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. Some folks like to rest their heads In the night on feather beds. One of these was Widow Tibbets, Whom the cut you see exhibits. Hens were hers in number three, And a cock of majesty. Max and Maurice took a view; Fell to thinking what to do. One, two, three! as soon as said, They have sliced a loaf of bread, Cut each piece again in four, Each a finger thick, no more. These to two cross-threads they tie, Like a letter X they lie In the widow’s yard, with care Stretched by those two rascals there. Scarce the cock had seen the sight When he up and crew with might Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doo;— Tack, tack, tack, the trio flew, Cock and hens, like fowls unfed, Gobbled each a piece of bread; But they found, on taking thought, Each of them was badly caught. Every way they pull and twitch, This strange cat’s-cradle to unhitch; Up into the air they fly, Jiminee, O Jimini! On a tree behold them dangling, In the agony of strangling! And their necks grow long and longer, And their groans grow strong and stronger. Each lays quickly one egg more, Then they cross to th’ other shore. Widow Tibbets in her chamber, By these death-cries waked from slumber, Rushes out with bodeful thought: Heavens! what sight her vision caught! From her eyes the tears are streaming: “Oh, my cares, my toil, my dreaming! Ah, life’s fairest hope,” says she, “Hangs upon that apple-tree.” Heart-sick (you may well suppose), For the carving-knife she goes; Cuts the bodies from the bough, Hanging cold and lifeless now; And in silence, bathed in tears, Through her house-door disappears. This was the bad boys’ first trick, But the second follows quick.
“Max and Maurice”: Trick First
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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...
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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,...
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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...
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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....
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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...