THE BLACK-BEETLE.
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
I sadly fear
This poor Black-Beetle's ill;
And to him now
No use, I trow,
Is the cleverest doctor's skill.
"No medical sage
His pain can assuage."
No medical sage
His pain can assuage.
You can see at a glance how bad
He's made himself,
All thro' his pelf:
Isn't it dreadfully sad?
"When the cook was asleep."
For wandering wide
On the floor he spied,
Last night when the cook was asleep,
And rejoiced to find
Some cucumber rind,
And now no more he will creep!
"Cucumber at night."
Yes! sad though it be,
This little "B-B"
Would follow his own appetite;
He could never say "no,"
When it tempted him; so
His epitaph is, "Serve him right!"
And thus tearfull-ee,
He begs you and me
His case as a warning to mind;
Cucumber at night
To regard with affright,
And never to eat up the rind.
"Spiders,—heugh!"