The Frogs, a factious fickle Race, With little Maners, and less Grace,     Croaked for a King so loud, That all the Host of Heav'n sate mute Nodding to Jove to grant their suit,     And give 'em what they wou'd. A King they had, of such a size Who's Entry too, made such a Noise,     That Ev'ry Neut and Frog Affrighted, run to hide their heads; Some in the Pool, some 'mongst the Reeds,     Like Fools, 'Twas but a Log. At last, one bolder than the rest, Approach'd, and the new Prince Address't,     No hurt from xx sustain'd, He mock'd his former Fears, and swore 'Twas the best stick of Wood that o'er     The Marshes ever Reign'd. Then all the Croaking Crew drew near, And in his shade from th' angry Air,     Were shelter'd safe, and eas'd, Nay, more than that, they'd frisk and play Upon his back a live long day,     He Undisturb'd and pleas'd. The Pertest Frog of all the Pack, A Toad, some say, his hue was Black;     'Tis true; but that's no matter, Upon the passive Monarch's head, At times would Noxious Venom shed,     And both his sides bespatter. 'Twas That same Frog, the Legends tell, Burst when he only meant to swell,     Soon after these Events. Be that as 'twill, 'twas He that drew That giddy Senseless Crowd to new     Sedition and Complaints. Give us a bustling King, Dread Sir! They cry'd, a King that makes a stir;     This is not to be mov'd. Jove heard and gave 'm one, who's care Was, that they should Obey and Fear,     No matter how they Lov'd. It was a Stork, who's Law-less Rage Spar'd neither Sex, Degree nor Age,     That came within his reach. And that was great, for whilst his Claws Ransack't the Deep, his Vulturs Jaws     Could wander o'er the Beach. Then they Implor'd the God to send From heav'n a Plague, from Hell a Fiend,     Or any but this Curse. Peace, cry'd the Monarch of the GOds, Ye Worms; Keep him you have, 'tis odds     The Next may prove a Worse.