THE SILLY YOUNG RABBIT.

THERE was a young rabbit Who had a bad habit— Sometimes he would do what his mother forbid. And one frosty day, His mother did say, “My child you must stay in the burrow close hid; For I hear the dread sounds Of huntsmen and hounds, Who are searching around for rabbits like you; Should they see but your head, They would soon shoot you dead, And the dogs would be off with you quicker than boo!” But, poor foolish being! When no one was seeing, Looking out from his burrow to take a short play, He hopped o’er the ground With many a bound, And looked around proudly, as if he would say, Do I fear a man? Now catch me who can! So this young rabbit ran to a fine apple tree, Where, gnawing the bark, He thought not to hark The coming of hunters, so careless was he. Now, as rabbits are good When roasted or stewed, A man came along hunting rabbits for dinner; He saw little bun, Then raised his big gun, And there he lay dead, the foolish young sinner.