Curst dog, the Bull reply'd, no more
I wonder at thy thirst of gore,
For thou (beneath a butcher train'd,
Whose hands with cruelty are stain'd,
His daily murders in thy view,)
Must, like thy tutor, blood pursue.
Take then thy fate. With goring wound
At once he lifts him from the ground,
Aloft the sprawling hero flys,
Mangled he falls, he howls and dyes.