A stag took refuge from the chase Among the oxen of a stable, Who counseled him, as says the fable, To seek at once some safer place.
It's use that constitutes possession. I ask that sort of men, whose passion It is to get and never spend, Of all their toil what is the end?
That man his Maker can deceive, Is monstrous folly to believe. The labyrinthine mazes of the heart Are open to His eyes in every part.
All power is feeble with dissension: For this I quote the Phrygian slave. If anything I add to his invention, It is our manners to engrave,
A house was built by Socrates That failed the public taste to please. Some blamed the inside; some, the out; and all Agreed that the apartments were too small.
This wolf another brings to mind, Who found dame Fortune more unkind, In that the greedy, pirate sinner, Was balked of life as well as dinner.
The great are like the maskers of the stage; Their show deceives the simple of the age. For all that they appear to be they pass, With only those whose type's the ass.
The horses have not always been The humble slaves of men. When, in the far-off past, The fare of gentlemen was mast,