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 | The harp and plow |  |
The fish now dangling on his string
Was but a brainless trifling thing
Such as along a city's walks
With consequential bearing stalks;
Who owes to tailors' arts and dresses,
The consequence that he possesses;
And lisping tells his brother asses
How he disdains the ‘lower classes.’
Nick merely deigned this word on him
Of smirking face and puny limb:—
‘I only want your body, Zany;
Prime souls are scarce—you have n't any.’
For as he looked upon his face
He knew the worthless minim dace
Was only fit for making bait;
And so consigned him to his fate.
Upon his hook he kept the wretch,
And cast, another fish to catch.
Was but a brainless trifling thing
Such as along a city's walks
With consequential bearing stalks;
125
The consequence that he possesses;
And lisping tells his brother asses
How he disdains the ‘lower classes.’
Nick merely deigned this word on him
Of smirking face and puny limb:—
‘I only want your body, Zany;
Prime souls are scarce—you have n't any.’
For as he looked upon his face
He knew the worthless minim dace
Was only fit for making bait;
And so consigned him to his fate.
Upon his hook he kept the wretch,
And cast, another fish to catch.
| The harp and plow | |