He makes oblivion serve his need,
When he would act the noble steed;
He kicks, he plunges, and no sneers
Can point him to his monstrous ears;
The swift he banters to the race,
And, for a time, keeps up his pace;
But wind and metal soon give out;
“Why, Jack, what brings this change about?”
Quoth Jack, “My boasted sire, alas,
Was after all an humble ass!”