And deepest enmities arise.
From trifling things among the wise.
In friendship, slight’s the deepest wound,
And that is fancy’d more than found.
These hints improv’d, our ends may gain,
The Bulls divided, count ’em slain;
The Lion, pleas’d, reply’d, he knew
The Fox could forge a lie—or two;
Which he opin’d, in points like this,
Would not be very much amiss.