A fox, almost with hunger dying,
Some grapes upon a trellis spying,
To all appearance ripe, clad in
Their tempting russet skin,
Most gladly would have eat them;
But since he could not get them,
So far above his reach the vine -
'They're sour,' he said; 'such grapes as these,
The dogs may eat them if they please!'
Did he not better than to whine?