The Loaded Ass; or Public Credit

A Mettled ass, in days of yore,
Who burthens basely never bore,
In freedom rang'd the fields around,
And leap'd whatever mares he found;
Where'er he chose in safety fed,
And made what straw he pleas'd, his bed.
But, grown by long indulgence bold,
He scorn'd at length to be controul'd;
And, when his master dar'd to lick him,
Was sure with lifted hoof to kick him.

At length, howe'er, by chance he fell
To one, who knew the manage well;
And, bent to tame our restive jack,
Resolv'd to let him for a hack.
A neighbouring miller soon he found,
Who corn for all the parish ground,
And, wanting such a beast to bear
The grist committed to his care,
To him our sturdy ass was lent
At a large premium per cent.

To market soon the miller goes,
Leading the jack-ass by the nose;
At night returning with a sack,
Laid right across our hero's back;
Who, bending now beneath its weight,
Began to sorrow for his fate,
And, as the miller lagg'd behind,
Unburthen'd thus his troubled mind.

"Alas for what mysterious end
"Must I beneath this burthen bend?
"I, that have liv'd an ass so free
"And bray'd in boundless liberty!
"I, that have long disdain'd the bit!
"Must I, insulted thus, submit
"To bear a cruel weight, alack!
"That needs in time must break my back!"

Then, issuing forth a piteous groan,
His load he gladly would have thrown,
But that the miller fast had tied,
And girt it on the underside:
While having seen his inclination,
He gave him hearty flagellation.
With grumbling, and no little scrubbing,
Th' impatient ass put up the drubbing;
But still most grievously complain'd
Of pains he either felt or feign'd.
Again next day to market sent,
with heavy heart and head he went;
But guess with what disdain he burn'd,
When with two sacks he back return'd:
Yet, thus t' augment his toil and trouble,
Each day he found his burthen double;
At the same time (the truth be spoken)
His wind and back remain'd unbroken.
For, tho a life of toil he led,
The more he work'd, the more he fed;
So that, at first, tho lank and weak,
He daily grew mere round and sleek:
While, as they added sack by sack,
More sturdy seem'd his brawny back,

In such good case, 'twas all in vain
He found, to murmur or complain.
Tho constantly, the trough to fill,
More sacks were sent for to the mill.

But no this tonic once set thinking,
He judg'd. at least when fresh with drinking,
That fro[...] the grievous weights he bore,
He gather'd strength but more and more,
And might in time, like Atlas, carry
The world upon his back.—Ay, marry!
'Twere fine if that could come to pass;
But, what so stupid as an ass?
Know, dull machine, and have a care,
There is a weight thou canst not bear:
Much farther should thy masters try
Thy strength, 'twill give their hopes the lye.
Know, even now, thy life's at stake;
A few more sacks thy back will break.
Bethink thee, then, vain brute, in time;
Self-murder is a horrid crime;
Be passive to thy load no more,
But freedom seek as heretofore;
Nor think, because thy belly's fed,
No other care should fill thy head.
A broken back may, let me tell ye,
Attend at last a bursting belly.

Needs this our fable illustration?
The loaded jack-ass is the nation,
Oppress'd (at least the wise have said it)
With yearly loads of public credit;
Lamented surely heretofore,
Because such grievous weights she bore;
Her ministers in piteous taking
Exclaiming oft her back was breaking;
Who, now, tho ten times more lies on her,
Maintain she'll bear it off with honour;
As if, by sufferance taught t' endure,
The same the means that kill and cure.