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Arrived at their home, each small child, with a face
Of terror, his pitcher sets down in its place,
And waits to be beaten and scolded.
When the old folks they sip: “Oh, what excellent beer!”
Three, four times they take a strong pull at the cheer,
Yet still do the pitchers brim over.
The miracle lasted that night and next day;
And if you should ask, as you very well may,
What became, in the end, of the pitchers?
The little mice titter, enjoying the joke,
But at length, sirs, they stammer’d and stutter’d and spoke,
And the pitchers immediately dried up!
And, children, if e’er, looking kindly and true,
An old man, or father, or master teach you,
Give heed, and do all that he bids you.
Though to bridle your tongues it may cost you some pain,
Yet to chatter is bad, to be silent is gain,
And it makes the beer brim in the pitchers!
