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Poem by Ann Taylor
One ugly trick has often spoil'd The sweetest and the best; Matilda, though a pleasant child, One ugly trick possess'd, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities. Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid, To peep at what was in it, Or tilt the kettle, if you did But turn your back a minute. In vain you told her not to touch, Her trick of meddling grew so much. Her grandmamma went out one day, And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuff-box gay Too near the little maid; "Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on, As soon as grandmamma is gone. " Forthwith she placed upon her nose The glasses large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose, The snuff-box too she spied: "Oh! what a pretty box is that; I'll open it," said little Matt. "I know that grandmamma would say, 'Don't meddle with it, dear;' But then, she's far enough away, And no one else is near: Besides, what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this? " So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid, And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did; For all at once, ah! woeful case, The snuff came puffing in her face. Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside A dismal sight presented; In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented. In vain she ran about for ease; She could do nothing now but sneeze. She dash'd the spectacles away, To wipe her tingling eyes, And as in twenty bits they lay, Her grandmamma she spies. "Heyday! and what's the matter now?" Says grandmamma, with lifted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still, and sore, Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore. And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, She ever since has kept her word.
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