Out of whose fleece a larger gain to reap
She clipp'd it rudely, press'd the shears too near
Its flesh, and kept them not from wounding clear.
The smarting sheep cried, "Do not torture me!
My blood in weight will small addition be.
Nay, mistress, nay! My flesh if you require,
To kill me quick, a practis'd butcher hire,
But if 'tis fleece and wool, not flesh, you need, Shearers will shear me, yet not make me bleed."
Source: Davies: Fables of Babrius = Babrius 51.