I DON'T like little Albert Clarence, though he's a sprightly lad, because he won't obey his parence, his mother and his dad. This Clarence boy is strangely gifted, he is no person's fool, and divers prizes he has lifted down at the village school. He knows what war or revolution distinguished every king, and when it comes to elocution, he makes the welkin ring. It sends a sort of thrill and shiver all up my spine and neck, when he arises to deliver "The Boy and Burning Deck." In divers ologies excelling, in Greek he cuts much grass, and when it comes to hard word spelling, he cleans up all his class. But when his mother or his father remarks, "Go, hunt the eggs," he seems to think it too much bother to exercise his legs. And when his father or his mother observes, "Go, feed the cat," he says to them, "My little brother is here—let him do that." There are no flies on Albert Clarence, his teachers all agree; but kids who don't obey their parence don't make a hit with me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMS by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY RIDDLE: A BLACKSMITH by MOTHER GOOSE THE SENSITIVE PLANT by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF HARD DUTY by JONATHAN SWIFT PREPARATORY MEDITATIONS, 2D SERIES: 3 by EDWARD TAYLOR |