[698] Bhikkhus, once in the past a hawk suddenly swooped down and seized a quail. Then, bhikkhus, as the quail was being carried off by the hawk, it lamented thus: "It is just our misfortune, we are of little merit, in that we strayed out of our own resort into the domain of others. If today we had ranged in our own resort, in our own ancestral domain, this hawk would have been no match for me — that is to say, in battle."
"But what, quail, is your own resort, your own ancestral domain?"
"It is the freshly ploughed field, the place covered with clods of earth."
Then, bhikkhus, the hawk, confident in her own strength, boasting of her own strength, released the quail, saying: "Go then, quail; but even having gone there you will not escape me."
Then, bhikkhus, the quail went to the freshly ploughed field, the place covered with clods of earth, climbed up onto a large clod, and stood there challenging the hawk: "Come at me now, hawk! Come at me now, hawk!"
Then, bhikkhus, that hawk, confident in her own strength, boasting of her own strength, folded both her wings and suddenly swooped down upon the quail. But when, bhikkhus, the quail knew, "This hawk has come at me in full force," it slipped inside that very clod, and the hawk, right there, shattered her breast against it.
So it is, bhikkhus, for one who strays out of his own resort into the domain of others.
English translation from the Pali (Siam Raṭṭha edition) — under review, not for citation.