The Ass’s Complaint
Why is my back loaded with fine flour, while in my mouth there is no bread at all, but only straw? I drink well-water, though I carry wine. And the stick goes on fracturing my skull!
I live in rubble and ruins, barred like an enemy in a fortified town, with no way out. I carry the first-born of the flocks and the finest produce of the soil,1 but oy…
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