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A lion sunk
by time's decay,
Too feeble grown to hunt his prey,
Observed his fatal hour draw nigh:
He drooped and
laid him down to die.
There came by chance a savage
boar,
Who trembled oft to hear him roar,
But when
he saw him thus distressed
He tore and gored his
royal breast.
A bull came next (ungen'rous foe),
Rejoiced to find him fall'n so low,
And with his
horny-armed head
He aimed at once to strike him dead,
-
He strikes, he wounds, he shocks in vain,
The
lion still conceals his pain.
At length a base
inglorious ass,
Who saw so many insults pass,
Came
up and kicked him in the side:
'Twas this that raised
the lion's pride.
He roused, and thus he spoke at
length,
For indignation gave him strength:
Thou
sorry, stupid, sluggish creature,
Disgrace and shame
and scorn of nature!
You saw how well I could
dispense
With blows from beasts of consequence!
They dignified the wounds they gave;
For none
complain who feel the brave.
But you, the lowest of
all brutes,
How ill your face with courage suits!
What dullness in thy looks appears!
I'd rather far
(by heav'n 'tis true)
Expire by these than live by
you:
A kick from thee is double death -
I curse
thee with my dying breath!
The Moral
Rebukes are easy from our betters,
From men of
quality and letters;
But when low dunces will
affront,
What man alive can stand the brunt?
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