The Hare and the Crow

The flow'ry meads were in their prime, And leverets cropt the fragrant thyme, When, high in air, a medling crow Saw puss securely feast below; Meanwhile the hunters, from afar, Let loose the yelping dogs of war. "Alas, poor hare! ere yet too late "O let me warn thee of thy fate." Exclaim'd the crow; and quick descended, To give the good advice intended. The hare, alarm'd, with speed withdrew, Not doubting but the tale was trae: Whereas, in truth, th' unkennell'd pack Had ta'en, full cry, a different track. But now, to mount on wing again, The struggling crow attempts in vain; For, while intent t'advise the hare, She lighted on the fowler's snare; And found, at length, herself the bubble Of all her needless pains and trouble. Who meddle thus with others cares, Too oft neglect their own affairs: But who abroad for business roam, Should nothing leave undone at home.