When little boy Bartholomew Had reached the happy age of two,His mother, with a pleasant look,Gave him a nice new picture book.
Gently at first, the little boy
Turned the leaves with sober joy,Admired the stork and zebra rareAnd softly stroked the llama’s hair.
But soon these simple pleasures grewQuite boring to Bartholomew;And presently, on mischief bent,He grabbed a page and tore a rent.
The tearing noise so new and queerWas very pleasant to his ear.He ripped the pages through and through,So naughty was Bartholomew...
He docked the tiger of his tail, Into ten pieces tore the whale, Slit the long neck of the giraffe And split the crocodile in half.
Ah, sad it was to see the book His mother gave with pleasant look! His father grieved and Mother…
