Listen! I'll tell you while you lay the cloth.
(_Sings_).
I'm a wolf, I'm a wolf, in this big lonely wood, And I live in a hole in a tree, And I daily prowl forth in my free, hungry mood To look for my dinner and tea.
I never object to the wing of a man, Or a tender young lamb gives me joy; But what I like best is a slice off the breast, Or the leg, or the arm, of a boy.
To-day I'm in luck, as you plainly may see By the morsels that kick in my maw; Fetch a knife, fork, and spoon, John, for you and for me.
Dinner's ready! Young boys taste best raw.
_Rom._ Oh, impious monster, hold thy howling jaw! And you, John, to your flocks return once more.
Forbear to talk of eating me and Remus, You ugly, wicked, ill-conditioned schemers.
1.

Here I should remark that to be strictly accurate my tragedy should be called a tragic opera.

It abounds in songs calculated to stir familiar chords in the breasts of a popular and juvenile audience.
2.

It may here be objected that my heroes are at this time only a few weeks old.

But instances of precocious children (especially in tragic drama) are not unheard of; and after careful inquiry the author is not satisfied that in the present case the young persons in question did not speak fluently.