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e scream'd out aloud for his mother to come, And stamp'd on the floor with his feet. Now if Peter had minded his mother's command, His fingers would not have been sore; And he promised again, as she bound up his hand, To play with hot pokers no more. BEN'S HEAVY PUNISHMENT 'Tis sad when boys are disinclin'd To benefit by kind advice; No little child of virtuous mind Should need receive a caution twice. The baker on a pony came (Oft us'd by them, and butchers too), And little Ben was much to blame For doing what he should not do. They told him _not_ to mount the horse; Alas! he did; away they flew; In vain he pull'd with all his force, The pony ran a mile or two. At length poor little Ben was thrown; Ah! who will pity? who's to blame? Alas! the fault is all his own-- Poor little Ben for life is lame! THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER "Sweep! sweep! sweep! sweep!" cries little Jack, With brush and bag upon his back, And black from head to foot; While daily, as he goes along, "Sweep! sweep! sweep! sweep!" is all his song, Beneath his load of soot. But then he was not always black. Oh no! he once was pretty Jack, And had a kind papa; But, silly child! he ran to play Too far from home, a long, long way, And did not ask mamma. So he was lost, and now must creep Up chimneys, crying, "Sweep! sweep! sweep!" _Note._--This was written in the days when little boys, like Tom in _Water Babies_, were sent actually up the chimneys to clean them out. THE FIGHTING WICKET-KEEPER In the schoolroom the boys All heard a great noise. Charles Moore had just finish'd his writing, So ran out to play, And saw a sad fray:-- Tom Bell and John Wilson were fighting. He cried, "Let's be gone, Oh, come away, John, We want you to stand at the wicket; And you, Master Bell, We want you as well, For we're all of us going to cricket. "Our playmates, no doubt, Will shortly be out, For you know that at twelve study ceases; And you'll find better fun In play, ten to one, Than in knocking each other to pieces." THE GOOD SCHOLAR Joseph West had been told, That
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