The manger now had all its measure;
  He heard the grinding teeth with pleasure;
  When all at once confusion rung;
  They snorted, jostled, bit, and flung: 
  A pack-horse turned his head aside,
  Foaming, his eye-balls swelled with pride. 
     ‘Good gods!’ says he, ’how hard’s my lot! 
  Is then my high descent forgot?
60
  Reduced to drudgery and disgrace,
  (A life unworthy of my race,)
  Must I too bear the vile attacks
  Of rugged scrubs, and vulgar hacks? 
  See scurvy Roan, that brute ill-bred,
  Dares from the manger thrust my head! 
  Shall I, who boast a noble line,
  On offals of these creatures dine? 
  Kicked by old Ball! so mean a foe! 
  My honour suffers by the blow.
70
  Newmarket speaks my grandsire’s fame,
  All jockies still revere his name: 
  There yearly are his triumphs told,
  There all his massy plates enrolled. 
  Whene’er led forth upon the plain,
  You saw him with a livery train;
  Returning too with laurels crowned,
  You heard the drums and trumpets sound. 
  Let it then, sir, be understood,
  Respect’s my due; for I have blood.’
80
     ‘Vain-glorious fool!’ the carrier cried,
  ’Respect was never paid to pride. 
  Know, ’twas thy giddy wilful heart
  Reduced thee to this slavish part. 
  Did not thy headstrong youth disdain
  To learn the conduct of the rein? 
  Thus coxcombs, blind to real merit,
  In vicious frolics fancy spirit. 
  What is’t to me by whom begot? 
  Thou restive, pert, conceited sot.
90
  Your sires I reverence; ’tis their due: 
  But, worthless fool, what’s that to you? 
  Ask all the carriers on the road,
  They’ll say thy keeping’s ill bestowed. 
  Then vaunt no more thy noble race,
  That neither mends thy strength or pace. 
  What profits me thy boast of blood? 
  An ass hath more intrinsic good. 
  By outward show let’s not be cheated;
  An ass should like an ass be treated.’
100

* * * * *

  FABLE XII.

  PAN AND FORTUNE.

  TO A YOUNG HEIR.

  Soon as your father’s death was known,
  (As if the estate had been their own)
  The gamesters outwardly express’d
  The decent joy within your breast. 
  So lavish in your praise they grew,
  As spoke their certain hopes in you. 
     One counts your income of the year,
  How much in ready money clear. 
     ‘No house,’ says he, ’is more complete;
  The garden’s elegant and great.
10
  How fine the park around it lies! 
  The timber’s of a noble size! 
  Then count his jewels and his plate. 
  Besides, ’tis no entailed estate. 
  If cash run low, his lands in fee
  Are, or for sale, or mortgage free.’ 
     Thus they, before you threw the main,
  Seem to anticipate their gain.