Rhymes for the nursery By the authors of "Original Poems" [i.e. Ann Taylor]. Twenty-seventeenth edition |
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The poor Fly.
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 | Rhymes for the nursery |  |
The poor Fly.
So, so, you are running away, Mr. Fly,
But I'll come at you now, if you don't go too high;
There, there, I have caught you, you can't get away:
Never mind, my old fellow, I'm only in play.
But I'll come at you now, if you don't go too high;
There, there, I have caught you, you can't get away:
Never mind, my old fellow, I'm only in play.
Oh Charles! cruel Charles! you have kill'd the poor fly,
You have pinch'd him so hard, he is going to die:
His legs are all broken, and he cannot stand;
There, now he is fallen down dead in your hand!
You have pinch'd him so hard, he is going to die:
His legs are all broken, and he cannot stand;
There, now he is fallen down dead in your hand!
65
I hope you are sorry for what you have done:
You may kill many flies, but you cannot make one.
No, you can't set it up, as I told you before,
It is dead, and it never will stand any more.
You may kill many flies, but you cannot make one.
No, you can't set it up, as I told you before,
It is dead, and it never will stand any more.
Poor thing! as it buzz'd up and down on the glass,
How little it thought what was coming to pass!
For it could not have guessed, as it frisk'd in the sun,
That a child would destroy it for nothing but fun.
How little it thought what was coming to pass!
For it could not have guessed, as it frisk'd in the sun,
That a child would destroy it for nothing but fun.
The spider, who weaves his fine cobweb so neat,
Might have caught him, indeed, for he wants him to eat;
But the poor flies must learn to keep out of your way,
As you kill them for nothing at all but your play.
Might have caught him, indeed, for he wants him to eat;
But the poor flies must learn to keep out of your way,
As you kill them for nothing at all but your play.
J. T.
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