A SOARING TOADSo, Governor, you would not serve againAlthough we'd all agree to pay you double.You find it all is vanity and pain—One clump of clover in a field of stubble—One grain of pleasure in a peck of trouble.'Tis sad, at your age, having to complainOf disillusion; but the fault is whoseWhen pigmies stumble, wearing giants' shoes?I humbly told you many moons agoFor high preferment you were all unfit.A clumsy bear makes but a sorry showClimbing a pole. Let him, judicious, sitWith dignity at bottom of his pit,And none his awkwardness will ever know.Some beasts look better, and feel better, too,Seen from above; and so, I think, would you.Why, you were mad! Did you suppose becauseOur foolish system suffers foolish menTo climb to power, make, enforce the laws,And, it is whispered, break them now and then,We love the fellows and respect them whenWe've stilled the volume of our loud hurrahs?When folly blooms we trample it the moreFor having fertilized it heretofore.Behold yon laborer! His garb is mean,His face is grimy, but who thinks to askThe measure of his brains? 'Tis only seenHe's fitted for his honorable task,And so delights the mind. But let him baskIn droll prosperity, absurdly clean—Is that the man whom we admired before?Good Lord, how ignorant, and what a bore!Better for you that thoughtless men had said(Noting your fitness in the humbler sphere):"Why don't they make him Governor?" insteadOf, "Why the devil did they?" But I fearMy words on your inhospitable earAre wasted like a sermon to the dead.Still, they may profit you if studied well:You can't be taught to think, but may to spell.
So, Governor, you would not serve againAlthough we'd all agree to pay you double.You find it all is vanity and pain—One clump of clover in a field of stubble—One grain of pleasure in a peck of trouble.'Tis sad, at your age, having to complainOf disillusion; but the fault is whoseWhen pigmies stumble, wearing giants' shoes?I humbly told you many moons agoFor high preferment you were all unfit.A clumsy bear makes but a sorry showClimbing a pole. Let him, judicious, sitWith dignity at bottom of his pit,And none his awkwardness will ever know.Some beasts look better, and feel better, too,Seen from above; and so, I think, would you.Why, you were mad! Did you suppose becauseOur foolish system suffers foolish menTo climb to power, make, enforce the laws,And, it is whispered, break them now and then,We love the fellows and respect them whenWe've stilled the volume of our loud hurrahs?When folly blooms we trample it the moreFor having fertilized it heretofore.Behold yon laborer! His garb is mean,His face is grimy, but who thinks to askThe measure of his brains? 'Tis only seenHe's fitted for his honorable task,And so delights the mind. But let him baskIn droll prosperity, absurdly clean—Is that the man whom we admired before?Good Lord, how ignorant, and what a bore!Better for you that thoughtless men had said(Noting your fitness in the humbler sphere):"Why don't they make him Governor?" insteadOf, "Why the devil did they?" But I fearMy words on your inhospitable earAre wasted like a sermon to the dead.Still, they may profit you if studied well:You can't be taught to think, but may to spell.