|The weathered kite fights on our side;
It says it fights for us.
Yet fear of it shakes each man's hide –
Who wants to be a corpse?
Th' insane deeds of this brainless bird
Shall soothe our foes desire,
And rid here of both young and beard
In some one-sided ‘Fire!’
On whose side is this avian fool –
This one both crude and mad?
Wither ride they we as some mule,
Wither trot we so sad?