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One of your mischievous, accursed race?

As sure as I'm a Weasel, you're a Mouse!"

"Spare me," said the trembling refugee.

"That really is not my vocation;

Some wretched slanderer, I plainly see,

Has wronged me in your estimation.

A Mouse?—Oh, dear, no! What? With wings, like me?

I am a Bird, I say.

Long live the feathered race, that skims the air!"

Such reasoning sounded fair;

Proof positive, it seemed, was there.

And the Bat went his way.

Some two days afterwards the stupid creature

Into a second Weasel's lodgings flew.

Who was at feud with all the feathered crew:

Again, by reason of his doubtful feature.

He found himself in peril of his life:

Rising to meet him, the Weasel's long-nosed Wife

Thought him a Bird, and was prepared to eat him.

Again he made his piteous protest heard:

"Oh, Madam, you're mistaken! I a Bird!

Why, you can't see!

What makes a Bird? Feathers, not fur, like me!

And Jove confound all Cats!"

So by his two-fold plea

The Trimmer kept his life and liberty.

(La Fontaine, Fables, Vol. II, No. 5. Translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins.)