And the heavy ladle, thwack!
Comes down on poor Spitz's back!
Loud he yells with agony,
For he feels his conscience free.

Max and Maurice, dinner over,
In a hedge, snored under cover;
And of that great hen-feast now
Each has but a leg to show

This was now the second trick,
But the third will follow quick.

Through the town and country round
Was one Mr. Buck renowned.

Sunday coats, and week-day sack-coats,
Bob-tails, swallow-tails, and frock coats,
Gaiters, breeches, hunting-jackets;
Waistcoats, with commodious pockets,—
And other things, too long to mention,
Claimed Mr. Tailor Buck's attention.
Or, if any thing wanted doing
In the way of darning, sewing,
Piecing, patching,—if a button
Needed to be fixed or put on,—
Any thing of any kind,
Anywhere, before, behind,—
Master Buck could do the same,
For it was his life's great aim.
Therefore all the population
Held him high in estimation.
Max and Maurice tried to invent
Ways to plague this worthy gent.
Right before the Sartor's dwelling
Ran a swift stream, roaring, swelling.

This swift stream a bridge did span,
And the road across it ran.

Max and Maurice (naught could awe them!)
Took a saw, when no one saw them:
Ritze-ratze! riddle-diddle!
Sawed a gap across the middle.
When this feat was finished well,
Suddenly was heard a yell:

"Hallo, there! Come out, you buck!
Tailor, Tailor, muck! muck! muck!"
Buck could bear all sorts of jeering,
Jibes and jokes in silence hearing;
But this insult roused such anger,
Nature couldn't stand it longer.

Wild with fury, up he started,
With his yard-stick out he darted;
For once more that frightful jeer,
"Muck! muck! muck!" rang loud and clear.

On the bridge one leap he makes;
Crash! beneath his weight it breaks.