You make Master Taylor your butt, And this morning his face you threw beer at, And you struck him--do _you_ like a cut? There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
Little Biddle you likewise distress, You are always his hair, or his ear at,-- He’s my _Opt_, Sir, and you are my _Pess_: There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
Then you had a pitcht fight with young Rous, An offence I am always severe at! You discredit to Cicero-House! There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
You have made too a plot in the night, To run off from the school that you rear at! Come, your other hand, now, Sir,--the right, There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
I’ll teach you to draw, you young dog Such pictures as I’m looking here at! “Old Mounseer making soup of a frog,” There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
You have run up a bill at a shop, That in paying you’ll be a whole year at,-- You’ve but twopence a week, Sir, to stop! There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
Then at dinner you’re quite cock-a-hoop, And the soup you are certain to sneer at-- I have sipped it--it’s very good soup,-- There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
T’other day when I fell o’er the form, Was my tumble a thing, Sir, to cheer at? Well for you that my temper’s not warm,-- There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
Why, you rascal! you insolent brat! All my talking you don’t shed a tear at, There--take that, Sir! and that! that! and that! There!--“Palmam qui meruit ferat!”
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Thomas Hood; Vol. I (of XI), by Thomas Hood