Observe which way the hedgehog builds her nest,
To front the north, or south, or east, or west;
For if 'tis true that common people say,
The wind will blow the quite contrary way.
If by some secret art the hedgehog know,
So long before, the way the wind will blow,
She has an art which many a person lacks,
That thinks himself fit to make our Almanacs.
Into woods where beasts can talk,
I went out to take a walk,
A rabbit sitting in a bush
Peeped at me, and then cried, "Hush!"
Presently to me it ran,
And its story thus began:--
"You have got a gun, I see,
Perhaps you'll point it soon at me,
And when I am shot, alack!
Pop me in your little sack.
When upon my fate I think
I grow faint, my spirits sink."
"Pretty rabbit, do not eat
Gardener's greens or farmer's wheat,
If such thieving you begin,
You must pay it with your skin;
Honestly your living get,
And you may be happy yet."
See the little rabbits,
How they run and sweat;
Some shoot 'em with a gun,
Others catch 'em with a net.