And blind with terror, at th’ alarm
Of death, makes to a neighb’ring farm;
There snug conceals him in some straw,
Which in an ox’s stall he saw.
“Wretch that thou art!” a bullock cried,
“That com’st within this place to hide;
By trusting man you are undone,
And into sure destruction run.”
But he with suppliant voice replies:
“Do you but wink with both your eyes,