Little Tommy Tompkins sitting on a log
Holds a conversation with a consequential frog.
“Little Tommy Tompkins,” says that frog, says he,
“Yesterday I saw you fling a stone at me.
“I had my new green coat on: you nearly ruined that!
Little Tommy Tompkins, I believe in ‘tit for tat.'”
“Please, I didn’t mean to,” cries Tommy in affright,
“I know—boo-hoo—’twas wrong. I know it wasn’t right.”
“Little Tommy Tompkins,” the dreadful frog replies,
“Dry your tears, and stop your noise, and from that log arise.
“The sport of being stoned you shall have a chance to see;
I hope it will be fun for you; ’twill be jolly fun for me.”
Then on a sudden Tommy goes tumbling with a splash
Down to the muddy water, while froggie makes a dash,
And, sitting on the log, oh many a stone throws he,
Hitting wretched little Tommy with considerable glee.
“Hold on!” cries Tommy, vainly. “You’re nothing but a frog!”
Comes the answer, as the stones fly faster from the log.
Was ever boy so wretched! was ever frog so glad!
I really don’t know what would have happened to the lad.
But by chance a wandering bee stung young Tommy on the nose,
And, waking from a fearful dream, up from that log he rose.