"My man, what are you doing there?"
The clown stood on a ladder's rung,
And answered him with rudish tongue:
"I've caught the villain—this here kite
Kept my hens ever in a fright;
I've nailed he here to my barn-door,
Him shan't steal turkey-pouts no more."
And lo! upon the door displayed,
The caitiff kite his forfeit paid.
"Friend," said Pythagoras, "'tis right
To murder a marauding kite;
But, by analogy, that glutton—
That man who feasts on beef and mutton—
I say,—that by analogy,—
The man who eats a chick should die.
'Tis insolence of power and might
When man, the glutton, kills the kite."
The clown, who heard Pythagoras,
Waxed in a rage, called him an ass;
Said man was lord of all creation.
"Man," the sage answered, sans sensation,
"You murder hawks and kites, lest they
Should rob you of your fatted prey;
And that great rogues may hold their state,
The petty rascal meets his fate."
FABLE XXXVII.
Farmer's Wife and Raven.
"Why are those tears? Why droops your head?
Say is your swain or husband dead?"
The farmer's wife said: "You know well
The salt was spilt,—to me it fell;
And then to add loss unto loss,
The knife and fork were laid across.
On Friday evening, 'tis too true,
Bounce in my lap a coffin flew.
Some dire misfortune it portends:
I tremble for my absent friends."
"Dame," said the neighbour, "tremble not:
Be all these prodigies forgot;
The while, at least, you eat your dinner
Bid the foul fiend avaunt—the sinner!
And soon as Betty clears the table
For a dessert, I'll read a fable.