But the false Fox with barb’rous sneer,
Cry’d, “Pox! how came you scrambling here?”
The Goat reply’d, “Forbear to flout,
Lest I should ask how you got out.”
Said he, “Of that no doubt remains,
You’d horns, my friend,—and I had brains,
You wear that wisdom on your chin,
Which I, more modest, hide within.
We beasts of sprightly thought despise
All who like thee look gravely wise—