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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?