Classic Poem

A Fox , one day, at early dawn,
Was jogging slyly o'er the lawn,
A rooster in his mouth, the pillage
Of last night's prowling through the village.
Sneaking along with speed and care,
Unluckily he meets a Bear.
( " Zounds!) — Ah, good morrow, gracious Sir!
Your Grace is early on the stir.
A lucky meeting, on my word;
I've brought your Grace a noble bird." —
" " Your Grace! " why do ye call me gracious?
You brute! d'ye mean to be facetious?
Who says I am?" — " Since you will know,
Your Honor's own mouth told me so;
I peeped into 't — to tell the truth,
Your Honor has a long, sharp tooth!"