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In long gone years a fox and crane
Were bound in friendship’s golden chain;
Whene’er they met, the fox would bow
And madame Crane would curtsie low:
-My lovely Crane how do you do?
-I’m very well - pray how are you?

Thus time passed on, both very civil
Till Reynard in an hour evil
Projected what he thought a stroke
The world would call a pretty joke.
A billet wrote on gilded paper
And sealed it with a perfumed wafer

Announced the day, if she saw fit
To take a tete-a-tete tit-bit:
The day arriv’d - She preen’d each feather
And summon’d ev’ry grace together;
At breakfast scarce a morsel eat
Intent to riot at the treat.

She came - Wide stood ‘th unfolded door
And roses deck’d the sanded floor.
- There hyacinths in festoons hung
- Here lillies their rich fragrance flung.

The table drawn - The damask spread
And soup prepared of bullock’s marrow
Pour’d in each plate profuse - But shallow:
The fox began to lap in haste
And made a plentiful repast,
Pressed his fair friend to do the same
And to encourage, lap’d again.

The Crane be sure with her long beak
Could not a single morsel pick:
She felt the bite — but little said
And very soon her exit made;
Just beg’d the fox would come next day
And sup with her in her plain way:

Her domicile was well prepar’d
No cost or labor had been spared:
- Roses and tulips on the floor
And daffodils the ceiling bore;
Nor was a band of music wanting
For whippoorwills and frogs were chanting.

The sun had set and given way
To sober evening’s mantle gray:
The fox arriv’d with stomach keen
- Hoped he saw in health his Queen
And added in his courtliest air
She ne’er before had look’d so fair.

The Crane replied in mildest mood
That all he said was very good,
She meekly meant to do her duty
And ne’er dream’d of praise or beauty.
- She spoke - The table soon was spread
And ev’rything in order laid:
Two narrow jars now grac’d the board
With nicely minced ven’son stored:

- Now let’s fall to sir if you will -
And in she pok’d her slender bill
And gulp’d of viands at her leisure
- To see you eat would give me pleasure
She cried - Eat neighbor eat
I fear you do not like my treat;
It suits my palate to a hair
Pray Chummy eat and do not spare.
- The fox looked on with rueful phys
Feeling in all its force the quiz.

The Crane enjoy’d his discontent
And thus address’d him as he went,
The truest adage ever spoke
Was “He that GIVES must TAKE a joke.”

H.L. to his beloved daughter Jane.
Feby. 19th 1827

******************

Now contrast this with Clement Moore’s version of the tale of the Rooster and Pig. A nasty little piece of work, consistent with Moore’s priggish writing. THIS is the poem that Moore advocates say shows that he wrote “Night Before Christmas” because it’s another anapest. Needless to say, they ignore the spirit behind the words.

On a warm sunny day, in the midst of July,
A lazy young pig lay stretched out in his sty,
Like some of his betters, most solemnly thinking
That the best things on earth are good eating and drinking.
At length, to get rid of the gnats and the flies,
He resolv’d, from his sweet meditations to rise;
And, to keep his skin pleasant, and pliant, and cool,
He plung’d him, forthwith, in the next muddy pool.
When, at last, he thought fit to arouse from his bath,
A conceited young rooster came just in his path:
A precious smart prig, full in vanity drest,
Who thought, of all creatures, himself far the best.
“Hey day! little grunter, why where in the world
Are you going so perfum’d, pomatum’d, and curl’d?
Such delicate odors my senses assail,
And I see such a sly looking twist in your tail,
That you, sure are intent on some elegant sporting;
Hurra! I believe, on my life, you are courting;
And that figure which moves with such exquisite grace,
Combin’d with the charms of that soft-smiling face,
In one who’s so neat and adorn’d with such art,
Cannot fail to secure the most obdurate heart.
And much joy do I wish you, both you and your wife,
For the prospect you have of a nice pleasant life.”

“Well, said, master Dunghill,” cried Pig in a rage,
“You’re doubtless, the prettiest beau of the age,
With those sweet modest eyes staring out of your head,
And those lumps of raw flesh, all so bloody and red.
Mighty graceful you look with those beautiful legs,
Like a squash or a pumpkin on two wooden pegs.
And you’ve special good reason your own life to vaunt,
And the pleasures of others with insult to taunt;
Among crackling fools, always clucking or crowing,
And looking up this way and that way, so knowing,
And strutting and swelling, or stretching a wing,
To make you admired by each silly thing;
and so full of your own precious self, all the time,
That you think common courtesy almost a crime;
As if all the world was on the look out
To see a young rooster go scratching about.”

Hereupon, a debate, like a whirlwind arose,
Which seem’d fast approaching to bitings and blows;
‘Mid squeaking and grunting, Pig’s arguments flowing;
And Chick venting fury ‘twixt screaming and crowing.
At length, to decide the affair, ‘twas agreed
That to counsellor Owl they should straightway proceed;
While each, in his conscience, no motive could show,
But the laudable wish to exult o’er his foe.

Other birds, of all feather, their vigils were keeping,
While Owl, in his nook, was most learnedly sleeping:
For, like a true sage, he preferred the dark night,
When engaged in his work, to the sun’s blessed light.
Each stated his plea, and the owl was required
To say whose condition should most be desired.
It seem’d to the judge a strange cause to be put on,
To tell which was better, a fop or a glutton;
Yet, like a good lawyer, he kept a calm face,
And proceeded, by rule, to examine the case;
With both his round eyes gave a deep-meaning wink,
And, extending one talon, he set him to think.

In fine, with a face much inclin’d for a joke,
And a mock solemn accent, the counsellor spoke —
“’Twixt Rooster and Roaster, this cause to decide,
Would afford me, my friends, much profesional pride.
Were each on the table serv’d up, and well dress’d,
I could easily tell which I fancied the best;
But while both here before me, so lively I see,
This cause is, in truth, too important for me;
Without trouble, however, among human kind,
Many dealers in questions like this you may find.
Yet, one sober truth, ere we part, I would teach —
That the life you each lead is best fitted for each.
‘Tis the joy of a cockerel to strut and look big,
And, to wallow in mire, is the bliss of a pig.
But, whose life is more pleasant, when viewed in itself,
Is a question had better be laid on the shelf,
Like many which puzzle deep reasoners’ brains,
And reward them with nothing but words for their pains.
So now, my good clients, I have been long awake,
And I pray you, in peace, your departure to take.
let each one enjoy, with content, his own pleasure,
Nor attempt, by himself, other people to measure.”

Thus ended the strife, as does many a fight;
Each thought his foe wrong, and his own notions right.
Pig turn’d, with a grunt, to his mire anew,
And He-biddy, laughing, cried — cock-a-doodle-doo.