The Coach Horses Poem by William Hutton

Man, feeble man, is prone to range;
He changes for the sake of change;
Was well, but would be better thought
He tries, but trying sinks to nought.

How few the people who can tell
The point of time at which they're well!
Give me one instance, if you can,
Then I'll pronounce him--happy man!
But, from the Sov'reign to the Poet,
Not one in fifty thousand know it.
'What! place a poet at the bottom;
He humbly thinks he ought to top 'em,
Because he holds a wide dominion'--
But we may differ in opinion.
Your pride, dear bard, I'll never check,
I know all Nature's at your beck.

Some discontent fell to the share
Of him who lately kept the Bear;
For how could he have trade to seek
Who drew two hogsheads every week?
But, mighty anxious after more,
Quite happy if he could draw four.
A slender tavern met his view--
'This will the wish'd-for business do.'
'Tis done--it sooth'd Ambition's voice;
But broke my landlord in a trice.

The Duke of York in splendor shone
'Till fourteen hundred sixty-one.
But titles, riches, and renown,
Gave no content without a crown;
When, trying to secure that gem,
He lost his all--the world lost him.

Two suits of clothes were William's fee;
Nay, hold, my master; I'll have three.
These terms, improper, were denied;
In rags he liv'd, in rags he died.

The beasts have spoke in prose and rhime,
From Master Gay to Æsop's time.
Black fleas and spiders, who could spin,
Masters of rhetoric have been;
With ease then my Coach Horses may
Deliver all I have to say.

A pair of grays, in blethish case,
Would any set of harness grace:
Extreme of friendship you might view,
Firmly subsisting 'twixt the two.
Nor were, for years, which strikes with wonder,
Our couple half an hour asunder.
What a choice lesson they relate
To people in a married state!
Most happy must two folks appear
When they're so loving and so near!

Cobler, obedient to commands,
Was nearly rising seventeen hands;
In manners gentle, always did,
Without the whip, what he was bid;
And never once, in all his days,
Spoke one harsh word against his place.
Whether at home or out he went,
He found his interest in content.

Toby the Sulky was his brother;
In size and colour like the other;
But rather restive was of late,
As if disgusted with his state.
Would stop the carriage in the street,
Nor stir a hand, or move his feet.
Regardless how his master'd look,
Nor paid attention to rebuke.

A table, plentiful and gay,
The master kept, of corn and hay;
But food abounding, and work not,
No wonder he himself forgot.
Ambition fir'd his lofty mind;
He'd work or play, as whim inclin'd.

Cobler sore injur'd was to view
His friend would not his duty do.
As in one cause they were embark'd,
In language of four feet remark'd.

'Dear Toby, I'm alarm'd to see
This cross-grain'd management in thee.
Alter thy conduct, and be wise,
Or dreadfal mischiefs will arise.
Shall we, like foolish man, not tell
The point of time at which we're well?
While he attempts to change his trade,
Our fortune can't be better made.
Whether in field or stable seated,
We with the best are always treated;
Morn, noon, and night, Tom fills our cribs;
The master hates to see our ribs.
Hence all the pleasures which are known
In choicest eating are our own.
Nor have we reason to lament
The falling under punishment;
For Hutton never knew the hour
To punish us because he'd power.
We seldom feel the biting thong;
Thomas's whip, 'tis said, lasts long.
The saddler tells the coachman too,
'Where he buys one, others buy two.'
Neither do we complain of work,
Or slave like stage-coach-horse, or Turk,
The joyous labours of the day
Are nothing but a change of play:
'Tis exercise, just what is right,
Producing health and appetite.

If of your conduct you've no care,
My master'll send you to the fair:
Then what a dismal life you'll lead!
The very thought creates a dread.
Both you and I, to life's dull end,
Shall daily mourn an absent friend.
Or rather, as a match we are,
We both shall ramble to the fair;
Change for the hardest state on earth,
In vile stage-coach be whipp'd to death.'

Toby behav'd as man would do,
Knew better than th' adviser knew
He roll'd his eye, he shook his mane
To Cobler thus replied again
'I imitate the human race,
And strive, like them, to mend my place.
There's no complaint of food or play,
I've a full portion every day;
But how can this my conduct bind,
If there's a single want behind?
In friendship I to none resign;
My heart is more your own than mine;
But every soul of every race
Strives to be master in his place.
Has not the coachman made a stand,
And clearly got the upper hand?
Over the kitchen, parlour, reigns;
The cellar too are his domains.
And have not I, by art most free,
Brought down the coachman under me?
I treat him, and without disaster,
Just in the stile he treats his master;
Thus I'm establish'd firm and clear;
What then have I, my friend, to fear?'

When prudence won't support our schemes,
They're just as idle as our dreams:
What man, whose head with sense is fill'd,
Would ever on a cobweb build?
Will not a sailor's prospect fail
Who puts to sea without a sail?
Though others judgment he'll despise,
He'll be more apt to sink than rise.

Through want of sight we stumble may:
The coachman was soon turn'd away,
And quickly found himself adrift;
With slender commons made a shift.

Toby might now his fate bewail,
Who in the market found a sale.
His feet sore batter'd 'gainst the stones;
Flogg'd out of flesh, he shew'd his bones.
Both want and slavery attends him
And dreadful usage quickly ends him;
And, gone the road of human kind,
This useful lesson left behind:
'Know when you're well, and there be seated,
Nor by delusive views be cheated.
By climbing up to grasp at all,
You stand the fairest chance to fall.
Let your sound judgment be the test;
Nor change, except 'tis for the best.'