The world is grown so bad, that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.Since every Jack became a gentleman,There's many a gentle person made a Jack.

For the poor wren (The most diminutive of birds) will fight, Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.

My free drift Halts not particularly, but moves itself In a wide sea of wax; no levelled malice Infects one comma in the course I hold, But flies an eagle flight, bold and forth on, Leaving no tract behind.

Last night the very gods showed me a vision-- I fast and prayed for their intelligence--thus: I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, winged From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanished in the sunbeams; which portends, Unless my sins abuse my divination, Success to th' Roman host.

The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wings He can at pleasure stint their melody: Even so mayest thou the giddy men of Rome.

The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby.