Goats

A long-horned, goat with whiskers grey
Once met a slave upon the way.
Said smellful William to the other,
“Good morning, ho good morning brother;
How is it with you this fine day,
How fare you in this world I pray?”
The slave looked sad and answered low,
“No good, I’m unemployed you know.”
“And is that ill?” then asked the goat,
“I never toil. I’d have you note,”
“That is quite true,” the slave replied,
“But if I don’t, I’d starve,” he sighed.
“What! Starve where there is much to eat,
Because you’re turned upon the street?”
“Why, slave, you’re in the infant class;
I never ask who owns the grass,”
So sagely spoke the quadruped.
“It never enters my thick head
That means to live would be denied.”
“But you’re a goat,” the slave replied.