Max and Maurice: A Juvenile History in Seven Tricks

Who shall now for Master Lämpel
Lead the service in the temple?
Now that his old pipe is out,
Shattered, smashed, gone up the spout?
Time will heal the rest once more,
But the pipe's best days are o'er.

This was the bad boys' fourth trick,
But the fifth will follow quick.

TRICK FIFTH

If, in village or in town,
You've an uncle settled down,
Always treat him courteously;
Uncle will be pleased thereby.
In the morning: "'Morning to you!
Any errand I can do you?"
Fetch whatever he may need, —
Pipe to smoke, and news to read;
Or should some confounded thing
Prick his back, or bite, or sting,
Nephew then will be near by,
Ready to his help to fly;
Or a pinch of snuff, maybe,
Sets him sneezing violently:
"Prosit! uncle! good health to you!
God be praised! much good may't do you!"
Or he comes home late, perchance:
Pull his boots off then at once,
Fetch his slippers and his cap,
And warm gown his limbs to wrap.
Be your constant care, good boy,
What shall give your uncle joy.
Max and Maurice (need I mention?)
Had not any such intention.
See now how they tried their wits —
These bad boys – on Uncle Fritz.
What kind of a bird a May-
Bug was, they knew, I dare say;
In the trees they may be found,
Flying, crawling, wriggling round.
Max and Maurice, great pains taking,
From a tree these bugs are shaking.
In their cornucopiæ papers,
They collect these pinching creepers.
Soon they are deposited
In the foot of uncle's bed!
With his peaked nightcap on,
Uncle Fritz to bed has gone;
Tucks the clothes in, shuts his eyes,
And in sweetest slumber lies.
Kritze! Kratze! come the Tartars
Single file from their night quarters.
And the captain boldly goes
Straight at Uncle Fritzy's nose.
"Baugh!" he cries: "what have we here?"
Seizing that grim grenadier.
Uncle, wild with fright, upspringeth,
And the bedclothes from him flingeth.
"Awtsch!" he seizes two more scape-
Graces from his shin and nape.
Crawling, flying, to and fro,
Round the buzzing rascals go.
Wild with fury, Uncle Fritz
Stamps and slashes them to bits.
O be joyful! all gone by
Is the May bug's deviltry.
Uncle Fritz his eyes can close
Once again in sweet repose.

This was the bad boys' fifth trick,
But the sixth will follow quick.

TRICK SIXTH

Easter days have come again,
When the pious baker men
Bake all sorts of sugar things,
Plum-cakes, ginger-cakes, and rings.
Max and Maurice feel an ache
In their sweet-tooth for some cake.
But the Baker thoughtfully
Locks his shop, and takes the key.
Who would steal, then, this must do:
Wriggle down the chimney-flue.
Ratsch! There come the boys, my Jiminy!
Black as ravens, down the chimney.
Puff! into a chest they drop,
Full of flour up to the top.
Out they crawl from under cover
Just as white as chalk all over.
But the cracknels, precious treasure,
On a shelf they spy with pleasure.
Knacks! The chair breaks! down they go —
Schwapp! – into a trough of dough!
All enveloped now in dough,
See them, monuments of woe.
In the Baker comes, and snickers
When he sees the sugar-lickers.