But a few words could William say,
And those few could not speak plain.
Yet thought he was a man one day;
Never saw I a boy so vain.
From what could vanity proceed
In such a little lisping lad?
Or was it vanity indeed?
Or was he only very glad?
For he without his maid may go
To the heath with elder boys,
And pluck ripe berries where they grow:
Well may William then rejoice.
Be careful of your little charge;
Elder boys, let him not rove;
The heath is wide, the heath is large,
From your sight he must not move.
But rove he did: they had not been
One short hour the heath upon,
When he was no where to be seen;
"Where," said they, "is William gone?"
Mind not the elder boys' distress;
Let them run, and let them fly.
Their own neglect and giddiness
They are justly suffering by.
William his little basket fill'd
With his berries ripe and red;
Then, naughty boy, two bees he kill'd,
Under foot he stamp'd them dead.
William had cours'd them o'er the heath,
After them his steps did wander;
When he was nearly out of breath,
The last bee his foot was under.
A cruel triumph, which did not
Last but for a moment's space,
For now he finds that he has got
Out of sight of every face.
What are the berries now to him?
What the bees which he hath slain?
Fear now possesses every limb,
He cannot trace his steps again.