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Poem	"SISTER, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head." Thus the prudent brother said. "Do you want a battered hide, Or scratches to your face applied?" Thus his sister calm replied. "Sister, do not raise my wrath. I'd make you into mutton broth As easily as kill a moth" The sister raised her beaming eye And looked on him indignantly And sternly answered, "Only try!" Off to the cook he quickly ran. "Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan To me as quickly as you can." And wherefore should I lend it you?" "The reason, Cook, is plain to view. I wish to make an Irish stew." "What meat is in that stew to go?" "My sister'll be the contents!" "Oh" "You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?" "No!" Moral: Never stew your sister.
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