Translated by Charles Timothy Brooks WHEN the worthy Widow Tibbets (Whom the cut below exhibits) Had recovered, on the morrow, From the dreadful shock of sorrow, She (as soon as grief would let her Think) began to think ’t were better Just to take the dead, the dear ones (Who in life were walking here once), And in a still noonday hour Them, well roasted, to devour. True, it did seem almost wicked, When they lay so bare and naked, Picked, and singed before the blaze,— They that once in happier days, In the yard or garden ground, All day long went scratching round. Ah! Frau Tibbets wept anew, And poor Spitz was with her, too. Max and Maurice smelt the savor. “Climb the roof!” cried each young shaver. Through the chimney now, with pleasure, They behold the tempting treasure, Headless, in the pan there, lying, Hissing, browning, steaming, frying. At that moment down the cellar (Dreaming not what soon befell her) Widow Tibbets went for sour Krout, which she would oft devour With exceeding great desire (Warmed a little at the fire). Up there on the roof, meanwhile, They are doing things in style. Max already with forethought A long fishing-line has brought. Schnupdiwup! there goes, O Jeminy! One hen dangling up the chimney. Schnupdiwup! a second bird! Schnupdiwup! up comes the third! Presto! number four they haul! Schnupdiwup! we have them all!— Spitz looks on, we must allow, But he barks: Row-wow! Row-wow! But the rogues are down instanter From the roof, and off they canter.— Ha! I guess there ’ll be a humming; Here ’s the Widow Tibbets coming! Rooted stood she to the spot, When the pan her vision caught. Gone was every blessèd bird! “Horrid Spitz!” was her first word. “O you Spitz, you monster, you! Let me beat him black and blue!” And the heavy ladle, thwack! Comes down on poor Spitz’s back! Loud he yells with agony, For he feels his conscience free. Max and Maurice, dinner over, In a hedge, snored under cover; And of that great hen-feast now Each has but a leg to show. This was now the second trick, But the third will follow quick.
“Max and Maurice”: Trick Second
More from Poet
|
Translated by Charles Timothy Brooks MAX and Maurice! I grow sick, When I think on your last trick. Why must these two scalawags Cut those gashes in the bags? See! the farmer on his back Carries corn off in a sack. Scarce has he begun to travel, When the corn runs out like gravel. All at once he... |
Translated by Charles Timothy Brooks THROUGH the town and country round Was one Mr. Buck renowned. Sunday coats, and week-day sack-coats, Bob-tails, swallow-tails, and frock coats, Gaiters, breeches, hunting-jackets; Waistcoats, with commodious pockets,— And other things, too long to mention,... |
Translated by Charles Timothy Brooks WHEN the worthy Widow Tibbets (Whom the cut below exhibits) Had recovered, on the morrow, From the dreadful shock of sorrow, She (as soon as grief would let her Think) began to think ’t were better Just to take the dead, the dear ones (Who in life were... |
Translated by Charles Timothy Brooks TO most people who have leisure Raising poultry gives great pleasure; First, because the eggs they lay us For the care we take repay us; Secondly, that now and then We can dine on roasted hen; Thirdly, of the hen’s and goose’s Feathers men make various uses.... |
|
Translated by Charles Timothy Brooks AH, how oft we read or hear of Boys we almost stand in fear of! For example, take these stories Of two youths, named Max and Maurice, Who, instead of early turning Their young minds to useful learning, Often leered with horrid features At their lessons and... |