Road-Song of the Bandar-Log Here we go in a flung festoon , Half-way up to the jealous moon ! Do n't you envy our pranceful bands ? Do n't you wish you had extra hands ? Would n't you like if your tails were -- so -- Curved in the shape of a Cupid 's bow ? Now you 're angry , but -- never mind , Brother , thy tail hangs down behind ! Here we sit in a branchy row , Thinking of beautiful things we know ; Dreaming of deeds that we mean to do , All complete , in a minute or two -- Something noble and wise and good , Done by merely wishing we could . We 've forgotten , but -- never mind , Brother , thy tail hangs down behind ! All the talk we ever have heard Uttered by bat or beast or bird -- Hide or fin or scale or feather -- Jabber it quickly and all together ! Excellent ! Wonderful ! Once again ! Now we are talking just like men ! Let 's pretend we are ... never mind , Brother , thy tail hangs down behind ! This is the way of the Monkey-kind . Then join our leaping lines that scumfish through the pines , That rocket by where , light and high , the wild grape swings . By the rubbish in our wake , and the noble noise we make , Be sure , be sure , we 're going to do some splendid things ! `` Tiger ! Tiger ! '' What of the hunting , hunter bold ? Brother , the watch was long and cold .
What of the quarry ye went XXXXX kill ?
By Cupid Monkey-kind branchy festoon in like of through to