Fox spots Crow in the top of a tree.
“That carrion she pecks must come to me.”
He ponders how to ply his wit
And award himself the whole of it.
“Who is that who trills so grand?
The great soprano Dame Sutherland,
Whose voice charms every audience
From Sydney, Australia, to Paris, France.
O fortunate hour! What blessing is mine
To catch a glimpse of the Diva divine!
Can I persuade you, just for me,
To sing one bar of ‘Un bel di,’
Or the ‘Air des bijoux’ of Charles Gounod,
Or a single note of ‘Dove sono’?”
Crow, unused to being wooed,
Quickly adopts a musical mood.
She fills her lungs and sings out “Croaw!”
And delivers her morsel into Fox’s paw.
The flatterer has a plan in mind
That may not benefit all mankind.
His words are honey, his smile is warm;
His hand in your pocket intends no harm.