And bang, with might and main,
It’s head against the parlour door:
Off flies the head, and hits the floor,
And breaks a window-pane.
This made him cry with rage and spite
Well, let him cry, it serves him right.
A pretty thing, forsooth!
If he’s to melt, all scalding hot,
Half my doll’s nose, and I am not
To draw his peg-top’s tooth!