In musing contemplation warm,
His steps misled him to a farm:
Where, on the ladder’s topmost round,
A peasant stood. The hammer’s sound
Shook the weak barn. ‘Say, friend, what care
Calls for thy honest labour there?’
“The clown, with surly voice, replies:
‘Vengeance aloud for justice cries.
This kite, by daily rapine fed,
My hens’ annoy, my turkeys’ dread,