At first within the yard confin'd,
He flys and hides from all mankind;
Now bolder grown, with fixt amaze
And distant awe presumes to gaze,
Munches the linnen on the lines,
And on a hood or apron dines;
He steals my little master's bread,
Follows the servants to be fed,
Nearer and nearer now he stands,
To feel the praise of patting hands,
Examines ev'ry fist for meat,
And though repuls'd disdains retreat,
Attacks again with levell'd horns,
And man, that was his terror, scorns.