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.