On man we brutal slaves depend : 

 To him all creatures tribute pay, 

 And luxury employs his day. 



An ox by chance o'erheard his moan, 

 And thus rebuked the lazy drone : 



Dare you at partial fate repine ? 

 How kind's your lot compared with mine ! 

 Decreed to toil, the barb'rous knife 

 Hath severed me from social life ; 

 Urged by the stimulating goad, 

 I drag the cumbrous waggon's load : 

 Tis mine to tame the stubborn plain, 

 Break the stiff soil, and house the grain : 

 Yet I without a murmur bear 

 The various labours of the year. 

 But then consider, that one day 

 (Perhaps the hour's not far away), 

 You, by the duties of your post, 

 Shall turn the spit when I'm the roast : 

 And for reward shall share the feast, 

 I mean, shall pick my bones at least. 



'Till now, the astonish'd Cur replies, 

 I look'd on all with envious eyes. 

 How false we judge by what appears ! 

 All creatures feel their sev'ral cares. 

 If thus yon mighty beast complains, 

 Perhaps man knows superior pains. 

 Let envy them no more torment : 

 Think on the Ox, and learn content. 



68 



