If she had eggs, 'twould sure befall
She'd overlay and smash them all:
Or, if she ever hatched a brood,
She let them die for want of food:
Besides all this, from morn till night
She ate with monstrous appetite,
And yet, for all her stuffing in.
She still was naught but bone and skin:
To sell her for the smallest gain.
The farmer having tried in vain—
For none to buy a bird was willing.
That was not even worth the killing—
He turned her out, one dreary night,
To seek her fortune as she might.
The Goose, ere long, began to feel
The want of her accustom'd meal.
When, as she wander'd on, she heard
The voice of a melodious bird.
Who, with some others, sang a lay
In honour of the dawning day.
"Ha," mused the Goose, '"the thought will do—
Why should not I turn singer too?
No doubt my voice is sweet enough.
And art and science are all stuff!"
Waddling to where the songster stood,
She'd sing all day, she said, for food;
Spoke of her lovely voice, and then
Gave a long hiss, as specimen.
A sober Goldfinch was at hand.
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MODERN FABLES