FARMER GREED.

NE morn to shoot at little birds

Went Farmer Greed and his son;

The son had a pocket-pistol,

And the farmer had his gun.

And they sneak'd from hedge to hedge and shot

Every bird they could see;

Birds that walk'd upon the ground,

Or that sat upon the tree;

Rook and raven, linnet, lark,

Robin, wren, and sparrow;

And they cramm'd them all in a great big bag,

And wheel'd them home in a barrow.

And some they stew'd, and some they boil'd,

And the little ones they toasted;

And some they fried, and some they broil'd,

And the bigger ones they roasted.

And so day after day pass'd on,

Till they reach'd the end of spring,

And there wasn't a bird to clear the fields

Of worm or creeping thing.

And the ground was strewn with worms and grubs,

And insects great and small;

Some had at least a hundred legs,

And some no legs at all.

And all the trees from top to toe
Were as white as dusty millers;

You couldn't have seen one speck of green

For slugs and caterpillars.

And the insects went wherever a blade

Of grass was to be found;

And the barley and wheat were nipp'd, as soon

As they peep'd above the ground.

And round about the farm-house spread

The famine far and wide;

So the insects thought they would like to see

What the farm-house held inside.

And, row after row, away they go,

With a beetle at their head;

And the beetle knock'd at the kitchen-door,

But the farmer was still a-bed.

So, as nobody open'd the kitchen-door,
They all went creeping under,

And they found the pantry full o' good things,
And the cupboards cramm'd with plunder.

Butter, and cheese, and eggs, and ham,

And bacon, fat and lean:

They found the farmer's cupboards full,
They left his cupboards clean.

And when every cupboard was dry and bare,
And the good things all were done;
That beetle said: "Upstairs in bed

"Are Farmer Greed and his son."