The pigeon and the crow

Ah! he caught the Crow, and plucked all the feathers out of his head, all but one tuft; he powdered ginger and cummin, mixed it up with butter-milk, and rubbed it well all over the bird's body.

"That's for spoiling my master's dinner and making me throw it away!" said he, and threw him into his basket. Oh, how it hurt!

By-and-by the Pigeon came in, and saw the Crow lying there, making a great noise. He made great game of him, and repeated a verse of poetry:

"Who is this tufted crane I see

Lying where he's no right to be?

Come out! my friend, the crow is near,

And he may do you harm, I fear!"

To this the Crow answered with another:

"No tufted crane am I—no, no!

I'm nothing but a greedy crow.

I would not do as I was told,

So now I'm plucked, as you behold."

And the Pigeon rejoined with a third verse:

"You'll come to grief again, I know—

It is your nature to do so;

If people make a dish of meat,

'Tis not for little birds to eat."

Then the Pigeon flew away, saying: "I can't live with this creature any longer." And the Crow lay there groaning till he died.