THE DOGS ON STRIKE
'Let each his discontent reveal:
To yon sour dog I first appeal.'
'Hard is my lot,' the hound replies;
'On what fleet nerves the greyhound flies!
While I, with weary steps and slow,
O'er plains and vales and mountains go:
The morning sees my chase begun,
Nor ends it till the setting sun.'
'When,' says the greyhound,'I pursue,
My game is lost, or caught in view;
Beyond my sight the prey's secure:
The hound is slow but always sure.
And had I his sagacious scent,
Jove ne'er had heard my discontent.'
- John Gay (1688-1732), from The Dog in British Poetry pp. 132-3.