Polly was a little girl,
Pretty as a posy;
Rather straight, and rather tall;
Very round and rosy.
Other little girls and boys
Always were delighted,
So if to pretty Polly's house
They had been invited.
There they'd romp, and have great fun,
Frolicking and shouting;
But alas! they soon would find
Pretty Polly pouting!
What had any one done?
How had they displeased her?
Was she sad or mad because
Johnny Dean had teased her?
Why are you so cross and glum
When the rest are jolly?
With your under-lip thrust out,
Tell us, pouting Polly!
Polly loves to have her way;
Ah! no one can doubt it;
And whenever she's displeased
She will pout about it.
Such a funny under-lip!
You would like to grab it,
So that little Polly might
Break this naughty habit.
In the house or out-of-doors,
Little Polly Horner
You will find a dozen times
Pouting in a corner.
Once, when in the garden she
Stood thus melancholy,
On her under-lip a bee
Stung Miss Pouting Polly.
Then she danced, and then she screamed;
People heard her yelling
Half-a-mile or more away,
While her lip was swelling.
Oh, it swelled, and swelled, and swelled,
Like a great big blister,
And the pain was very great
Where the bee had kissed her.
Many days she kept her bed;
And there is no doubting
That the sorry little maid
Had her fill of pouting.
For the buzzing busy-bee
Cured her of her folly;
And the remedy will cure
Any pouting Polly.