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Max and Maurice

TRICK SECOND.

Charles Timothy Brooks translation

When the worthy Widow Tibbets (Whom the cut below exhibits) Had recovered, on the morrow, From the dreadful shock of sorrow, She (as soon as grief would let her Think) began to think 'twere better Just to take the dead, the dear ones (Who in life were walking here once), And in a still noonday hour Them, well roasted, to devour. True, it did seem almost wicked, When they lay so bare and naked, Picked, and singed before the blaze,— They that once in happier days, In the yard or garden ground, All day long went scratching round. Ah! Frau Tibbets wept anew, And poor Spitz was with her, too.

Wept anew
Wept anew

Max and Maurice smelt the savor. "Climb the roof!" cried each young shaver.

Climb the roof
Climb the roof

Through the chimney now, with pleasure, They behold the tempting treasure, Headless, in the pan there, lying, Hissing, browning, steaming, frying.

Frying pan
Frying pan
Widow Tibbets went
Widow Tibbets went

At that moment down the cellar (Dreaming not what soon befell her) Widow Tibbets went for sour Krout, which she would oft devour With exceeding great desire (Warmed a little at the fire). Up there on the roof, meanwhile, They are doing things in style. Max already with forethought A long fishing-line has brought.

Hen dangling
Hen dangling

Schnupdiwup! there goes, O Jeminy! One hen dangling up the chimney. Schnupdiwup! a second bird! Schnupdiwup! up comes the third! Presto! number four they haul! Schnupdiwup! we have them all!— Spitz looks on, we must allow, But he barks: Row-wow! Row-wow!

The rogues
The rogues

But the rogues are down instanter From the roof, and off they canter.— Ha! I guess there'll be a humming; Here's the Widow Tibbets coming! Rooted stood she to the spot, When the pan her vision caught.

Gone was every bird
Gone was every bird

Gone was every blessed bird! "Horrid Spitz!" was her first word.

Horrid Spitz
Horrid Spitz

"O you Spitz, you monster, you! Let me beat him black and blue!"

Heavy ladle
Heavy ladle

And the heavy ladle, thwack! Comes down on poor Spitz's back! Loud he yells with agony, For he feels his conscience free.

Dinner over
Dinner over

Max and Maurice, dinner over, In a hedge, snored under cover; And of that great hen-feast now Each has but a leg to show

This was now the second trick, But the third will follow quick.

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