Two Bulls were butting in rough battle,
For the fair belle of all the cattle;
A Frog, who saw them, shuddering sighed.
"What ails you?" said a croaker by his side.
"What? why, good gracious! don't you see
The end of all this fight will be
That one will soon be chased, and yield
The empire of this flowery field;
And driven from rich grass to feed,
Searching the marsh for rush and reed,
He'll trample many a back and head,
And every time he moves we're dead.
'Tis very hard a heifer should occasion
To us so cruel an invasion."
There was good sense in the old croaker's fear,
For soon the vanquished Bull came near:
Treading with heedless, brutal power,
He crushed some twenty every hour.
The poor in every age are forced by Fate
To expiate the follies of the great.