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POLISH FABLES
441
"I beat you?" he answered,
"The charge is unjust:
I but gently endeavour
To take out the dust.
The means I make use of
To you may seem hard;
But it does not diminish,
Good Coat, my regard.
My son, whom I cherish
More fondly than you,
I cane rather often,
For like reason too.
The faults that, in children,
We needs must repress.
Are like dust, that beclouds
The most exquisite dress;
A little exertion
Will soon work a cure.
And will make both more lovely.
More worthy, more pure."
Though the fable is good.
Yet I never will blush
To own, I prefer dusting
My coat with a brush.
