The Horse Wishing to be Revenged Upon the Stag

The horses have not always been / The humble slaves of men. / When, in the far-off past, / The fare of gentlemen was mast, / And even hats were never felt, / Horse, ass, and mule in forests dwelt. / Nor saw one then, as in these ages, / So many saddles, housings, pillions; / Such splendid equipages, / With golden-lace postilions; / Such harnesses for cattle, / To be consumed in battle; / As one saw not so many feasts, / And people married by the priests. / The horse fell out, within that space, / With the antler'd stag, so fleetly made: / He could not catch him in a race, / And so he came to man for aid. / Man first his suppliant bitted; / Then, on his back well seated, / Gave chase with spear, and rested not / Till to the ground the foe he brought. / This done, the honest horse, quite blindly, / Thus thank'd his benefactor kindly: -- / 'Dear sir, I'm much obliged to you; / I'll back to savage life. Adieu! ' / 'O, no,' the man replied; / 'You'd better here abide; / I know too well your use. / Here, free from all abuse, / Remain a liege to me, / And large your provender shall be. ' / Alas! good housing or good cheer, / That costs one's liberty, is dear. / The horse his folly now perceived, / But quite too late he grieved. / No grief his fate could alter; / His stall was built, and there he lived, / And died there in his halter. / Ah! wise had he one small offence forgot! / Revenge, however sweet, is dearly bought / By that one good, which gone, all else is nought.[1]

[1]: Phaedrus, IV. 4; Horace (_Epistles_, Book I. 10), and others.