 | Aesop Dress'd |  |
The Lyon grown old.
A valiant Lyon, now grown old,His Limbs and Jaws benumb'd and cold,
Lay thinking on his Royal Bed,
With scarce a Tooth in all his Head:
And Claws worn to the Stumps with Tearing:
(But every thing's the worse for wearing)
And whilst he labour'd to repent,
Complaining of his Youth mispent,
His Rebel Subjects paid no more,
That Honour, which they gave before,
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The Bull does push him with his Horn,
The Horse affronts him with his Heels:
No Tongue can tell what grief he feels
From these insulting Enemies.
In comes the Als; but when he sees,
That Coward too forget his Duty,
He dying said, Tu quoque Brute?
| Aesop Dress'd | |