A POEM FOR CHILDREN. ON CRUELTY TO THE IRRATIONAL CREATION by JANE CAVE

OH! what a cruel wicked thing
For me, who am a little King,
To give my hapless subjects pain,
And make them groan beneath my reign.

Were I a chafer, and could fly,
Ah! should I not with anguish cry,
Should naughty children take a pin,
And run me through to make me spin?

Were I a bird took from my nest,
Should I not think myself oppressed,
If tossed about in wanton play,
Till, maimed and faint, I die away?

Now, and when I'm a bigger boy,
Let cruelty my heart annoy,
Because it is a dreadful evil,
That only fits me for the Devil.

If I @3must@1 aught of life deprive,
The quickest way I will contrive
To stop the trembling victim's breath,
And give it @3little@1 pain in death.

I'll not torment a dog or cat,
A toad, a viper, or a rat:
They're formed by an Almighty hand,
And sprang to life at his command.

A bull, a horse, yea, every creature,
Of the most mild or savage nature,
Were kindly given for my use,
But never meant for my abuse.

Good men, Thy holy word attests,
Are kind and tender to their beasts:
May I be merciful and kind,
That I with Thee may mercy find.

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