A fox was trotting one day,
And just above his head
He spied a vine of luscious grapes,
Rich, ripe, and purple-red.
Eager he tried to snatch the fruit,
But, ah! it was too high;
Poor Reynard had to give it up,
And, heaving a deep sigh,
He curl'd his nose and said, "Dear me!
I would not waste an hour
Upon such mean and common fruit--
I'm sure those grapes are sour!"
'Tis thus we often wish thro' life,
When seeking wealth and pow'r
And when we fall, say, like the fox,
We're "sure the grapes are sour!"