Would it were shame alone that pricks him now!

He’d not been victimised and brought thus low.

His eyes pour forth two streams of bitter tears;

His altered features the worst foe he fears.180

The peacock’s enemy his plumage call.

The monarch bleeds whose splendours neighbours gall.

The musk-deer for the musk-pod still is slain;

His blood for that alone the ground will stain.

The marten for its fur is trapped, surprised,

And strangled. Kings its pelt have prized.