He then put a cork on his beak,
  The airy assassin disarming,
Unspurred him, and rendered him weak,
  By blunting each talent for harming.

And into the coop he was thrown: 
  The chickens hid under their mother,
For he, by his feathers was known
  As he, who had murdered their brother

Dame Biddy, beholding his plight,
  Determined to show him no quarter,
In action gave vent to her spite;
  As motherly tenderness taught her.

She shouted, and blustered; and then
  Attacked the poor captive unfriended;
And you, (who have witnessed a hen
  In anger,) may guess how it ended.

She made him a touching address,
  If pecking and scratching could do it;
Till sinking in silent distress,
  He perished before she got through it.

We would not, however, convey
  A thought like approving the fury,
That gave, in this summary way,
  Punition without judge or jury.

Whenever ’tis given, it tends
  To lessen the angry bestower. 
The fowl that inflicts it descends—­
  But the featherless biped, still lower.

=Kit With the Rose=

A Rose-tree stood in the parlor,
  When Kit came frolicking by;
So, up went her feet on the window-seat,
  To a rose that had caught her eye.

She gave it a cuff, and it trembled
  Beneath her ominous paw;
And while it shook, with a threatening look,
  She coveted what she saw.

Thought she, “What a beautiful toss-ball! 
  If I could but give it a snap,
Now all are out, nor thinking about
  Their rose, or the least mishap!”

She twisted the stem, and she twirled it;
  And seizing the flower it bore,
With the timely aid of her teeth, she made
  A leap to the parlor-floor.

Then over the carpet she tossed it,
  All fresh in its morning bloom,
Till, shattered and rent, its leaves were sent
  To every side of the room.

At length, with her sport grown weary,
  She laid herself down to sun,
Inclining to doze, forgetting the rose,
  And the mischief she’d slily done.

By and by her young mistress entered,
  And uttered a piteous cry,
When she saw the fate of what had so late
  Delighted her watchful eye.

But, where was the one who had spoiled it
  Concealing his guilty face? 
She had not a clue, whereby to pursue
  The rogue to his lurking-place!

Thought Kit, “I’ll keep still till it’s over;
  And none will suspect it was I.” 
For the puss awoke, when her mistress spoke;
  And she well understood the cry.

But, mewing at length for her dinner,
  Kit’s mouth confessed the whole truth: 
It opened so wide that her mistress espied
  A rose-leaf pierced by her tooth!

Then, banished was Kit from the parlor,
  All covered with shame!  And those
Inclined, like her, in secret to err,
  Should remember Kit with the Rose.