"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts
All on a summer's day
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts
And with them ran away.
The King of Hearts called for the tarts
And beat the Knave full sore.
The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more."
This noble queen, with mind serene,
Then made a mammoth cake.
The naughty knave for cake did crave,
And off with it did make.
The haughty king, for punishing,
Would have him eat it all,
Which made the knave--unhappy slave--
Too sick to speak or crawl.
Since then, at ease, their majesties
Eat pastries every day.
The knave affirms his stomach squirms,
And looks the other way.
Alas, alas, to such a pass
Doth gluttony invite!
'Tis very sad to be so bad,
And lose one's appetite.
Next day the queen, with lofty mien,
Prepared some lovely pies.
The feeble knave side-glances gave
At them with longing eyes.
The cruel king, with mocking fling,
Said: "Do, now, have some pie!"
The qualmish knave, no longer brave,
Could only groan, "Not I."