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Other Spellers 187 |
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The PRETTY BUTTERFLY. .
B
UTTERFLY, pretty butterfly! come and reft on the flower that I hold in my hand ! Whither goeft thou, little fimpleton ? Seeft thou not that hungry bird that watches thee ? His beak is fharpened, and already open to devour thee. Come, come, then, hither, and he will not dare approach thee. I will not pull ofF thy wings, nor torment thee; no, no, no; thou art little and helplefs, like myfelf. I only wifh to look at thee nearer.
I will not keep thee long; I know thou haft not long to live. When the fummer is over, thou will be no more, and as for me I fhall only then be fix years old.
Butterfly, pretty butterfly ! come and reft on this flower that I hold in my hand ! Thou haft not a moment to lofe from enjoying this fhort life; but thou mayeft feed and regale thyfelf all the time that I look at thee. |
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