Anger in its time and place

May assume a kind of grace.

It must have some reasoned is it,

And not last beyond a minute.

If to further lengths it goes.

It does into malice grow.

'Tis the difference that me see.

'Twixt the serpent and the bee

If the latter your provoke,

It inflicts a hasty stroke.

Put you to some little pain,

Buts it never stings again.

Close in tufted bush or fake

Lurks the poison-smelled snake

Nursing up his cherished wrath;

Of his path, In the purlieus

In the cold, or in the warm.

Mean him good, or mean him harm,

Wheresoever fate may bring you,

The vile snake will always sting you.