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COBBLER AND STORK
Unto a mother's breast.
I was the wretched child
Was fetched that dismal morn—
'Twere better die than be (as I)
To life of misery born!
And hadst thou borne me on
Still farther up the town,
A king I'd be of high degree,
And wear a golden crown!
For yonder lives the prince
Was brought that selfsame day:
How happy he, while—look at me!
I toil my life away!
And see my little boy—
To what estate he's born!
Why, when I die no hoard leave I
But poverty and scorn.
And thou hast done it all—
I might have been a king
And ruled in state, but for thy hate,
Thou base, perfidious thing!
Stork.
Since, cobbler, thou dost speak
Of one thou lovest well,
Hear of that king what grievous thing
This very morn befell.
[53]
