PART VI
POLISH FABLES
THE WAGGONER AND THE BUTTERFLY
HE rain so soft had made the road,
That, in a rut, a Waggon-load,
The poor man's harvest (bitter luck).
Sank down a foot, and then it stuck.
He whipp'd his horses, but in vain;
They pull'd and splash'd and pulled again,
But vainly still, the slippery soil
Defied their strength, and mock'd their toil.
Panting they stood, with legs outspread.
The driver stood and scratched his head:
(A common custom, by-the-by.
When people know not what to try,
Tho' not, it seems, a remedy).
A Butterfly, in flower concealed,
Had travell'd with them from the field,
Who in the Waggon was thrown up.
While feasting on a buttercup.
The panting of each lab'ring beast
Disturbed her at her fragrant feast;
The sudden stop, the driver's sigh,
Awoke her gen'rous sympathy.
And seeing the distressing case
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