'Your name, sir, is Deer,
But my name is Crow.
Oh, give me a horn, please,
For if you do so
I can dig a clean rill
For the water to fill;
Then I'll wash beak and feet
And the nice _khichrî_ eat;
Though I really don't know
What the Sparrow can mean,
For I'm sure, as Crows go,
I'm remarkably clean!'
But the Deer said, 'Certainly I will give you a horn; but first you
must go to the Cow, and ask her to give you some milk for me to
drink. Then I shall grow fat, and not mind the pain of breaking my
horn.'