  Pythagoras, at daybreak drawn To meditate on dewy lawn, To breathe the fragrance of the morning, And, like philosophers, all scorning To think or care where he was bound, Fell on a farm. A hammer's sound Arrested then his thoughts and ear: "My man, what are you doing there?" The clown stood on a ladder's rung, And answered him with rudish tongue: "I've caught the villain—this here kite Kept my hens ever in a fright; I've nailed he here to my barn-door, Him shan't steal turkey-pouts no more." And lo! upon the door displayed, The caitiff kite his forfeit paid. "Friend," said Pythagoras, "'tis right To murder a marauding kite; But, by analogy, that glutton— That man who feasts on beef and mutton— I say,—that by analogy,— The man who eats a chick should die. 'Tis insolence of power and might When man, the glutton, kills the kite." The clown, who heard Pythagoras, Waxed in a rage, called him an ass; Said man was lord of all creation. "Man," the sage answered, sans sensation, "You murder hawks and kites, lest they Should rob you of your fatted prey; And that great rogues may hold their state, The petty rascal meets his fate." |
|
