When flow’ry June was gay,
And ordered to draw a wain, upheaped
With burden of balmy hay.
But he thought scorn
As one well born
To be accounted not worth a thorn,
In second place, and behind our bay,
For he would be leading horse.
“He backed, as stubborn as mule could be,
And, backing over a rock,
Adown he tumbled, with load atop,
A frightful wreckage and shock.