 | A gift book of stories and poems for children |  |
102
THE BOY'S COMPLAINT ABOUT BUTTER.
Oh, mother won't you speak to Kate?
I have not had enough to eat:
And when she spreads a little bread,
She thinks she gives me such a treat.
I have not had enough to eat:
And when she spreads a little bread,
She thinks she gives me such a treat.
I only wish I was a man,
To have my butter an inch thick,
And not be talking all the time,
How this and that will make me sick.
To have my butter an inch thick,
And not be talking all the time,
How this and that will make me sick.
Poor little boys are sadly used,
They cannot have the thing they wish;
While grown up people help themselves
To what they like from every dish.
They cannot have the thing they wish;
While grown up people help themselves
To what they like from every dish.
As soon as I become a man,
I'll have a pie as tall as you,
With door and windows like a house,
And lin'd with plums all through and through.
I'll have a pie as tall as you,
103
And lin'd with plums all through and through.
And I'll go in whene'er I choose,
And sit as snug as Jacky Horner;
And even Katey, though she's cross,
Shall sometimes come and eat a corner.
And sit as snug as Jacky Horner;
And even Katey, though she's cross,
Shall sometimes come and eat a corner.
My windows all with jelly made,
Like Boston glass shall glisten bright,
And sugar candy for the frames,
At every turn shall meet my sight.
Like Boston glass shall glisten bright,
And sugar candy for the frames,
At every turn shall meet my sight.
My floors shall be of ginger-bread,
Because that's pretty hard, you know,
Sanded all o'er with sugar plums,
Rolling about where'er I go.
Because that's pretty hard, you know,
Sanded all o'er with sugar plums,
Rolling about where'er I go.
And mother, Kate, my cellaret
Shall be all butter, shap'd with ice,
And then we'll see if I must fret
Because I want a little slice.
Shall be all butter, shap'd with ice,
And then we'll see if I must fret
Because I want a little slice.
And mother—Oh she's gone away!
And Katey—What—you've left me too?
I won't stand talking to the walls,
But go and find some work to do.
And Katey—What—you've left me too?
I won't stand talking to the walls,
But go and find some work to do.
| A gift book of stories and poems for children | |