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."