From wrongs of wicked men we draw     Excuses for our own;
  Such is the universal law.
    Would you have mercy shown,
    Let yours be clearly known.
 
  A Fowler's mirror served to snare
  The little tenants of the air.
  A Lark there saw her pretty face,
  And was approaching to the place.
    A Hawk, that sailed on high,
    Like vapour in the sky,
  Came down, as still as infant's breath,

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