Rosy and ripe, and ready to box,
The grapes hang high o'er the hungry Fox.--
He pricks up his ears, and his eye he cocks.
Ripe and rosy, yet so high!--
He gazes at them with a greedy eye,
And knows he must eat and drink--or die.
When the jump proves to be beyond his power--
"Pooh!" says the Fox. "Let the pigs devour
Fruit of that sort. Those grapes are sour!"
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