The Ass

Poor patient creature! how I grieve to see
Thy wants so ill supplied — to see thee strain
And stretch thy tether for the grass, in vain,
Which Heaven's rain nourishes for all hut thee.
The fair green field, the fulness of the plain,
Add to thy hunger; colt and heifer pass,
And roll, as though they mocked thee, on the grass,
Which would be luxury to the bare brown lane
Where thou'rt imprisoned, humble, patient Ass!
Cropping foul weeds, yet scorning to complain.
Mercy at first "sent out the wild ass free,"
A ranger "of the mountains;" and what crimes
Did thy progenitors, that thou should'st be
The slave and mockery of later times?