 | |
| |
| Pythag'ras rose at early dawn, |
| By soaring meditation drawn, |
| To breathe the fragrance of the day, |
| Through flowery fields he took his way. |
| 5 | In musing contemplation warm, |
| His steps misled him to a farm, |
| Where, on the ladder's topmost round, |
| A peasant stood; the hammer's sound |
| Shook the weak barn. 'Say, friend, what care |
| 10 | Calls for thy honest labour there?' |
| |
| The clown, with surly voice replies, |
| 'Vengeance aloud for justice cries. |
| This kite, by daily rapine fed, |
| My hens' annoy, my turkeys' dread, |
| 15 | At length his forfeit life has paid; |
| See on the wall his wings displayed, |
| Here nailed, a terror to his kind, |
| My fowls shall future safety find; |
| My yard the thriving poultry feed, |
| 20 | And my barn's refuse fat the breed.' |
| |
| 'Friend,' says the sage, 'the doom is wise; |
| For public good the murderer dies. |
| But if these tyrants of the air |
| Demand a sentence so severe, |
| 25 | Think how the glutton man devours; |
| What bloody feasts regale his hours! |
| O impudence of power and might, |
| Thus to condemn a hawk or kite, |
| When thou, perhaps, carniv'rous sinner, |
| 30 | Hadst pullets yesterday for dinner!' |
| |
| 'Hold,' cried the clown, with passion heated, |
| 'Shall kites and men alike be treated? |
| When Heaven the world with creatures stored, |
| Man was ordained their sovereign lord.' |
| 35 | 'Thus tyrants boast,' the sage replied, |
| 'Whose murders spring from power and pride. |
| Own then this man-like kite is slain |
| Thy greater luxury to sustain; |
| For "Petty rogues submit to fate, |
| 40 | That great ones may enjoy their state."' |
