A bat flew headlong
Into a weasel's den, and as soon as she was there 
The other, long inflamed against mice,
Rushed forward to devour her.
"What? You dare," she said, "present yourself to my eyes,
After your kind has tried to do me harm?"
"Aren't you a mouse? Don't lie to me.
Yes, you are, or I'm not a weasel."
"Pardon me," said the poor little thing,
"That's not my occupation.
I, a mouse! Scoundrels have been telling you stories.
Thanks to the Author of the Universe,
I am a bird; see my wings:
Long live the race that cleaves the air!"
Her reasoning was attractive, and seemed good.
It worked so well that she was given
Liberty to withdraw.
Two days later, our scatterbrain 
Blindly managed to land herself
In the home of another weasel, enemy to birds.
Once more she found herself in danger of her life.
The lady of the house with her long muzzle 
Was going to chew her up as being a bird, 
When she protested that it was an insult:
"I, to be taken for such a thing! You aren't looking.
What makes a bird? It's the plumage.
I am a mouse: long live rats!
Jupiter confound all cats!"
By such adroit repartee
She saved her own life twice.

There have been some who, by a change of colors,
Have often, like her, laughed in the face of danger.
People say that the wise man says,
"Long live the King, long live the League."