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Jonathan Lawrence

To guard his ears, his nose his eyes; He perched upon his worship's crown, With teeth and claws his skin he tore, And stuffed himself with human gore :

But now what rhetoric could assuage The furious squire, stark mad with rage?

Impatient at the foul disgrace From insect of so mean a race, And plotting vengeance on his foe, With double fist he aims a blow.

The nimble fly escaped by flight, And skipped from this unequal fight.

The impending stroke with all its weight Fell on his own beloved pate.

Thus much he gained by this adventurous deed; He fouled his fingers and he broke his head.

MORAL.

Let senates hence learn to preserve their state, And scorn the fool below their grave debate, Who by the unequal strife grows popular and great.

Let him buzz on, with senseless rant defy The wise, the good, yet still 'tis but a fly.

With puny foes the toil's not worth the cost; Where nothing can be gained, much may be lost; Let cranes and pigmies in mock-war engage, A prey beneath the gen'rous eagle's rage, True honor o'er the clouds sublimely wings; Young Ammon scorns to run with less than kings.