The Child and the Schoolmaster

THIS fable serves to tell, or tries to show
A fool's remonstrance often is in vain.
A child fell headlong in the river's flow,
While playing on the green banks of the Seine :
A willow, by kind Providence, grew there,
The branches saved him (rather, God's good care) ;
Caught in the friendly boughs, he clutched and clung.
The master of the school just then came by.
" Help ! help ! I'm drowning ! " as he gulping hung,
He shouts. The master, with a pompous eye,
Turns and reproves him with much gravity.
" You little ape, " he said, " now only see
What comes of all your precious foolery ;
A pretty job such little rogues to guard.
Unlucky parents who must watch and thrash
Such helpless, hopeless, good-for-nothing trash.
I pity them ; their woes I understand. "
Having said this, he brought the child to land.
In this I blame more people than you guess—
Babblers and censors, pedants, all the three ;
Such creatures grow in numbers to excess,
Some blessing seems to swell their progeny.
In every crisis theories they shape,
And exercise their tongues with perfect skill ;
Ha ! my good friends, first save me from the scrape,
Then make your long speech after, if you will.