The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose Now First Collected with a Prefatory Memoir by his Nephews W. E. and Sir Bartle Frere |
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| V. | FABLE V.
Of the Cavern and the Hut. |
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 | The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose |  |
FABLE V. Of the Cavern and the Hut.
An ancient cavern, huge and wide,
Was hollow'd in a mountain's side,
It served no purpose that I know,
Except to shelter sheep or so,
Yet it was spacious, warm, and dry.
There stood a little hut hard by.—
The cave was empty quite, and poor,
The hut was full of furniture;
By looking to his own affairs,
He got a table and some chairs,
All useful instruments of metal,
A pot, a frying-pan, a kettle,
A clock, a warming-pan, a jack,
A salt-box and a bacon-rack;
With plates, and knives, and forks, and dishes,
And lastly, to complete his wishes,
He got a sumptuous pair of bellows.—
The cavern was extremely jealous:
“How can that paltry hut contrive
“In this poor neighbourhood to thrive?”—
“The reason's plain,” replied the hut,
“Because I keep my mouth close shut;
“Whatever my good master brings,
“For furniture, or household things,
“I keep them close, and shut the door,
“While you stand yawning evermore.”
Was hollow'd in a mountain's side,
It served no purpose that I know,
Except to shelter sheep or so,
Yet it was spacious, warm, and dry.
There stood a little hut hard by.—
The cave was empty quite, and poor,
The hut was full of furniture;
267
He got a table and some chairs,
All useful instruments of metal,
A pot, a frying-pan, a kettle,
A clock, a warming-pan, a jack,
A salt-box and a bacon-rack;
With plates, and knives, and forks, and dishes,
And lastly, to complete his wishes,
He got a sumptuous pair of bellows.—
The cavern was extremely jealous:
“How can that paltry hut contrive
“In this poor neighbourhood to thrive?”—
“The reason's plain,” replied the hut,
“Because I keep my mouth close shut;
“Whatever my good master brings,
“For furniture, or household things,
“I keep them close, and shut the door,
“While you stand yawning evermore.”
If a little boy is yawning
At his lessons every morning,
Teaching him in prose or rhyme
Will be merely loss of time;
All your pains are thrown away,
Nothing will remain a day,
(Nothing you can teach or say,
Nothing he has heard or read,)
In his poor unfurnish'd head.
At his lessons every morning,
Teaching him in prose or rhyme
Will be merely loss of time;
All your pains are thrown away,
Nothing will remain a day,
(Nothing you can teach or say,
Nothing he has heard or read,)
In his poor unfurnish'd head.
| The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose | |