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Alas! if all the truth were told,
Hath not the rot impair’d my fold?
Hath not the measles seized


swine? Hath not the murrain slain


kine ? Or say

that horses be my theme, Hath not the staggers thinn'd ту

team? Have not a thousand ills beside Deprived my stable of its pride?

· When I survey my lands around, What thorns and thistles spread my ground! Doth not the grain my hopes beguile, And mildews mock the thrasher's toil? . However


the harvests past,
What so deficient as the last!
But though nor blasts nor mildews rise,
My turnips are destroy'd by flies;
My sheep are pined to such degree
That not a butcher comes to me.

• Seasons are changed from what they were;
And hence too foul, or hence too fair.
Now scorching heat and drought annoy,
And now returning showers destroy.
Thus have I pass'd my better years
Midst disappointments, cares, and tears.
And now, when I compute my gains,
What have I reap'd for all my pains ?

• Oh! had I known in manhood's prime
These slow convictions wrought by time;
Would I have braved the various woes
Of summer suns and winter snows?
Would I have tempted every sky,
So wet, so windy, or so dry?
With all the elements at strife ?
Ah! no-I then had plann'd a life,


Where wealth attends the middle stage,
And rest and comfort wait on age :
Where rot and murrain ne'er commence,
Nor pastures burn at my expense ;
Nor injured cows their wants bewail,
Nor dairies mourn the milkless pail;
Nor barns lament the blasted grain,
Nor cattle curse the barren plain.'

Dun hobbled by his master's side;
And thus the sober brute replied

• Look through your team, and where's the steed
Who dares dispute with me his breed?
Few horses trace their lineage higher,
Godolphin's Arab was my sire;
My dam was sprung from Panton's stud,
My grandam boasted Childers' blood.
But ah! it now avails me not
By what illustrious chief begot!
Spavins pay no regard to birth,
And failing vision sinks my worth.
The Squire, when he disgusted grew,
Transferr'd his property to you.
And since

Dun“ became your own,
What scenes of sorrow have I known!”
Hath it not been my constant toil,
To drag the plough, and turn the soil ?
Are not my bleeding shoulders wrung
By large and weighty loads of dung?
When the shorn meadows claim your care,
And fragrant cocks perfume the air;
When Ceres' ripen’d fruits abound,
And Plenty waves her sheaves around;
True to my collar, home I bear
The treasures of the fruitful year.


And though this drudgery be mine,
You never heard me once repine.

- Yet what rewards have crown'd my days?
I’m grudged the poor reward of praise.
For oats small gratitude I owe;
Beans were untasted joys, you know.
And now I'm hastening to my end,
Past services can find no friend.
Infirmities, disease, and age
my surly driver's

Look to my wounded flanks you'll see
No horse was ever used like me.

• But now I eat my meals with pain,
Averse to masticate the grain.
Hence you direct, at night and morn,
That chaff accompany my corn;
For husks, although my teeth be few,
Force my reluctant jaws to chew.
What then? Of life shall I complain,
And call it fleeting, false, and vain?
Against the world shall I inveigh,
Because my grinders now decay?

* You think it were the wiser plan,
Had I consorted ne'er with man;
Had I my liberty maintain'd,
Or liberty by flight regain'd,
And ranged o'er distant hills and dales
With the wild foresters of Wales.
• Grant I succeeded to


Is happiness to hills confined ?
Don't famine oft erect her throne
Upon the rugged mountain's stone?
And don't the lower pastures fail,
When snows descending choke the vale ?

Or who so hardy to declare
Disease and death ne'er enter there?

• Do pains or sickness here invade?
Man tenders me his cheerful aid.
For who beholds his hungry beast,
But grants him some supply at least ?
Interest shall prompt him to pursue
What inclination would not do.

Say, had I been the desert's foal,
Through life estranged to man's control;
What service had I done on earth,
Or who could profit by my birth?
My back had ne'er sustain'd thy weight,
My chest ne'er known thy wagons freight;
But now my several powers combine
To answer Nature's ends and thine.
I'm useful thus in every view,
Oh! could I say the same of you!

Superior evils had ensued,
With prescience had I been endued.
Ills, though at distance seen, destroy,
Or sicken every present joy.
We relish every new delight,
When future griefs elude our sight.
To blindness then what thanks are due !
It makes each single comfort two.
The colt, unknown to pain and toil,
Anticipates to-morrow's smile.
Y on lamb enjoys the present hour,
A stranger to the butcher's

• Yours is a wild Utopian scheme;
A boy would blush to own your

dream. Be your profession what it will, No province is exempt from ill:


Quite from the cottage to the throne,
Stations have sorrows of their own.
Why should a peasant then explore
What longer heads ne'er found before?
Go, preach my doctrine to your son ;
By yours the lad would be undone.
But whether he regards or not,
Your lecture would be soon forgot.
The hopes which gullid the parent's breast,
Ere long, will make his son their jest.
Though now these cobweb cheats you spurn,
Yet every man's a dupe in turn.
And wisely so ordain'd, indeed
(Whate'er philosophers may plead),
Else life would stagnate at its source,
And Man and Horse decline the course.

• Then bid young Ralpho never mind it, But take the world as he shall find it.'



CONSULT the moralist, you'll find
That education forms the mind :
But education ne'er supplied
What ruling nature hath denied.
If you'll the following page pursue,
My tale shall prove this doctrine true.

Since to the muse all brutes belong,
The Lamb shall usher in my song;
Whose snowy

fleece adorn’d her skin, Emblem of native white within.

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