OUR master, in a fatal hour, <br /> Brought in this Rod, to shew his pow'r. <br /> O dreadful birch ! O baleful tree ! <br /> Thou instrument of tyranny ! <br /> Thou deadly damp to youthful joys ! <br /> The sight of thee our peace destroys. <br /> Not Damocles, with greater dread, <br /> Beheld the weapon o'er his head. <br /> <br /> That sage was surely more discerning, <br /> Who taught to play us into learning, <br /> By graving letters on the dice : <br /> May heav'n reward the kind device, <br /> And crown him with immortal fame, <br /> Who taught at once to read and game ! <br /> <br /> Take my advice ; pursue that rule ; <br /> You'll make a fortune by your school. <br /> You'll soon have all the elder brothers, <br /> And be the darling of the mothers. <br /> <br /> O may I live to hail the day, <br /> When boys shall go to school to play ! <br /> To grammar rules we'll bid defiance ; <br /> For play will then become a science.<br /><br />Mary Barber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-for-my-son-upon-his-master-s-first-bring/
