VIII
Old Lewis ('twas his evil day),
Stood trembling in his shoes;
The ox was his—what cou'd he say?
His legs were stiffen'd with dismay, [45]
The ox ran o'er him mid the fray,
And gave him his death's bruise.
IX
The frighted beast ran on—(but here,
No tale, (tho' in print, more true is) [50]
My Muse stops short in mid career—
Nay, gentle Reader, do not sneer!
I cannot chuse but drop a tear,
A tear for good old Lewis!)
X
The frighted beast ran through the town, [55]
All follow'd, boy and dad,
Bull-dog, parson, shopman, clown:
The publicans rush'd from the Crown,
'Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!'
They drove the poor Ox mad. [60]
XI
Should you a Rat to madness tease
Why ev'n a Rat may plague you:
There's no Philosopher but sees
That Rage and Fear are one disease—
Though that may burn, and this may freeze, [65]
They're both alike the Ague.
XII
And so this Ox, in frantic mood,
Fac'd round like any Bull!
The mob turn'd tail, and he pursued,
Till they with heat and fright were stew'd, [70]
And not a chick of all this brood
But had his belly full!