The Hack Mule

: Literary Fables Of Yriarte

Full fed and antic,

A Hack Mule pushed

With speed so frantic

Forth from her stable,

That her rider

Scarcely was able

With rein to guide her.

Half our journey

Not long will bide her

In such a race.

But the false jade

Now slacks her pace.

What trouble now?

Go on! Perhaps
/> The spur will do.

What, no? Then taps

Of this light rod

Or harder raps

From pointed goad.

Both are, I find,

In vain bestowed.

How! out of wind!

With ready heels

She kicks behind,

And bites and squeals.

What a curvette!

She jumps and reels.

You devil's pet,

With hand and foot

We'll try you yet.

Upon her belly

Down she flounders,--

Here sprawling flat.

A murrain foul

Seize on your soul!

Amen to that!

* * * * *

The Mule, that work begins

With such capers,

Is not the mule for me;

And, whene'er I see

That any author vapors

Too much of his intent,--

At once, I say, "Beware!

Good friend, pray have a care

Of this mule's predicament."