Part 2 — CXLIX

A lion cub, of sordid mind, Avoided all the lion kind; Fond of applause, he sought the feasts Of vulgar and ignoble beasts; With asses all his time he spent, Their club's perpetual president. He caught their manners, looks, and airs; An ass in everything but ears! If e'er his Highness meant a joke, They grinn'd applause before he spoke; But at each word what shouts of praise; Goodness! how natural he brays! Elate with flattery and conceit, He seeks his royal sire's retreat; Forward and fond to show his parts, His Highness brays; the lion starts. 'Puppy! that curs'd vociferation Betrays thy life and conversation: Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race, Are trumpets of their own disgrace. 'Why so severe?' the cub replies; 'Our senate always held me wise!' 'How weak is pride,' returns the sire: 'All fools are vain when fools admire! But know, what stupid asses prize, Lions and noble beasts despise.'