An hungry Fox with fierce attack
Sprang on a Vine, but tumbled back,
Nor could attain the point in view,
So near the sky the bunches grew.
As he went off, ‘They're scurvy stuff
‘(Says he) and not half ripe enough—
‘And I've more rev'rence for my tripes,
‘Than to torment them with the gripes.’
For those this tale is very pat,
Who lessen what they can't come at.