The Song of Mowgli⁠—I, Mowgli, am singing. Let the jungle listen to the things I have done. Shere Khan said he would kill⁠—would kill! At the gates in the twilight he would kill Mowgli, the Frog! He ate and he drank. Drink deep, Shere Khan, for when wilt thou drink again? Sleep and dream of the kill. I am alone on the grazing-grounds. Gray Brother, come to me! Come to me, Lone Wolf, for there is big game afoot. Bring up the great bull-buffaloes, the blue-skinned herd-bulls with the angry eyes. Drive them to and fro as I order. Sleepest thou still, Shere Khan? Wake, O wake! Here come I, and the bulls are behind. Rama, the King of the Buffaloes, stamped with his foot. Waters of the Waingunga, whither went Shere Khan? He is not Ikki to dig holes, nor Mao, the Peacock, that he should fly. He is not Mang, the Bat, to hang in the branches. Little bamboos that creak together, tell me where he ran? Ow! He is there. Ahoo!