Nay, standing outside, may get quite in a passion At the prodigal flourishes other folks put on: But many good people this side of Tobago, If respited once from their diet of sago, Would outdo the monkey in basting the mutton! But, to my fancy, 't is quite clear That Mother Goose just meant to show How the dog Patience on doth go: With steadfast nozzle, pointing low, Leg over leg, however slow, And labored breath, but naught complaining, Still, at each footstep, somewhat gaining,— Quietly plodding, mile on mile, And gathering for a nervous bound At every interposing stile, So traversing the tedious ground, Till all, at length, he measures over. And walks, a victor, into Dover. And, verily, no other way Doth human progress win the day; 46 GOING TO DOVER. Pale Science, in her laboratory, Works on with crucible and wire Unnoticed, till an instant glory Crowns some high issue, as with fire, And men, with wondering eyes awide, Gauge great Invention's giant stride. No age, no race, no single soul, And wins, through all that's overpast, |