All men are fond of rule and place,
Though granted by the mean and base;
Yet all superior merit fly,
Nor will endure an equal nigh.
They o'er some ale-house club preside
With smoke and joke and paltry pride.
Nay, e'en with blockheads pass the night;
If such can read, to such I write.
A lion cub of sordid mind
Avoided all the lion-kind,
And, greedy of applause, sought feasts
With asses and ignoble beasts;
There, as their president appears,
An ass in every point, but ears.
If he would perpetrate a joke,
They brayed applause before he spoke;
And when he spoke, with shout they praised,
And said he beautifully brayed.
Elate with adulation, then
He sought his father's royal den,
And brayed a bray. The lion started,
The noble heart within him smarted.
"You lion cub," he said, "your bray
Proclaims where you pass night and day,--
'Midst coxcombs who, with shameless face,
Blush not proclaiming their disgrace."
"Father, the club deems very fine,
All that conforms with asinine."
"My son, what stupid asses prize
Lions and nobler brutes despise."