Wolves commonly are fam'd for Eating,
As much, as Foxes are for Cheating.
One of 'em, at a Mutton Feast,
Devour'd his Meat with so much haste;
A Bone got in his Throat, and there
Stuck fast; some Learned Authors swear,
It was the Os Sacrum; others say,
It was one of the Vertebrae.
But hang disputes; since it is all one
What Bone it was; so 'twas no small one.
There stood Sir Wolf, and full of Grief
Made signs he wanted quick Relief.
And well it was he could not Cry;
For no Soul would have come a nigh.
At last he shews it to a Stork,
The long-leg'd Surgeon goes to Work;
Takes out the Bone immediately;
And when 'twas done, desir'd his Fee.
Sure, says the Wolf, whoever draws
His Head out harmless from my Jaws,
May boast of such a Happiness,
As far o'erpays all Offices;
A thing which ne'er was done before,
And may be, ne'er will happen more.
But O Damn'd Vice Ingratitude!
To scape with Life, and be so rude,
As to ask Fees! take care young Man,
You never see my Face again.
The Moral.
Some Folks are so mischievous grown,
They claim Thanks if they let y' alone.