Or clever mare he passes,
He finds in all the city streets
A score of brainless asses.

A Jackass, in the days of old,
Dress'd in a lion's skin,
Went forth to ape the lion bold,
And raised a mighty din:

His ass-ship's ears he could not hide;
His roaring would not pass;
The startled beasts his ears descried,
And recognized the ass.

The moral of this tale you'll meet
Each market day in town,
With scales in hand, in Market street,
Dress'd in the lion's gown:

He roars, 'tis true, but scan him well
Whene'er you see him pass;
Look at his ears and you can tell
He's but a braying ass.



LINES

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. ELIZABETH SCOTT.