He smooth’d his brow, he coin’d a smile,
And put on all the masks of guile.
Then whispers one with friendly nod,
“Mark, is not yon behaviour odd?
The Bull must surely mean affront,
His tail is next you—fie upon’t!
How slighting that! and there’s another
Can scarce some high resentment smother;
He snorts, he paws, and fain would shew
By vengeance whence his troubles flow.