A Foolish Boy
A gay young spark I knew, who happened from his aunt great riches to inherit. He started squandering and squandered with such spirit, that all his worldly wealth was I.O.U.
He had a fine fur coat, still new. It was winter at the time, and old Jack Frost was in his prime. One day a s wallow passed: what does our booby do. But pawn the fur as well! “Why, aren’t we all aware, you’ll never see a swallow in the air till spring insight! So now,”thinks prodigal,“my fur is useless quite. Why wrap oneself in furs? It is now the first spring breezes. To Nature’s waking realm bring everything that pleases, and to the silent North the banished Frost takes wing.”Our friend is quick at reckoning. He only quite forgets—at least, until he sneezes, one swallow does not make the spring. And so it proves! The frosts return again. The carts go creaking through the crumbled snow, the chimneys puff their smoke, one very window pane, delightful fairy tracings show.
Poor rake! His eyes with rheumy moisture flow;the little bird that spoke of summer days to follow, lies frozen in the snow. He stands beside the swallow. He stands beside the swallow. And shakes, and holds his breath, and mumbles through his teeth, “You villain, any how you’refinished too! I thought that I could count on you! To pawn my fur just now—a pretty thing to do!”