The Cat and Fox, when saints were all the rage   Together went upon pilgrimage.
  Our Pilgrims, as a thing of course,
  Disputed till their throats were hoarse.
    Then, dropping to a lower tone,
  They talk'd of this, and talk'd of that,
  Till Reynard whisper'd to the Cat,
    "You think yourself a knowing one:
  How many cunning tricks have you?
  For I've a hundred, old and new,
  All ready in my haversack."
  The Cat replied, "I do not lack,
    Though with but one provided;
  And, truth to honour, for that matter,
  I hold it than a thousand better."
    In fresh dispute they sided;
  And loudly were they at it, when
  Approach'd a mob of dogs and men.
  "Now," said the Cat, &quo............