The fox, a strange affront design'd to throw,
Bandag'd its tail with tow, applied a light,
And sent it forth. Now Heaven's just oversight
Led the flame-bearer to its captor's fields.
It was the time for crops when harvest yields
A hopeful prospect of abundant share;
The man pursued, deploring wasted care,
And Ceres did not bless his threshing floor.
One should be meek, and ne'er be vexed sore.
Source: Davies: Fables of Babrius = Babrius 11