The Turnspit And The Mule Of The Well

In inn or convent kitchen,
The reader oft, no doubt,
Turning the spit about,
A contrivance shrewd has seen.

A wheel of wood is it,
With steps on outer rim,
Where a Dog, ceaseless clambering,
Turns it beneath his feet.

A Dog, who every day,
In such wheel, performed his stint,
Thus expressed his discontent:
"Hard work and paltry pay!

Here I may climb and sweat;
And, when my task is done,
They throw me out a bone,--
While they eat all the meat.

Wearily, wearily on,
Day passes after day.
In the house I will not stay,
Nor in the hated town."

The first chance of flight improving,
He slily off did steal;
Till he found, in a field, a wheel
Of a well, which a Mule kept moving.

As his eyes he on it set,
He cried,--"What have we here?
By this it would appear
Here, too, they're roasting meat."

"No meat I roast, but pump
Water," replied the Mule.--
"Let me, now, try a pull;
I'm light, but up I'll jump.

Ah! pretty heavy, is it?
Something harder I must work.
What then? I will not shirk;
'T isn't turning the old spit.

I shall better rations earn,
And more respect compel."--
Here the laborer at the well
Interrupted, in his turn.

"To the spit and kitchen fire
I advise you to go back.
A turnspit strength would lack
For the task to which you aspire."

* * * * *

Now hear the Mule sagacious!
Wisely, sure, he counsels thus;
And one Horatius Flaccus
This same matter does discuss.

How idly doth an author yearn
To undertake, where he must fail!
The little Dog cannot avail
The huge well-wheel to turn.