“The rest of Agmons insolence complain, And of irreverence the wretch arraign. About to answer, his blaspheming throat Contracts, and shrieks in some disdainful note. To his new skin a fleece of feathers clings, Hides his late arms and lengthens into wings. The lower features of his face extend, Warp into horn, and in a beak descend. Some more experience Agmon’s destiny, And wheeling in the air, like swans they fly: These thin remains to Daunus’ realms I bring, And here I reign, a poor precarious king.”