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THE ENVIOUS WREN. 



On the ground lived a Hen, 



In a tree lived a Wren, 

 Who picked up her food here and there; 



While Biddy had wheat 



And all nice things to eat 

 Said the Wren, " I declare, 'tisn't fair! 



" It is really too bad !" 



She exclaimed — she was mad— 

 " To go out when it's raining this way! 



And to earn what you eat, 



Doesn't make your food sweet, 

 In spite of what some folks may say. 



" Now, there is that Hen," 



Said this cross little Wren, 

 " She's fed till she's fat as a drum; 



While I strive and sweat 



For each bug that I get, 

 And nobody gives me a crumb. 



" I can't see for my life 



Why the old farmer's wife. 

 Treats her so much better than me. 



Suppose on the ground 



I hop carelessly round 

 For awhile, and just see what I'll see." 



Said this cute little Wren, 



" I'll make friends with the Hen, 

 And perhaps she will ask me to stay; 



And then upon bread 



Every day I'll be fed. 

 And life will be nothing but play." 



So down flew the Wren; 



"Stop to tea," said the Hen; 

 And soon Biddy's supper was sent; 



But scarce stopping to taste, 



The poor bird left in haste. 

 And this was the reason she went: 



When the farmer's kind dame 



To the poultry yard came, 

 She said — and the Wren shook with fright — 



" Biddy's so fat she'll do 



For a pie or a stew, 

 And I guess I shall kill her to-night." 



— Pluvhc Gary 



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