A farmer of an honest fame, One morning to his landlord came: "Alas, my lord," he weeping said, "Gored by my bull, your ox is dead. What must be done?" "The case is plain," Replies the lord; "the creature slain, The owner of the bull must pay; Let it be done without delay." "Heav'n give your worship long to live! I hope you will a good one give, For mine was good!" "How! your's, my friend? Let me your story comprehend: Your bull, you say, my ox has gored?" "Forgive me the mistake, my lord, In my confusion I have made; Mine was the ox that must be paid; But 'tis all one--what's just for me The same must for your worship be: I'll tell the steward what you say." "Not yet--we'll think of it to-day. Further inquiry must be had; Perhaps your fences were but bad; Perhaps--but come again to-morrow." The honest laborer saw with sorrow, That justice wears a different face, When for themselves men put the case.