The Will of the Dying Ass

While a boor, as poets tell,
Whacked his patient ass too well,
On the ground half dead it fell.
La sol fa,
On the ground half dead it fell,
La sol fa mi re ut.

Then with gesture sad and low,
Streaming eyes and words of woe,
He at length addressed it so:
"Had I known, my gentle ass,
Thou from me so soon wouldst pass,
I'd have swaddled thee, alas!

"Made for thee a tunic meet,
Shirt and undershirt complete,
Breeches, drawers of linen sweet.

"Rise awhile, for pity's sake,
That ere life your limbs forsake
You your legacies may make!"

Soon the ass stood up, and thus,
With a weak voice dolorous,
His last will proclaimed for us:

"To the magistrates my head,
Eyes to constables," he said,
"Ears to judges, when I'm dead;

"To old men my teeth shall fall,
Lips to wanton wooers all,
And my tongue to wives that brawl.

"Let my feet the bailiffs win,
Nostrils the tobacco-men,
And fat canons take my skin.

"Voice to singing boys I give,
Throat to topers, may they live!
**** to students amative.

"*** on shepherds I bestow,
Thistles on divines, and lo!
To the law my shade shall go.

"Elders have my tardy pace,
Boys my rude and rustic grace,
Monks my simple open face."

He who saith this testament
Will not hold, let him be shent;
He's an ass by all consent.
La sol fa,
He's an ass by all consent,
La sol fa mi re ut.