Classic Poem

I.

You high-born Spanish noblemen, you Dons and Cavaliers!
Ah, little do you think upon the lowly Muleteers!
To earn an honest livelihood, what toils, what cares we know;
Small our gain, great our pain,
O'er the hill, o'er the plain,
Parched with heat, drenched with rain,
Still the Muleteer must go!

II.

When darkness overtakes us, our mules to droop begin;
Fatigued and spent, what joy we feel to reach the wished-for inn!
We drain the wine-cag jollily, we toss it to and fro;
While to sleep as we creep
Maritornes well may weep
That when daylight does peep
Then the Muleteer must go!