"A hungry fox in quest of prey,
Into an outhouse found his way;
When looking round with skilful search,
He spied a hen upon the perch.
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And thus to her sly Reynard spoke
‘Dear Madam, I'm concerned to hear
You've been unwell for half a year;
I could not quell my strong desire
After your welfare to enquire.
But pray come down and take the air,
You'll ne'er get well while sitting there,
I'm sure it will not hurt your cough;
Do give me leave to help you off.'
‘I thank you Sir,' the hen replied,
‘I'd rather on my roost abide.
'Tis true enough I've been unwell,
And am so now the truth to tell,
And am so nervous, you must know,
I dare not trust myself below;
And therefore say to those who call,
I see no company at all;
For from my perch shall I descend,
I'm certain in my death 'twould end;
As then, I know without presumption,
My cough would, in a consumption! '
Thus cunning people often find
Their crafty overtures declined
By prudent people, whom they thought
For want of wit would soon he caught."