A Little boy named Thomas ate
    Hot buckwheat cakes for tea—
A very rash proceeding, as
    We presently shall see.
 
He went to bed at eight o’clock,
    As all good children do,
But scarce had closed his little eyes,
    When he most restless grew.
 
He flopped on this side, then on that,
    Then keeled upon his head,
And covered all at once each spot
    Of his wee trundle-bed.
 
He wrapped one leg around his waist
    And t’ other round his ear,
While mamma wondered what on earth
    Could ail her little dear.
 
But sound he slept, and as he slept
    He dreamt an awful dream
Of being spanked with hickory slabs
    Without the power to scream.
 
He dreamt a great big lion came
    And ripped and raved and roared—
While on his breast two furious bulls
    In mortal combat gored.
 
He dreamt he heard the flop of wings
    Within the chimney-flue—
And down there crawled, to gnaw his ears,
    An awful bugaboo!
 
When Thomas rose next morn, his face
    Was pallid as a sheet;
“I nevermore,” he firmly said,
    ”Will cakes for supper eat!”