His petticoats now George cast off, For he was four years old; His trousers were of nankeen stuff, With buttons bright as gold. "May I," said George, "just go abroad, My pretty clothes to show? May I, mamma? but speak the word;" The answer was, "No, no." "Go, run below, George, in the court. But go not in the street, Lest boys with you should make some sport, Or gipsies you should meet." Yet, though forbidden, he went out, That other boys might spy, And proudly there he walk'd about, And thought--"How fine am I!" [Illustration] But whilst he strutted through the street, With looks both vain and pert, A sweep-boy pass'd, whom not to meet, He slipp'd--into the dirt. The sooty lad, whose heart was kind, To help him quickly ran, And grasp'd his arm, with--"Never mind, You're up, my little man." Sweep wiped his clothes with labour vain, And begg'd him not to cry; And when he'd blacken'd every stain, Said, "Little sir, good-bye." Poor George, almost as dark as sweep, And smear'd in dress and face, Bemoans with sobs, both loud and deep, His well-deserved disgrace. [Illustration] DEAF MARTHA. Poor Martha is old, and her hair is turn'd grey, And her hearing has left her for many a year; Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say, Though she puts her poor wither'd hand close to her ear I've seen naughty children run after her fast, And cry, "Martha, run, there's a bullock so bold;" And when she was frighten'd,--laugh at her at last, Because she believed the sad stories they told. I've seen others put their mouths close to her ear, And make signs as if they had something to say; And when she said, "Master, I'm deaf, and can't hear," Point at her and mock her, and scamper away. Ah! wicked the children poor Martha to tease, As if she had not enough else to endure; They rather should try her affliction to ease, And soothe a disorder that nothing can cure. One day, when those children themselves are grown old, And one may be deaf, and another be lame, Perhaps they may find that some children, as bold, May tease them, and mock them, and serve them the same. Then, when they reflect on the days of their youth, A faithful account will their consciences keep, And teach them, with shame and with sorrow, the truth, That "what a man soweth, the same shall he reap." [Illustration] [Illustration] THE LITTLE CRIPPLE'S COMPLAINT. I'm a helpless cripple child, Gentle Christians, pity me; Once, in rosy health I smiled, Blithe and gay as you can be, And upon the village green First in every sport was seen.