Plunge deep, my mild and patient ass, this pitchfork to thy heart!
Nay, do not turn aside thy nose, and shake thine honest ear,
Thy master’s sense is wandering, but thou’st no cause to fear;
But let me give thee one embrace, ere from the world I go.
There! there! nay, do not shrink from me, my terrified—my slow!
Thou’st drawn with me, boy, many a year, the cart along the streets:—
Put thine hoof on thy master’s heart—thou feelest how it beats.
But Oh, thine eyes benevolent, my anguish’d feelings lull.
Farewell, my Jackass!—Oh! farewell—my beautiful! my dull!!
Punch. May 27, 1843.