Come here, little Willie:
Why, what is the trouble?
“I‘ ve broke my new pipe, ma’ —
I can n't make a bubble!”
Well, do n't weep for that, child,
But brighten your face,
And tell how the grievous
Disaster took place.
“Why, Puss came along;
And, said I,‘ Now she‘ ll think
That white, frothy water
Is milk she may drink.’
“So I set it before her,
And plunged her mouth in,
When up came both paws,
And clung fast to my chin.
“Then I gave her a blow
With my pipe; and it flew
At once into pieces!
O what shall I do?
“I can n't make a bubble!
I wish naughty Kit
Had been a mile off:
See! there‘ s blood on me yet!”
I‘ m sorry, my boy; yet
Your loss is but just;
You first deceived Pussy,
And trifled with trust.
In this, when you failed,
You compelled her; and thence
The wound on your face,
From poor Kit's self-defence.
Then, when you grew cruel
And beat her, you know
Your pipe and yourself
Fared the worst for the blow.
Let this lesson teach you,
Hence never to stoop
To make man, or brute,
That may trust you, a dupe.
And when you have power,
It should not be abused,
Oppressing the weaker,
Nor strength be misused.
For, often, unkindness
Returns whence it came;
And ever deceit must
Be followed by shame.
Remember this, William,
And here end your sorrow;
I‘ ll buy you a pipe,
To blow bubbles, to-morrow.