For faults that are not mine;
I bite to live (some live to bite),
I sting from sheer necessity, not spite,—
I would my lot were thine.
I'd take thy bites, you'd love my sting,
And bear the petty pains they bring
Just like a Hindoo Saint;
I would not blame you, 'bottle fly,
You have to live the same as I—
A beauty without paint.