. Original poems, for infant minds . a pretty box is this, Ill open it, said little miss. I know that grandmamma would say, Dont meddle with it, dear;But then shes far enough away, And no one else is near ;Beside, what can there be amiss,In opning such a box as this ? So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid ;And presently a mighty jerk, The mighty mischief all at once, ah! woeful case,The snuff came puffing in her face! Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, and chin, A dismal sight presented;And as the snuff got further in, Sincerely she vain she ran about for e
. Original poems, for infant minds . a pretty box is this, Ill open it, said little miss. I know that grandmamma would say, Dont meddle with it, dear;But then shes far enough away, And no one else is near ;Beside, what can there be amiss,In opning such a box as this ? So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid ;And presently a mighty jerk, The mighty mischief all at once, ah! woeful case,The snuff came puffing in her face! Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, and chin, A dismal sight presented;And as the snuff got further in, Sincerely she vain she ran about for ease,She could do nothing: else but sneeze ! to She dashd the spectacles away,To wipe her tingling eyes , FOR INFANT MINDS. And as in twenty bits they lay,Her grandmamma she day ! and whats the matter now ?Cried grandmamma, with lifted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain,And tingling still, and sore, Made many a promise, to refrainFrom meddling evermore ; And tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her THE LAST DYING SPEECH AND CONFESSIONOF POOR PUSS. KIND masters and misses, who ever you be,Do stop for a moment, and pity poor me!While here on my death-bed I try to relateMy many misfortunes, and miseries great. My dear mother, Tabby, Ive often heard say,That I have been a very fine cat in my day; 8* 90 ORIGINAL POEMS, But tne sorrows in which my whole life has been passd,Have spoild all my beauty, and killd me at last. Poor thoughtless young thing! if I recollect right,I was kittend in March, on a clear frosty night;And before I could see, or was half a week old,I nearly had perishd, the barn was so cold. Bui this chilly spring, I got pretty well over,And mousd in the hay-loft, or playd in the clover;And when this displeasd me, or mousing was stale,I usd to run round and round, after my tail. But ah! my poor tail, and my pretty sleek ears!The farmers boy cut them all off with his shears;And little I thought, when I lickd them so clean,I should be
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