 | Poetical Trifles |  |
28
THE COCK AND THE HORSES.
A FABLE.
'Twas long, ay very long ago,But when, or where,
I don't exactly know,
And if I did, perhaps you would not care;
A Cock, a lazy, listless spark,
Chancing to saunter up and down,
Much like a soldier in a country town,
Or just as you
Or I might do
In Bond-street, or the Park.
Whether the Devil,
The author of all evil,
As I judge,
Owed him a grudge,
Or that benighted,
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By his own foolish head,
Howe'er it was, he lighted
All in a barn, 'mongst hunters, hacks,
And many a coach-horse, taller, larger
Than a militia Major's charger;
Greys, chesnuts, sorrels, whites, bays, blacks,
Not tied, or fasten'd up to racks,
But sideling, capering about,
Like chattering dowagers at a rout;
And round and round the creatures danc'd,
Snorted, and flung, and plung'd, and pranc'd,
Making the damndest noise and pother,
Kicking and biting one another:
Mean time our Cock by these huge Beasts surrounded,
And like some luckless dog of a Reviewer
Surpris'd by angry bards, and sure
Of being kick'd to death, or miserably pounded,
Though not a little in a fright,
Yet thought it best,
Perhaps too he was in the right,
To strut, and crow,
And give them a Bon-Mot,
And tickle up their fancies with a jest,
Before he bade the world good night.
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Hath kept you from prophaner home-bred courses,
And who have still maintain'd the reputation
Of gentlemanly, well-bred horses,
Though I should be extremely proud
In such good company to pass my life,
Yet as I hate a croud,
Worse than a smoaky chimney, or a scolding wife;
Permit me to propose,
That like the incidents in modern plays,
We each pursue our different ways,
Nor rudely tread on one anothers' toes.
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