  "Betty, attend to what I say, This is my little boy's birth-day; Some sugar-plums and citron take, And send to school a large plum-cake." "That, madam, I will gladly do; Harry's so good and clever too: So let me have some wine and spice. For I would make it very nice." When it arriv'd, the little boy Laugh'd, sang, and jump'd about for joy; But, ah! how griev'd I am to say, He did not give a bit away. He ate, and ate, and ate his fill, No wonder that it made him ill; Pain in his stomach and his head Oblig'd him soon to go to bed. Oh! long he lay, and griev'd the while, Order'd by Dr. Camomile Such physic, and so much to take, He now can't bear the name of cake. |
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