A fox, almost with hunger dying,
Some grapes on a trellis spying,
To all appearance ripe, clad in
Their tempting russet skin,
Most gladly would have eat them;
But since he could not get them,
So far above his reach the vine—
"They're sour," he said;
"such grapes as these,
The dogs may eat them if they please!"
Did he not better than to whine?
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