Nurse Telling Harry a Tale, About Catching Flies

Now, Harry, I've a tale to tell, So sit upon this chair; It is of what one day befell A little maid so fair.

She had a trick of catching flies, And as I understand, Regardless of their shape or size, Would clasp them in her hand.

A sly young bee that knew the way Some window-plants to gain, Yet choosing an unwise delay Was creeping on the pane:

The thoughtless child, on mischief bent, Soon caught him by the wing; But she, on cruelty intent, Was punished with a sting.

Nurse heard a cry of pain and grief, And tho' it seems quite funny, The little girl soon found relief From poultice made of honey.

Now since that time, I do expect, She'll hurt poor flies no more; The little maid will oft reflect On all she's done before.

O, Harry, it is sad, indeed, To hurt a living thing! And those who do it, really need, A rod, if not a sting.

Spirits of hartshorn, if immediately applied, will likewise effectually remove the pain of a sting.