ok me in her mouth away,
And talked of eating me to-day?
The she-wolf.

_Rem._.
Who scrunched my arm and clawed my side,
And would not heed me when I cried,
But whispered, "Won't he taste prime fried?"
The she-wolf.

_John_.
Who wouldn't spare two pretty boys,
Until they kicked and made a noise?
Who ever thus her time employs?
The she-wolf.

_Wolf_.
Who's not as bad as people say?
Who's going to nurse you night and day,
And wash your face and help you play?
The she-wolf?

(_Exeunt dancing_.)

Scene II.

The Same. Six Years Later.

_Enter Romulus and Remus, fighting with boxing-gloves. The wolf
knitting and looking on and encouraging_.

_Wolf_.
Your little hands were never made
To black each other's eyes,
And yet you do it very well
For youngsters of your size.
Keep down your guard. Good! Hit out fair,
That's one for Remus' nose!
Ha, Romulus, you caught it there
(Keep steady with your toes!).
Don't lose your tempers--it's not right.

The author's motive in thus lightly treating the opening scenes of his
hero's career is to postpone the gloom of the tragedy to a later period.

Time! Let 'em blow a bit.
My! how I like to see 'em fight!
It sends me, in a fit.

(_Has a fit and suddenly exit_)

_Rom. (discovering her absence_).
Alas, my brother! orphans once again,
We're left in this lone world of woe and pain.
Our step-dame's gone, and left us no address.
What's to be done? We're in a pretty mess.

_Rem_.
Let's sit and howl, and howl till some one hears.
You do the howling, and I'll do the tears.

(_They sit and howl for twenty minutes_)

_Enter Faustulus (an old, old policeman_).

_Faust._.
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Romulus, Remus, _what_ can the matter be?
Remus, Romulus, what _can_ the matter be?
Why do you sit there and howl?
You really do make such a horrible noise,
You naughty, bad, dirty-faced blubbering boys!
Why don't you run home to your ma and your toys?
Come, clear out of this, and move on.

_Rom. (screwing his knuckles into his eyes_).
We 'ain't got no home and we 'ain't got no ma,
We 'ain't got no notion whose childer we are,
And our old nuss has sloped without saying "Ta ta."
Bo-ho and bo-hoo and bo-how!

_Faust, (starts and drops his truncheon_).
Why, these are the lost 'uns! My eyes and my stars!
Wasn't Ilia your ma's name, and your