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The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore

Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes
  

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THE DONKY AND HIS PANNIERS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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213

THE DONKY AND HIS PANNIERS.

A FABLE.

------ “fessus jam sudat asellus,
“Parce illi; vestrum delicium est asinus.”
Virgil. Copa.

A Donky, whose talent for burdens was wond'rous,
So much that you'd swear he rejoic'd in a load,
One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous,
That—down the poor Donky fell smack on the road!
His owners and drivers stood round in amaze—
What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy,
So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways,
For every description of job-work so ready!
One driver (whom Ned might have “hail'd” as a “brother” )
Had just been proclaiming his Donky's renown

214

For vigour, for spirit, for one thing or other—
When, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donky came down!
But, how to upraise him?—one shouts, t'other whistles,
While Jenky, the Conjurer, wisest of all,
Declared that an “over-production of thistles—
(Here Ned gave a stare)—was the cause of his fall.”
Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes—
“There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease;
“The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses,
“And this is his mode of ‘transition to peace.’”
Some look'd at his hoofs, and, with learned grimaces,
Pronounc'd that too long without shoes he had gone—
“Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis
(The wise-acres said), “and he's sure to jog on.”

215

Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear,
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan;
And—what was still dolefuller—lending an ear
To advisers, whose ears were a match for his own.
At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far
As to see others' folly, roar'd out, as he pass'd—
“Quick—off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are,
“Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last!”
October, 1826.
 

Alluding to an early poem of Mr. Coleridge's, addressed to an Ass, and beginning, “I hail thee, brother!”

A certain country gentleman having said in the House, “that we must return at last to the food of our ancestors,” somebody asked Mr. T. “what food the gentleman meant?” —“Thistles, I suppose,” answered Mr. T.