Sleeps of no precipice in dread.
An Ass with envying eye surveyed
A Courser in his war-parade.
Curvetting to the trumpet's sound,
With steps that scarcely touch'd the ground.
The squadrons join, the battle burns,
Stript, wounded, lame, the Horse returns.
The Ass then grateful felt, that Heav'n
To him a humbler lot had giv'n.
Source: Boothby - Aesop 2.3
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