Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies including The Chessiad, a Mock-Heroic, in Five Cantos; and The Wreath of Love, in Four Cantos. By C. Dibdin, the Younger |
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THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
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 | Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies |  |
99
THE FOX AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
A FABLE, FROM ÆSOP.
A fox was going to die one day,
And a sly old fox was he;
His friends and relations, respect to pay,
All flock'd old reynard to see.
“Alas!” said he, “I'm going to die,
And conscience in my face will fly;
For I never to conscience paid regard,
But gobbled up all in the poultry yard:
Of cocks and hens,
By twenties and tens,
I now see the ghosts—O, the dickens!—
With a chirping young fry,
For, so cruel was I,
I ate all the dear little chickens.
And a sly old fox was he;
His friends and relations, respect to pay,
All flock'd old reynard to see.
“Alas!” said he, “I'm going to die,
And conscience in my face will fly;
For I never to conscience paid regard,
But gobbled up all in the poultry yard:
Of cocks and hens,
By twenties and tens,
I now see the ghosts—O, the dickens!—
With a chirping young fry,
For, so cruel was I,
I ate all the dear little chickens.
100
“My sons, remember my last words these,”
Said the fox, “if in peace you'd die;
Eat grass and green gooseberries if you please”—
Said one of his sons, “Not I.”
“Avoid poultry like snakes,” the fox—“O, la!”
Another son cried; “My dear papa,
You're in the blue devils, but were you well
I'm certain a different tale you'd tell—
Of cocks and hens,
By twenties and tens,
I hear very plainly the clickings”—
“The devil you do!”
Said reynard, “Go to,
But, pray, spare the dear little chickens.”
Said the fox, “if in peace you'd die;
Eat grass and green gooseberries if you please”—
Said one of his sons, “Not I.”
“Avoid poultry like snakes,” the fox—“O, la!”
Another son cried; “My dear papa,
You're in the blue devils, but were you well
I'm certain a different tale you'd tell—
Of cocks and hens,
By twenties and tens,
I hear very plainly the clickings”—
“The devil you do!”
Said reynard, “Go to,
But, pray, spare the dear little chickens.”
“A fowl, papa,” his son replied,
“Will cure you much sooner than physic;
Hens are hard of digestion, a cock's tough hide
Would certainly give you the 'tysic:
A nice little chick recommend would I”—
Said the fox, “Naughty boy, O, fie! O, fie!
But you'll want to dine, tho' I've appetite none,
So run, or the poultry will all be gone:
But cocks and hens,
By twenties and tens,
Don't kill—half the number's good pickings;
And, as I've had long fast,
And it may be my last,
Bring me one of the dear little chickens.”
“Will cure you much sooner than physic;
Hens are hard of digestion, a cock's tough hide
Would certainly give you the 'tysic:
101
Said the fox, “Naughty boy, O, fie! O, fie!
But you'll want to dine, tho' I've appetite none,
So run, or the poultry will all be gone:
But cocks and hens,
By twenties and tens,
Don't kill—half the number's good pickings;
And, as I've had long fast,
And it may be my last,
Bring me one of the dear little chickens.”
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