"The hare beneath the bush lies still,
  The hunters vainly scour the hill;
  The hare lies hid and holds his breath,
  His ears pricked up, he lies there still
  Waiting for death.
  O hunters! what harm have I done,
  To vex or injure you? Although
  Among the cabbages I run,
  One leaf I nibble--only one,
  And that's not yours!
  Oh, no!"

Cucumber went on with ever-increasing energy:

  "Into the forest dark he fled,
  His tail he let the hunters see;
  'Excuse me, gentlemen,' says he,
  'That so I turn my back on you--
  I am not yours!'"

Cucumber was not singing now . . . he was bellowing:

  "The hunters hunted day and night,
  And still the hare was out of sight.
  So, talking over his misdeeds,
  They ended by disputing quite--
  Alas, the hare is not for us!
  The squint-eye is too sharp for us!"