Those who in quarrels interpose, Must often wipe a bloody nose. A mastiff, of true English blood, Loved fighting better than his food. When dogs were snarling for a bone, He longed to make the war his own, And often found (when two contend) To interpose obtained his end; He gloried in his limping pace; The scars of honour seamed his face; _10 In every limb a gash appears, And frequent fights retrenched his ears. As, on a time, he heard from far Two dogs engaged in noisy war, Away he scours and lays about him, Resolved no fray should be without him. Forth from his yard a tanner flies, And to the bold intruder cries: 'A cudgel shall correct your manners, Whence sprung this cursed hate to tanners? _20 While on my dog you vent your spite, Sirrah! 'tis me you dare not bite.' To see the battle thus perplexed, With equal rage a butcher vexed, Hoarse-screaming from the circled crowd, To the cursed mastiff cries aloud: 'Both Hockley-hole and Mary-bone The combats of my dog have known. He ne'er, like bullies coward-hearted, Attacks in public, to be parted. _30 Think not, rash fool, to share his fame: Be his the honour, or the shame.' Thus said, they swore, and raved like thunder; Then dragged their fastened dogs asunder; While clubs and kicks from every side Rebounded from the mastiff's hide. All reeking now with sweat and blood, Awhile the parted warriors stood, Then poured upon the meddling foe; Who, worried, howled and sprawled below. _40 He rose; and limping from the fray, By both sides mangled, sneaked away. * * * * * FABLE XXXV. THE BARLEY-MOW AND THE DUNGHILL.