"Oh! I've got a plum cake,
And a rare feast I'll make,
I'll eat, and I'll stuff, and I'll cram;
Morning, noontime, and night,
It shall be my delight;--
What a happy young fellow I am."
Thus said little George,
And, beginning to gorge,
With zeal to his cake he applied;
While fingers and thumbs,
For the sweetmeats and plums,
Were hunting and digging besides.
But, woeful to tell,
A misfortune befell,
Which ruin'd this capital fun!
After eating his fill,
He was taken so ill,
That he trembled for what he had done.
As he grew worse and worse,
The doctor and nurse,
To cure his disorder were sent;
And rightly, you'll think,
He had physic to drink,
Which made him his folly repent.
And while on his bed
He roll'd his hot head,
Impatient with sickness and pain;
He could not but take
This reproof from his cake,
"Don't be such a glutton again!"