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The wolves are prone to play the glutton.

One, at a certain feast, 'tis said,

So stuffed himself with lamb and mutton,

He seemed but little short of dead.

Deep in his throat a bone stuck fast.

Well for this wolf, who could not speak,

That soon a stork quite near him passed.

By signs invited, with her beak

The bone she drew

With slight ado,

And for this skillful surgery

Demanded, modestly, her fee.

"Your fee!" replied the wolf,

In accents rather gruff;

"And is it not enough

Your neck is safe from such a gulf?

Go, for a wretch ingrate,

Nor tempt again your fate!"