The Boy and the Schoolmaster

Wise counsel is not always wise, / As this my tale exemplifies. / A boy, that frolick'd on the banks of Seine, / Fell in, and would have found a watery grave, / Had not that hand that planteth ne'er in vain / A willow planted there, his life to save. / While hanging by its branches as he might, / A certain sage preceptor came in sight; / To whom the urchin cried, 'Save, or I'm drown'd! ' / The master, turning gravely at the sound, / Thought proper for a while to stand aloof, / And give the boy some seasonable reproof. / 'You little wretch! this comes of foolish playing, / Commands and precepts disobeying. / A naughty rogue, no doubt, you are, / Who thus requite your parents' care. / Alas! their lot I pity much, / Whom fate condemns to watch o'er such. ' / This having coolly said, and more, / He pull'd the drowning lad ashore.

This story hits more marks than you suppose. / All critics, pedants, men of endless prose, -- / Three sorts, so richly bless'd with progeny, / The house is bless'd that doth not lodge any, -- / May in it see themselves from head to toes. / No matter what the task, / Their precious tongues must teach; / Their help in need you ask, / You first must hear them preach.[1]