The Farmer came out to his snare,
He saw the bold captive was in it;
And said, "If this play be unfair,
Remember, I did not begin it!"
He then put a cork on his beak,
The airy assassin disarming,
Unspurred him, and rendered him weak,
By blunting each talent for harming.
And into the coop he was thrown:
The chickens hid under their mother,