Why, Edward! why this Cry of Pain?
This Jacket all besmirched?
Your strict Papa I’ll call again
And have you soundly birched.
This pastry, that indulgent Cook
Had filled for you with Jam,
With hasty Greed, and envious Look
You down your Throat did cram.
Now Gluttons! pray attend to me:
I’ll send for Doctor Bell,
A Child with Appetite too free
He always doses well.