To love the low degree;
For sitting so with bared scalp,
An eagle[13] soared high,
That, weening his white head was chalk,
A shell-fish down let fly;
She ween'd the shell-fish to have broke,
But therewith bruis'd his brain;
So now, astonied with the stroke,
He lies in lingering pain.
MOR. Ah! good Algrind! his hap was ill,