o 




But where I found the children naughty, 
In manners rude, in temper haughty, 
Thankless to parents, liars, swearers, 
Boxers, or cheats, or base tale-bearers, 

I left a long, black, birchen rod, 
Such as the dread command of God 
Directs a Parent's hand to use 
When virtue's path his sons refuse. 







o