THE EPIGRAMMATIST.
I know an entomologist
Who thinks it not a sin
To catch a harmless butterfly,
And stick it, with a pin,
Upon a piece of paper white,
And underneath the same,
In letters large and plain, to write
The creature’s Latin name.
I know another little man
Who catches, now and then,
A microscopic little thought
And goads it, with a pen,
To rhyme, until we wonder quite
How it can keep so tame,
And why he never fails to write
Beneath (in full) his name.
If you should ask me to decide
The which of them I’d rate
The greater torment of the two
I should not hesitate.
It’s wicked with a pin to bore
A butterfly—but then,
I loathe the other fellow more,
Who bores me with his pen.
