14 What time he from the garden fled, He press’d a bee beneath his tread, And felt the insect’s vengeance sped. That farmer boy, with haze] stick, Had also stung him to the quick, And paid him well for all the trick. Touch’d with remorse, and flush'd with shame, Dejected, sore, and tired, and lame, Poor Willy felt himself to blame. He knew his wild and mad career, Had oftened griev’d his parents dear, And well deserv’d rebuke severe. Amidst his trouble, pain, and wo, How could he to those parents go, Whom he had just offended so 7
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