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A BEETLE TALE
- “O COME,” the elder beetle said,
- “For every one is safe in bed,
- ’Tis time to seek our nightly bread.”
- Then forth he crept with stealthy tread.
- The clock ticked on—you would not deem
- Aught could have broke that peace supreme,
- The children slept, they scarce did dream,
- The young moon cast a fitful gleam.
- From crack and cranny beetles crept;
- In black and polished coats they stept
- Upon that floor, which Jane had swept.
- Ah me! how fast those children slept!
- The elder beetle scratched his head
- And thought a moment—then he said:
- “Follow me, children, and be fed.”
- Forth to the larder door he led.
- The Cook turned in her sleep—too late!
- She should have covered with a plate
- The dish that none shall save from fate;
- She dreams the clock is striking eight!
- But ah! not yet the night has run,
- Not yet appears the morning sun—
- Cook’s handiwork is soon undone,
- The tarts are eaten every one!
