Page:A midsummer holiday and other poems (IA midsummerholiday00swin).pdf/149

 'Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!' If one, that strutted up the brawling streets As foreman of the flock whose concourse greets Men's ears with bray more dissonant than brass, Would change from blame to praise as coarse and crass His natural note, and learn the fawning feats Of lapdogs, who but knows what luck he meets? But all in vain old fable holds her glass.

Mocked and reviled by men of poisonous breath, A great man dies: but one thing worst was spared; Not all his heart by their base hands lay bared. One comes to crown with praise the dust of death; And lo, through him this worst is brought to pass. Now, what a thing it is to be an ass!