In passion’s cup he dips his quill,
And calls his brother—ass.
I tell thee, Satirist, forbear,
For asses have a trick,
And, if provok’d, ’tis very rare
They’re not inclin’d to kick.
Now should great Fate ordain it so,
That this poor docile beast,
Whom thou hast term’d so very low,
E’en lowest of the least: