The toad’s tormentors still their sport pursued.
Attempts to snare it next were made in vain: [[288]]
It dodged, and sought a rut half filled with rain;
And, by its muddy bath somewhat restored,
Withstood the missiles that upon it poured.
Ah, what a sight was there, the beauty fresh
Of childhood, and its joy in bleeding flesh!
Such sport as theirs there surely ne’er had been:
‘Come on,’ they called, ‘come John, come Benjamin!
And bring a stone, a big one, and we’ll see