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Fab. VIII. Of a Man and his Ass. |
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Poems on Affairs of State | ||
Fab. VIII. Of a Man and his Ass.
A wretched
Churl was trav'ling with his Ass,
Beneath two Panniers Load opprest;
And hearing noise behind, cry'd to the Beast,
Fly, my Friend Roger, fly apace;
Else I'm undone, and all my Market's naught;
And thou thy self wilt by the Rogues be caught.
Caught? quoth the Beast, what if I be?
What will it signify to me?
My Panniers are so full, they'll hold no more;
I carry two, and cannot carry four.
'Twixt Rogues and You I can no difference make,
They are all Rogues to me, who break my Back.
Beneath two Panniers Load opprest;
And hearing noise behind, cry'd to the Beast,
Fly, my Friend Roger, fly apace;
Else I'm undone, and all my Market's naught;
And thou thy self wilt by the Rogues be caught.
Caught? quoth the Beast, what if I be?
What will it signify to me?
My Panniers are so full, they'll hold no more;
I carry two, and cannot carry four.
'Twixt Rogues and You I can no difference make,
They are all Rogues to me, who break my Back.
56
Fly, fly from France, our Statesmen cry,
And Slavery's cursed Yoke;
Whilst with our Ancient Liberty
Our very Backs are broke.
France is a Thief; but France can do no more,
Than keep the Panniers on we had before.
And Slavery's cursed Yoke;
Whilst with our Ancient Liberty
Our very Backs are broke.
France is a Thief; but France can do no more,
Than keep the Panniers on we had before.
Poems on Affairs of State | ||