A _Run-away Dog_ and his _Master_.
There was a _Bob-Tail’d Cur_, cry’d in a _Gazette_, and One that found
him out by his Marks, brought him home to his _Master_; who fell
presently to Reasoning the Matter with him, how Insensible, and Thankless
a Wretch he was, to run away from One that was so Extream kind to him.
Did I ever give you a Blow in my Life, says he, or so much as One Angry
Word, in all the time that ever you serv’d me? No, says the Dog, not with
Your Own Hands, nor with Your Own Lips; but you have given me a Thousand
and a Thousand by your Deputy; and when I’m Beaten by my _Master_’s
_Order_, ’tis my _Master_ Himself, I reckon, that Beats me.
The MORAL.
_In Benefits as well as Injuries ’tis the Principal that we are to
Consider, not the Instrument. That which a Man does by Another, is in
Truth and Equity his own Act._