They might rise at a fly—
There's lots on the wing, so I'll catch one and try."
But this bait they refuse,
For they none of them choose
By his kind endeavours existence to lose.
For when he threw fly they would all run away,
Or round it would gambol and sportively play,
But never allowed it to lead them astray.
"Oh, the half-hour has past
And this throw is my last!"