  Seven little tigers they sat them in a row, Their seven little dinners for to eat; And each of the troop had a little plate of soup, The effect of which was singularly neat. They were feeling rather cross, for they hadn't any sauce To eat with their pudding or their pie; So they rumpled up their hair, in a spasm of despair, And vowed that the aged cook should die. Then they called the aged cook, and a frying-pan they took, To fry him very nicely for their supper; He was ninety-six years old, on authority I'm told, And his name was Peter Sparrow-piper Tupper. "Mr. Sparrow-piper Tup, we intend on you to sup!" Said the eldest little tiger very sweetly; But this naughty aged cook, just remarking, "Only look!" Chopped the little tiger's head off very neatly. Then he said unto the rest, "It has always been confessed That a tiger's better eating than a man; So I'll fry him for you now, and you all will find, I trow, That to eat him will be much the better plan." So they tried it in a trice, and found that it was nice, And with rapture they embracÈd one another; And they said, "By hook or crook, we must keep this aged cook; So we'll ask him to become our elder brother." |
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