Folk Tales
Author's TalesOne”s native talent from its course
Cannot be turned aside by force;
But poorly apes the country clown
The polish”d manners of the town.
Their Maker chooses but a few
With power of pleasing to imbue;
Where wisely leave it we, the mass,
Unlike a certain fabled ass,
That thought to gain his master”s blessing
By jumping on him and caressing.
“What!” said the donkey in his heart;
“Ought it to be that puppy”s part
To lead his useless life
In full companionship
With master and his wife,
While I must bear the whip?
What doth the cur a kiss to draw?
Forsooth, he only gives his paw!
If that is all there needs to please,
I'll do the thing myself, with ease.”
Possess”d with this bright notion,:
His master sitting on his chair,
At leisure in the open air,:
He ambled up, with awkward motion,
And put his talents to the proof;
Upraised his bruised and batter”d hoof,
And, with an amiable mien,
His master patted on the chin,
The action gracing with a word:
The fondest bray that e”er was heard!
O, such caressing was there ever?
Or melody with such a quaver?
“Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!”
Out cried the master, sore offended.
So Martin gave the ass a drubbing,:
And so the comedy was ended.