Last Trick

MAX and Maurice! I grow sick, When I think on your last trick.

Why must these two scalawags Cut those gashes in the bags?

See! the farmer on his back Carries corn off in a sack.

Scarce has he begun to travel, When the corn runs out like gravel.

All at once he stops and cries: "Darn it! I see where it lies!"

Ha! with what delighted eyes Max and Maurice he espies.

Rabs! he opens wide his sack, Shoves the rogues in--Hukepack!

It grows warm with Max and Maurice, For to mill the farmer hurries.

"Master Miller! Hallo, man! Grind me that as quick as you can!"

"In with 'em!" Each wretched flopper Headlong goes into the hopper.

As the farmer turns his back, he Hears the mill go "creaky! cracky!"

Here you see the bits post mortem, Just as Fate was pleased to sort 'em.

Master Miller's ducks with speed Gobbled up the coarse-grained feed.

CONCLUSION.

IN the village not a word, Not a sign, of grief, was heard. Widow Tibbets, speaking low, Said, "I thought it would be so!" "None but self," cried Buck, "to blame! Mischief is not life's true aim!" Then said gravely Teacher Lämpel, "There again is an example!" "To be sure! bad thing for youth," Said the Baker, "a sweet tooth!" Even Uncle says, "Good folks! See what comes of stupid jokes!" But the honest farmer: "Guy! What concern is that to I?" Through the place in short there went One wide murmur of content: "God be praised! the town is free From this great rascality!"

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University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.