A kite, possessor of a nest antique, Was caught alive one day. It was the captor's freak That this so rare a bird Should on his sovereign be conferr'd. The kite, presented by the man of chase, With due respect, before the monarch's face, If our account is true, Immediately flew And perch'd upon the royal nose. What! on the nose of majesty? Ay, on the consecrated nose did he! Had not the king his sceptre and his crown? Why, if he had, or had not, 'twere all one: The royal nose, as if it graced a clown, Was seized. The things by courtiers done, And said, and shriek'd, 'twere hopeless to relate. The king in silence sate: An outcry, from a sovereign king, Were quite an unbecoming thing. The bird retain'd the post where he had fasten'd; No cries nor efforts his departure hasten'd. His master call'd, as in an agony of pain, Presented lure and fist, but all in vain. It seem'd as if the cursed bird, With instinct most absurd, In spite of all the noise and blows, Would roost upon that sacred nose! The urging off of courtiers, pages, master, But roused his will to cling the faster. At last he quit, as thus the monarch spoke: 'Give egress hence, imprimis, to this kite, And, next, to him who aim'd at our delight. From each his office we revoke. The one as kite we now discharge; The other, as a forester at large. As in our station it is fit, We do all punishment remit.' The court admired. The courtiers praised the deed, In which themselves did but so ill succeed.-- Few kings had taken such a course. The fowler might have fared far worse; His only crime, as of his kite, Consisted in his want of light, About the danger there might be In coming near to royalty. Forsooth, their scope had wholly been Within the woods. Was that a sin?-- By Pilpay this remarkable affair Is placed beside the Ganges' flood. No human creature ventures, there, To shed of animals the blood: The deed not even royalty would dare. 'Know we,' they say,--both lord and liege,-- 'This bird saw not the Trojan siege? Perhaps a hero's part he bore, And there the highest helmet wore. What once he was, he yet may be. Taught by Pythagoras are we, That we our forms with animals exchange; We're kites or pigeons for a while, Then biped plodders on the soil; And then As volatile, again The liquid air we range.--' Now since two versions of this tale exist, I'll give the other if you list. A certain falconer had caught A kite, and for his sovereign thought The bird a present rich and rare. It may be once a century Such game is taken from the air;