Book IX: The Schoolboy, the Pedant, and the Owner of a Garden

A boy who savour'd of his school,--A double rogue and double fool,--By youth and by the privilegeWhich pedants have, by ancient right,To alter reason, and abridge,--A neighbour robb'd, with fingers light,Of flowers and fruit. This neighbour had,Of fruits that make the autumn glad,The very best--and none but he.Each season brought, from plant and tree,To him its tribute; for, in spring,His was the brightest blossoming.One day, he saw our hopeful ladPerch'd on the finest tree he had,Not only stuffing down the fruit,But spoiling, like a Vandal brute,The buds that play advance-courierOf plenty in the coming year.The branches, too, he rudely tore,And carried things to such a pass,The owner sent his servant o'erTo tell the master of his class.The latter came, and came attendedBy all the urchins of his school,And thus one plunderer's mischief mendedBy pouring in an orchard-full.It seems the pedant was intentOn making public punishment,To teach his boys the force of law,And strike their roguish hearts with awe.The use of which he first must showFrom Virgil and from Cicero,And many other ancients noted,From whom, in their own tongues, he quoted.So long, indeed, his lecture lasted,While not a single urchin fasted,That, ere its close, their thievish crimesWere multiplied a hundred times.

I hate all eloquence and reasonExpended plainly out of season.Of all the beasts that earth have cursedWhile they have fed on't,The school-boy strikes me as the worst--Except the pedant.The better of these neighbours twoFor me, I'm sure, would never do.