The owner then said, "Master Hawk,
If you love my chickens so dearly,
Come down to my yard for a walk,
That you may address them more nearly."
But, "No," thought the sharp-taloned foe
Of Biddy, "my circuit is higher!
If I to his premises go.
'Twill be when I see he's not nigh her."
The Farmer strewd barley, and toled
The chickens the brush to run under,
And left them, while Hawk growing bold,
Thus tempted, came near for his plunder.
As closer and closer he drew,
With appetite stronger and stronger,
He found he'd but one thing to do,
And plunged, to defer it no longer.
But now he had come to a pause,
At once in the net-work entangled,
While through it his head and his claws
In hopeless vacuity dangled.
The chicks saw him hang overhead,
Where they for their barley had huddled;
And all in a flutter they fled,
And soon through the coop holes had scuddled.
The Farmer came out to his snare,
He saw the bold captive was in it;
And said, "If this play be unfair,
Remember, I did not begin it!"
He then put a cork on his beak,
The airy assassin disarming,
Unspurred him, and rendered him weak,
By blunting each talent for harming.
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