This bird was always nosing 'round.

Most patiently he waited

Until an open door he found,

And then investigated.

He loved to poke, he loved to peek,

In every knothole, so to speak,

He quickly thrust his prying beak,

For what was hid he hated.

The farm exhausted: "Now," said he:

"My policy's expansion.

When one's convinced how things should be

The proper course he can't shun.

His mind made up, he followed it,

Relying on his native wit,

And soon had wandered, bit by bit,

Through all his master's mansion.

"At least," he said: "It's not my fault

If everything's not seen to:

I've gone from garret down to vault,

And glanced into the lean-to.

In every room I've chanced to stop;

A supervising glance to drop,

I've looked below, I've looked on top,

Behind, and in between, too!"

One thing alone he found to blame,

As thus his time he squandered,

For, seeing not the farmer's dame,

Into her room he wandered,

And mounting nimbly on the bed:

"Why, bless my careful soul!" he said:

"These pillows are as hard as lead.

Now, how comes that?" he pondered.

The farmer's dame for half an hour

Had watched the bird meander,

And finding him within her power,

She leaped upon the gander.

"Why, how de do, my gander coy?"

She shouted: "What will be my joy

To dream to-night on you, my boy!"

(This was no baseless slander.)

For with a stoutish piece of string

Securely was this fool tied,

And by a leg and by a wing

Unto an oaken stool tied:

While, pinning towels around her gown,

She plucked him with relentless frown,

And stuffed the pillows with his down,

And roasted him for Yuletide.

The moral is: When you explore

Don't try to be superior:

Be cautious, and retire before

Your safety grows inferior.

'Tis best to stay upon the coast,

Or some day you will be like most

Of all that bold exploring host

That's gone to the interior.