The Crow and the Fox by Ivan Krylov

This truth within the heart is graven: —
All flattery is false; and so, there's no excuse,
If listeners succumb when flatterers seduce.

Up on a little fir-tree lightly hopped a raven
That wished to breakfast at her ease,
And carried in her mouth a piece of fragrant cheese.
But while she pondered, then a morsel tasted,
A fox adjudged the chance too perfect to be wasted.
Was taken captive by the cheesy scent;
On looking up, no further on his journey went.
The rogue, on tip-toe, to the fir-tree slow approaches.
Upon the bird's attention sly encroaches.
And gently says, in accents low and clear: —
"Oh, songster exquisite and dear.
Your eyes are soft with love and pity,
I humbly bow to one so pretty.
Ne'er have I seen such feathers, such a break!
Oh, queen of all the birds! but let me hear you speak.
Or rather, deign to sing! Enjoy a moment's leisure
And charm the world with tones delightful beyond measure.
Pour forth fine notes, my gracious treasure!»
The raven held her breath, and nearly died from choking,
And then, as if a wild ambition in her burned.
She opened wide her mouth for harsh discordant croaking.
And the fox gained the cheese his cunning skill had earned.