V. The Battle of the Mice and Weasels

The routed Mice upon a day

Fled from the Weasels in array;

But in the hurry of the flight,

What with their weakness and their fright

Each scarce could get into his cave:

Howe’er, at last their lives they save.

But their commanders (who had tied

Horns to their heads in martial pride,

Which as a signal they design’d

For non-commission’d mice to mind)

Stick in the entrance as they go,

And there are taken by the foe,

Who, greedy of the victim, gluts

With mouse-flesh his ungodly guts.

Each great and national distress

Must chiefly mighty men oppress;

While folks subordinate and poor

Are by their littleness secure.

Riley