'Had I the keeping of you tho',
'I'd make your subtle Worship know,
'We Chickens are your Betters due,
'Not fatted up for such as you:
'Shut up in Cub with rusty Chain,
'I'd make you lick your Lips in vain:
'And take a special Care, be sure,
'No Pullet shou'd come near your Door:
'But try if you cou'd feed or no,
'Upon a Kite or Carrion Crow.'
Here ceas'd the Hen. The baffl'd Beast
March'd off without his promis'd Feast.