Once upon a time, a slave
Had an impulse to behave
In a most unprecedented sort of style.
He threw down his tools, and cried
That he wasn't satisfied,
And all slavery was barbarous and vile.
(They probably boiled him in oil; but that's merely incidental.)
Once again, a man who rode
In a coach disliked the mode
Of that locomotion. 'Twas too slow by far.
He was filled with discontent;
So he—or some other—went
And, in course of time, evolved the motor-car.
And, if you've ever had one scare seven devils out of you,
you'll know it for a very great invention.
So, observe, this discontent
To mankind is wisely sent
That he may be urged along to conquer new things,
They who were quite satisfied,
Like the Dinosaurus, died,
While the discontented anthropoids still do things.
And continue to be discontented, of course; but that's all in the game.
