It Serves Him Right


"Oh, "Toby dear, you look so sad,
I know the toothache's very bad,
But still I can't feel sorry, quite,
Because I think it serves you right.

"Not satisfied with all your own,
You came and stole away my bone;
Your toothache's neither more nor less
Than punishment for greediness.

"It serves you right if you are ill,
And have to take both draught and pill;
With that bad tooth and tied up head,
I think you'd better go to bed.

"To-morrow morn, without a doubt,
You'll have to have it taken out;
Next time you'll leave my bone alone,
And be contented with your own."