In an oak-tree close by,
Told Peter who he for the trick had to pay.
"Oh, you imp of all mischief!" he cried, "come down here;
For this trick that you've served me I'll make you pay dear."
"No, thank you," said Pat, with a kind friendly nod;
"I'd rather—much rather—not taste of your rod."
Now who could stand this? Oh, not he! Round he lashed
His rod; and young Pat, who disliked to be thrashed,
Tried to climb up still higher, but losing his hold,
Swiftly down to the ground like an o'er-ripe pear roll'd.