Little Tommy, and Peter, and Archie, and Bob
Were walking, one day, when they found
An apple: 'twas mellow, and rosy, and red,
And lying alone on the ground.
Said Tommy: "I'll have it." Said peter: "'Tis mine."
Said Archie: "I've got it; so there!"
Said Bobby: "Now, let us divide it in four parts
And each of us boys have a share."
"No, no!" shouted Tommy, "I'll have it myself."
Said Peter: "I want it, I say."
Said Archie: "I've got it, and I'll have it all,
I won't give a morsel away."
Then Tommy he snatched it, and Peter he fought,
('Tis sad and distressing to tell!)
And Archie held on with his might and his main,
Till out from his fingers it fell.
Away from the quarrelsome urchins it flew
And then, down a green little hill
That apple it roll'd, and it roll'd, and it roll'd
As if it would never be still.
A lazy old brindle was nipping the grass,
And switching her tail at the flies,
When all of a sudden the apple rolled down
And stopped just in front of her eyes.
She gave but a bite and a swallow or two--
That apple was seen nevermore!
"I wish," whimpered Archie, and Peter, and Tom,
"We'd kept it and cut it in four."