A lamb was bleating on the lawn:
“A fig for lambs,” said he; “to-day
I’ll breakfast on a pretty fawn.”
But every pretty fawn that day
Was shelter’d by its careful dam:
So as he could not breakfast there,
He turn’d again to find the lamb.
And though he might have caught a hare
Who hurried off towards her brue;
“Nay think not, silly puss” he cried