The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb
Chapter 161 : BROTHER Well, soon (I say) I'll let it loose; But, sister, you talk like a goose,

BROTHER

Well, soon (I say) I'll let it loose; But, sister, you talk like a goose, There's no soul in a fly.

SISTER

It has a form and fibres fine, Were temper'd by the hand divine Who dwells beyond the sky.

Look, brother, you have hurt its wing-- And plainly by its fluttering You see it's in distress, Gay painted c.o.xcomb, spangled Beau, A b.u.t.terfly is call'd you know, That's always in full dress: The finest gentleman of all Insects he is--he gave a Ball, You know the Poet wrote.

Let's fancy this the very same, And then you'll own you've been to blame To spoil his silken coat.

BROTHER

Your dancing, spangled, powder'd Beau, Look, through the air I've let him go: And now we're friends again.

As sure as he is in the air, From this time, Ann, I will take care, And try to be humane.

THE PEACH

Mamma gave us a single Peach, She shar'd it among seven; Now you may think that unto each But a small piece was given.

Yet though each share was very small, We own'd when it was eaten, Being so little for us all Did its fine flavour heighten.

The tear was in our parent's eye, It seem'd quite out of season; When we ask'd wherefore she did cry, She thus explain'd the reason.

"The cause, my children, I may say, Was joy, and not dejection; The Peach, which made you all so gay, Gave rise to this reflection:

"It's many a mother's lot to share, Seven hungry children viewing, A morsel of the coa.r.s.est fare, As I this Peach was doing."

CHUSING A NAME

I have got a new-born sister; I was nigh the first that kiss'd her.

When the nursing woman brought her To Papa, his infant daughter, How Papa's dear eyes did glisten!-- She will shortly be to christen: And Papa has made the offer, I shall have the naming of her.

Now I wonder what would please her, Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa.

Ann and Mary, they're too common; Joan's too formal for a woman; Jane's a prettier name beside; But we had a Jane that died.

They would say, if 'twas Rebecca, That she was a little Quaker, Edith's pretty, but that looks Better in old English books; Ellen's left off long ago; Blanche is out of fas.h.i.+on now.

None that I have nam'd as yet Are so good as Margaret.

Emily is neat and fine.

What do you think of Caroline?

How I'm puzzled and perplext What to chuse or think of next!

I am in a little fever.

Lest the name that I shall give her Should disgrace her or defame her I will leave Papa to name her.

CRUMBS TO THE BIRDS

A bird appears a thoughtless thing, He's ever living on the wing, And keeps up such a carolling, That little else to do but sing A man would guess had he.

No doubt he has his little cares, And very hard he often fares, The which so patiently he bears, That, list'ning to those cheerful airs, Who knows but he may be

In want of his next meal of seeds?

I think for _that_ his sweet song pleads.

If so, his pretty art succeeds.

I'll scatter there among the weeds All the small crumbs I see.

THE ROOK AND THE SPARROWS

A little boy with crumbs of bread Many a hungry sparrow fed.

It was a child of little sense, Who this kind bounty did dispense; For suddenly it was withdrawn, And all the birds were left forlorn, In a hard time of frost and snow, Not knowing where for food to go.

He would no longer give them bread, Because he had observ'd (he said) That sometimes to the window came A great blackbird, a rook by name, And took away a small bird's share.

So foolish Henry did not care What became of the great rook, That from the little sparrows took, Now and then, as 'twere by stealth, A part of their abundant wealth; Nor ever more would feed his sparrows.

_Thus ignorance a kind heart narrows._ I wish I had been there; I would Have told the child, rooks live by food In the same way that sparrows do.

I also would have told him too, Birds act by instinct, and ne'er can Attain the rect.i.tude of man.

Nay that even, when distress Does on poor human nature press, We need not be too strict in seeing The failings of a fellow being.

DISCONTENT AND QUARRELLING

JANE

Miss Lydia every day is drest Better than I am in my best White cambric-muslin frock.

I wish I had one made of clear Work'd lawn, or leno very dear.-- And then my heart is broke

Almost to think how cheap my doll Was bought, when hers cost--yes, cost full A pound, it did, my brother; Nor has she had it weeks quite five, Yet, 'tis as true as I'm alive, She's soon to have another.

ROBERT

O mother, hear my sister Jane, How foolishly she does complain, And teaze herself for nought.

But 'tis the way of all her s.e.x, Thus foolishly themselves to vex.

Envy's a female fault.

JANE

O brother Robert, say not so; It is not very long ago, Ah! brother, you've forgot, When speaking of a boy you knew, Remember how you said that you Envied his happy lot.

ROBERT

Let's see, what were the words I spoke?

Why, may be I was half in joke-- May be I just might say-- Besides that was not half so bad; For Jane, I only said he had More time than I to play.

JANE

O _may be, may be_, very well: And may be, brother, I don't tell Tales to mamma like you.

MOTHER

O cease your wrangling, cease, my dears; You would not wake a mother's fears Thus, if you better knew.