FABLE III. The Ass and Horse:
Or, Sweet Meat has Sour Sauce.
An
Ass, with Grief, beheld a pamper'd Steed,
Who, tho' he never Wrought, did always Feed;
And thought him happy in that envy'd State,
But murmur'd at his own severer Fate:
Pinch'd with hard Fare, with heavy Loads oppress'd,
Allow'd as little Time to Eat, as Rest.
But while this deep Concern encreas'd his Care,
The Trumpet summon'd the proud Horse to War;
Who tamely did his Back and Mouth submit
To bear the Rider, and endure the Bit:
Thus press'd to Battle, from the hostile Side,
He soon receiv'd a mortal Wound, and dy'd.
The Ass, that saw him fall, no longer griev'd,
Nor was with false Appearances deceiv'd;
But own'd, the Gods to him had prov'd more kind,
Whom they for mean, but safer Use, design'd.
The MORAL.
‘The Poor, in judging of his Neighbour's State,
‘Is oft' mistaken in his Estimate:
‘He sees the fancy'd Joy, and that commends,
‘But not the Grief which on that Joy attends:
‘Observes the griping Want himself endures,
‘But not the Quiet which that Want secures:
‘How he, while Cares the Rich-Man's Bliss allay,
‘Can pass the Night in Sleep, in Song, the Day.
