k at those two legged asses," cried,
"Who trudge on foot when they might ride!"
The father with the hint complies:
Makes the boy mount. Now other cries
Assail their ears; by graybeards blam'd;
"Sirrah, you ought to be asham'd
To ride and let your father walk!"
Again he listened to their talk.
The sire got up, the youth got down;
When passing through a country town,
At every door the mothers said,
"A murrain light on thy old head!
Hast thou no bowels for thy kind?
At least take up the lad behind."
This done they next were thus address'd:
"Two lubbers on a little beast?
They fitter are to carry him!"
Complying with this senseless whim,
Upon a pole his feet in air,
The ass they on their shoulders bear.
Now laughing shouts spread far and wide.
The ass's ligatures untied,
"Proceed, my son," then said the man:
"To please the world, do all we can,
Since 'tis impossible, you see,
To please ourselves content we'll be."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE DREAMER AND HIS SON.

Mortals bring down upon their head
The very miseries most they dread.

The only son of a rich knight
In hunting daily took delight.
The father living in alarm,
Lest he should come to any harm,
Dream'd that he saw him on the ground,
Rent with the lion's fatal wound.
The youth, allow'd to hunt no more,
Impatiently confinement bore.
Remarking, one unlucky day,
In the fine chamber where he lay,
A lion painted on the wall,
"Thou art," he cried, "the cause of all."
With idle rage the wall he struck,
And in his hand an iron stuck,
Which piercing bones and sinews through,
Fester'd and then a gangrene grew.
And thus the father's ill-tim'd care
Deprived him of his son and heir.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

THE OLD MAN AND DEATH.

Though life be welcome to the wise,
Death cannot take him by surprise;
Aware that every day and hour
He holds but at the tyrant's power,
That beauty, talents, worth, are vain.
A moment's respite to obtain.
Nothing more known, and yet how rare
It is with courage to prepare
For this inevitable day!
All hope a little more delay.

One who had suffer'd many a year,
And to a century drew near,
At last complain'd, that unawares
Death came, unsettled his affairs:
"My will is not completely made;
A little time," he trembling said,
"A little longer let me live;
Some warning 'tis but fair to give!
My grandson is expected home;
At least pray, let the doctor come."
"Poor helpless driveller