The Battle of the Mice and Weasels

The routed Mice upon a day Fled from the Weasels in array; But in the hurry of the flight, What with their weakness and their fright Each scarce could get into his cave : Howe'er, at last their lives they save. But their commanders (who had tied Horns to their heads in martial pride, Which as a signal they design'd For non-commission'd mice to mind) Stick in the entrance as they go, And there are taken by the foe, Who, greedy of the victim, gluts With mouse-flesh his ungodly guts. Each great and national distress Must chiefly mighty men oppress; While folks subordinate and poor Are by their littleness secure.