Goose!" he said.
"Good-evening, Mr. Fox!" quoth she,
Looking across at him tremblingly,
And, fearing he had not had his tea,
Pushed a trifle farther out to sea.
She had little harm to fear from him;
For, with all his tricks, he could not swim,
And, indeed, his voice was sweet and kind.
"Dear Mrs. Goose, you've a troubled mind;
I only wish I could help you through,
There's nothing I would not gladly do
For such a beautiful bird as you."
Which sounded nice, and was really true.
"Well, then, Mr. Fox," the goose replied,
"It hurts my feelings, and wounds my pride,
That in these days my sisters and I,
Who saved old Rome by our warning cry,
Should be called the _silly geese_. Ah, me!
If I could learn something fine, you see,
Like writing, or reading the A, B, C,
What a happy, happy goose I'd be!"
"Now, would you, indeed!" Renard replied
As the floating fowl he slyly eyed;
"I hardly know what 'tis best to say,
Let's think about it a moment, pray,
I may help you yet, my dear, who knows?"
So he struck a meditative pose,
And thoughtfully laid his small, red toes,
Up by the side of his pointed nose.
"Ah, yes!" he cried, "I have it at last:
Your troubles, dear Mrs.
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