in stall among the goats —
While he, he rolls upon his back,
Or paws a tit-bit in a sack,
Or leaping on his master's knee
Snaps a sugar-plum in glee;
He laps a spoon of Chian wine;
He takes his naps on cushions fine —
Besides, I hate his silken ears. "
Whereat the Ass his own he rears,
In sudden hope these things to alter:
He breaks away from cord and halter;
Into his master's house he reels
With fawning neck and frisking heels,
And smashes tables, dishes, chairs,
And kicks the baby up the stairs.
And, mindful of the poodle's trick,
He takes his Master unawares
And gives his cheek a whacking lick,
His fore-hoofs on the shoulder laid.
The Serfs, by hubbub strange dismayed,
Rush in, and bang with stones and staves,
Till back into the barn he raves.
And after he has had a chance
To think it over, thus he pants:
MORAL
" O honest toil should never itch
To imitate the idle rich. "
The Lap Dog, and began to fret:
" I tread the mill to grind the grain;
I drag the plow, the log, the wain;
I feed on water, hay, and oats;
I sleep in stall among the goats —
While he, he rolls upon his back,
Or paws a tit-bit in a sack,
Or leaping on his master's knee
Snaps a sugar-plum in glee;
He laps a spoon of Chian wine;
He takes his naps on cushions fine —
Besides, I hate his silken ears. "
Whereat the Ass his own he rears,
In sudden hope these things to alter:
He breaks away from cord and halter;
Into his master's house he reels
With fawning neck and frisking heels,
And smashes tables, dishes, chairs,
And kicks the baby up the stairs.
And, mindful of the poodle's trick,
He takes his Master unawares
And gives his cheek a whacking lick,
His fore-hoofs on the shoulder laid.
The Serfs, by hubbub strange dismayed,
Rush in, and bang with stones and staves,
Till back into the barn he raves.
And after he has had a chance
To think it over, thus he pants:
MORAL
" O honest toil should never itch
To imitate the idle rich. "
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