It is a thing without contest,
That he that's strongest reasons best.
The Weather being sultry hot,
A Lamb to cool himself, was got
A paddling in a purling Stream.
(To Rhiming Fools a mighty Theme)
When a she Wolf (the De'l sure sent her)
Came down, in quest of some Adventure,
And hardly spy'd poor Innocence;
But pick'd a Quarrel void of Sence;
Began to sputter, Damn and Sink,
Ask'd how he dar'd to spoil her Drink,
A nasty poysoning Dog. Odsbud!
He'd make it all as thick as mud.
For which he'd punish him by Jove.
Madam, reply'd the Lamb, I love
To reason calmly, and will show ye,
That I am Twenty Yards below ye.
And humbly craving leave, from thence
I draw this reg'lar Consequence;
That I can't, standing in this Place,
Disturb the Liquor of your Grace.
You do, says the other, and last Year
You told some lies of me. I swear,
I was not born then, quoth the Lamb:
I han't left sucking of my Dam.
'Twas either you or else your Brother.
I've ne'er a one. Then 'twas your Mother,
Or any other near Relation;
For all your wicked Generation
Hates me; your Dogs and Shepherds too
And without any more a do,
The Lamb was carry'd to the Wood
And serv'd the cruel Wolf for Food.