A certain Child—’tis true, though sad—
Was so dragonically bad,
She drove the very dragons mad.
“I trust,” exclaimed her teacher, “you’ll
Never forget the golden Rule
To treasure all you learn at school.
“Now, what of Acid?” “Well, zere is
Somesing zat oo can mix it wiz,
And zen, I sink, it makes a fizz.”
Her lessons done, at breakfast seated,
With Bread this dragon-child was treated
Too new, too buttery, too much heated.
All day she groaned, “My head, my head!
It burns like fire, it weighs like lead!”
“You’ve ate too much,” her teacher said.
“But here’s a Fruit to cool your lips:
Take it in little sucks and sips,
And do not swallow all the pips.
“And then, my groaning greedy dear,
We’ll toddle down upon the pier,
The Christy-Minstrels for to hear.”