Fools from success perdition meet.
An idle wretch about the street
At Esop threw a stone in rage.
" So much the better," quoth the sage,
And gives three farthings for the job;
" I've no more money in my fob;
But if you 'll follow my advice,
More shall be levied in a trice."
It happen'd that the selfsame hour
Came by a man of wealth and pow'r.
" There, throw your pellet at my lord,
And you shall have a sure reward!"
The fellow did as he was told;
But mark the downfall of the bold;
His hopes are baulk'd, and, lo! he gains
A rope and gibbet for his pains.'