Mucheif
Let
those
who're
fond
of
idle
tricks,
Of
throwing
stones,
and
hurling
bricks,
And
all
that
sort
of
fun,
Now
hear
a
tale
of
idle
Jim,
That
warning
they
may
take
by
him,
Nor
do
as
he
has
done.
In
harmless
sport
or
healthful
play
He
did
not
pass
his
time
away,
Nor
took
his
pleasure
in
it;
For
mischief
was
his
only
joy:
No
book,
or
work,
or
even
toy,
Could
please
him
for
a
minute.
A
neighbour's
house
he'd
slyly
pass,
And
throw
a
stone
to
break
the
glass,
And
then
enjoy
the
joke!
Or,
if
a
window
open
stood,
He'd
throw
in
stones,
or
bits
of
wood,
To
frighten
all
the
folk.
If
travellers
passing
chanced
to
stay,
Of
idle
Jim
to
ask
the
way,
He
never
told
them
right;
And
then,
quite
harden'd
in
his
sin,
Rejoiced
to
see
them
taken
in,
And
laugh'd
with
all
his
might.
He'd
tie
a
string
across
the
street,
Just
to
entangle
people's
feet,
And
make
them
tumble
down:
Indeed,
he
was
disliked
so
much,
That
no
good
boy
would
play
with
such
A
nuisance
to
the
town.
At
last
the
neighbours,
in
despair,
This
mischief
would
no
longer
bear:
And
so
to
end
the
tale,
This
lad,
to
cure
him
of
his
ways,
Was
sent
to
spend
some
dismal
days
Within
the
county
jail.
