A _Thrush_ taken with _Birdlime_.
It was the Fortune of a Poor _Thrush_, among other Birds, to be taken
with a Bush of _Lime-Twigs_, and the Miserable Creature Reflecting upon
it, that the Chief Ingredient in the _Birdlime_ came out of her own Guts:
I am not half so much Troubled, says the _Thrush_, at the Thought of
Dying, as at the Fatality of Contributing to my Own Ruine.
The MORAL of the Four FABLES above.
_Nothing goes nearer a Man in his Misfortunes, then to find himself
Undone by his Own Folly, or but any way Accessary to his own Ruine._