Moral and political fables ancient and modern. Done into Measurd Prose intermixd with Ryme. By Dr. Walter Pope |
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Fab. CVI. The Calf and Ass. |
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 | Moral and political fables |  |
Fab. CVI. The Calf and Ass.
A New-weand Calf, and a laborious Ass,
In the same Field, fed on the tender Grass,
And as they were i'th' midst of their repast,
The affrighted Calf cryd out, I hear a Drum,
And see a Band of Soldiers march this way,
What will become of us, if here we stay?
Let's go to the next Wood, or Cave, and hide.
'Tis best for you, to fly, the Ass replyd.
You are in greater Jeopardy, than I,
For, if you fall into your Enemies power,
It is impossible you can live an hour;
To th' Pot and Spit you go, are Boyld, and Roast,
And feast the hungry Soldiers, at your Cost;
I have no reason to dread such a Treat,
Lean Asses Flesh is not such tempting Meat,
Nor, do I fear, to be a Captive led,
For, I, where ere I live, must earn my Bread:
My Fate's the same, set me down where you please,
There is no place where Asses live at Ease:
I can't expect Fortune should change her Stile,
And in my latter days vouchsafe a Smile;
She ever has, ever will, me expose
To Hunger, heavy Burthens, and hard Blows.
Without concern, I hear the Trumpet sound,
Nor do I care, by whom the Battle's won,
Either French, or English, Ottoman, or Hun,
I must remain a Slave, till my Life's done.
In the same Field, fed on the tender Grass,
And as they were i'th' midst of their repast,
The affrighted Calf cryd out, I hear a Drum,
And see a Band of Soldiers march this way,
What will become of us, if here we stay?
Let's go to the next Wood, or Cave, and hide.
'Tis best for you, to fly, the Ass replyd.
You are in greater Jeopardy, than I,
For, if you fall into your Enemies power,
It is impossible you can live an hour;
To th' Pot and Spit you go, are Boyld, and Roast,
And feast the hungry Soldiers, at your Cost;
I have no reason to dread such a Treat,
Lean Asses Flesh is not such tempting Meat,
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For, I, where ere I live, must earn my Bread:
My Fate's the same, set me down where you please,
There is no place where Asses live at Ease:
I can't expect Fortune should change her Stile,
And in my latter days vouchsafe a Smile;
She ever has, ever will, me expose
To Hunger, heavy Burthens, and hard Blows.
Without concern, I hear the Trumpet sound,
Nor do I care, by whom the Battle's won,
Either French, or English, Ottoman, or Hun,
I must remain a Slave, till my Life's done.
The Moral.
It concerns those who have Money in their Purse,From Innovations, to preserve the State.
Unalterable is the Poor Mans Fate;
He may change Masters, and be ne'er the worse.
| Moral and political fables | |