Ez for dependin' on their oaths an' thet, 'T wun't bind 'em more 'n the ribbin roun' my het; I heared a fable once from Othniel Starns, Thet pints it slick ez weathercocks do barns: Once on a time the wolves hed certing rights Inside the fold; they used to sleep there nights, An', bein' cousins o' the dogs, they took Their turns et watchin', reg'lar ez a book; But somehow, when the dogs hed gut asleep, Their love o' mutton beat their love o' sheep, Till gradilly the shepherds come to see Things war n't agoin' ez they 'd ough' to be; So they sent off a deacon to remonstrate Along 'th the wolves an' urge 'em to go on straight; They did n' seem to set much by the deacon, Nor preachin' did n' cow 'em, nut to speak on; Fin'ly they swore thet they 'd go out an' stay, An' hev their fill o' mutton every day: Then dogs an' shepherds, arter much hard dammin', Turned tu an' give 'em a tormented lammin', An' sez, "Ye sha' n't go out, the murrain rot ye, To keep us wastin' half our time to watch ye!" But then the question come, How live together 'Thout losin' sleep, nor nary yew nor wether? Now there wuz some dogs (noways wuth their keep) Thet sheered their cousins' tastes an' sheered the sheep; They sez, "Be gin'rous, let 'em swear right in, An', ef they backslide, let 'em swear ag'in; Jes' let 'em put on sheep-skins whilst they 're swearin'; To ask for more 'ould be beyond all bearin'." "Be gin'rous for yourselves, where _you_ 're to pay, Thet 's the best practice," sez a shepherd gray; "Ez for their oaths they wun't be wuth a button, Long 'z you don't cure 'em o' their taste for mutton; Th' ain't but one solid way, howe'er you puzzle: Till they 're convarted, let 'em wear a muzzle."