A Fowler set his snares to catch birds in the open field. A Lark was
caught; and finding herself entangled, could not forbear lamenting her
hard fate. Ah! woe is me, says she, what crime have I committed that
man should be plotting my destruction? I have not taken either his
silver or gold, or any thing of value to him; and while other rapacious
birds deal about destruction and go unpunished, I must die for only
picking up a single grain of corn.