The wraps and the rags! O my pair, my twin-pigeons, lie still and seem dead!
Stepàn, he shall never have you for a meal,—here's your mother instead!
No, he will not be counselled—must cry, poor Stiòpka, so foolish! though first
Of my boy-brood, he was not the best: nay, neighbors have called him the worst:
He was puny, an undersized slip,—a darling to me, all the same!
But little there was to be praised in the boy, and a plenty to blame.
I loved him with heart and soul, yes—-but deal him a blow for a fault,
He would sulk for whole days. 'Foolish boy! lie still or the villain will vault,
Will snatch you from over my head!' No use! he cries, screams,—who can hold
Fast a boy in a frenzy of fear! It follows—as I foretold!