Classic Poem

Oh ! what a cruel, wicked thing,
For me who am a little king,
To give my hapless subjects pain,
And make them groan beneath my reign.

Were I a chaser, and could fly,
Ah! should I not with anguish cry,
Should naughty children take a pin
And run me through, to make me spin?

Were I a bird, took from my nest,
Should I not think myself opprest,
If toss'd about in wanton play,
'Till maim'd and faint I die away?

Now, and when I'm a bigger boy,
Let cruelty my heart annoy,
Because it is a dreadful evil,
That only fits me for the Devil.

If I must ought of life deprive,
The quickest way I will contrive,
To stop the tremb'ling victim's breath,
And give it little pain in death.

I'll not torment a dog or cat,
A toad, a viper, or a rat;
They're form'd by an Almighty hand,
And sprung to life at his command.

A bull, a horse, yea every creature,
Of the most mild or savage nature,
Were kindly given for my use,
But never meant for my abuse.

Good men, thy holy word attests,
Are kind and tender to their beasts;
May I be merciful and kind,
That I with thee may mercy find!