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Shock-Headed Peter Text

STRUWWELPETER or Shock-Headed-Peter

Heinrich Hoffman

Title Page

CONTENTS

Merry Stories And
Funny Pictures

Shock-headed Peter

Cruel Frederick

The
Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches

The Story
of the Man that went out Shooting

The Story of Little
Suck-a-Thumb

The Story of Augustus, who
would not have any Soup

The Story of Fidgety
Philip

The Story of Johnny
Head-in-Air

The Story of Flying
Robert

Merry Stories And
Funny Pictures

Merry Stories and Funny Pictures
When the children have been good When the children have been good,
That is, be it understood,
Good at meal-times, good at play,
Good all night and good all day—

They shall have the pretty things
Merry Christmas always brings.

Naughty, romping girls and boys
Tear their clothes and make a noise,
Spoil their pinafores and frocks,
And deserve no Christmas-box.
Such as these shall never look

At this pretty Picture-book.

 They shall have the pretty things
Naughty, romping girls and boys

Shock-headed Peter

Shock-headed Peter
Just look at him! there he stands Just look at him! there he
stands,
With his nasty hair and hands.
See! his nails are never cut;
They are grimed as black as soot;
And the sloven, I declare,
Never once has combed his hair;
Anything to me is sweeter
Than to see Shock-headed Peter.		 With his nasty hair and hands
Anything to me is sweeter Than to see Shock-headed Peter

Cruel Frederick

Cruel Fredrick
Here is cruel Frederick, see! Here is cruel Frederick, see!
A horrid wicked boy was he;

He caught the flies, poor little things,
And then tore off their tiny wings,
He killed the birds, and broke the chairs,
And threw the kitten down the stairs;
And oh! far worse than all beside,
He whipped his Mary, till she cried.

 A horrid, wicked boy was he
He caught the flies, poor little things
And threw the kitten down the stairs
When cruel Fredrick snatched up a whip The trough was full, and faithful
Tray
Came out to drink one sultry day;
He wagged his tail, and wet his lip,
When cruel Fred snatched up a whip,
And whipped poor Tray till he was sore,

And kicked and whipped him more and more:
At this, good Tray grew very red,
And growled, and bit him till he bled;
Then you should only have been by,
To see how Fred did scream and cry!
And growled and bit him til he bled
His leg was very sore and red
The doctor came and shook his head So Frederick had to go to
bed:
His leg was very sore and red!
The Doctor came, and shook his head,
And made a very great to-do,
And gave him nasty physic too.		 And gave him nasty physic too
But good dog Tray is happy now
  But good dog Tray is happy
now;
He has no time to say "Bow-wow!"
He seats himself in Frederick's chair
And laughs to see the nice things there:
The soup he swallows, sup by sup—

And eats the pies and puddings up.

 He seats himself in Frederick's chair

The
Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches

The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches It almost makes me cry to
tell
What foolish Harriet befell.
Mamma and Nurse went out one day

And left her all alone at play.
Now, on the table close at hand,
A box of matches chanced to stand;
And kind Mamma and Nurse had told her,
That, if she touched them, they would scold her.
But Harriet said: "Oh, what a pity!
For, when they burn, it is so pretty;
They crackle so, and spit, and flame:
Mamma, too, often does the same."

The pussy-cats heard this,
And they began to hiss,
And stretch their claws,
And raise their paws;
"Me-ow," they said, "me-ow, me-o,
You'll burn to death, if you do so."

But Harriet would not take advice:

She lit a match, it was so nice!
It crackled so, it burned so clear—
Exactly like the picture here.
She jumped for joy and ran about
And was too pleased to put it out.

The Pussy-cats saw this
And said: "Oh, naughty, naughty Miss!"
And stretched their claws,

And raised their paws:
"'Tis very, very wrong, you know,
Me-ow, me-o, me-ow, me-o,
You will be burnt, if you do so."
The fire has caught her apron string And see! oh, what dreadful
thing!
The fire has caught her apron-string;

Her apron burns, her arms, her hair—
She burns all over everywhere.

Then how the pussy-cats did mew—
What else, poor pussies, could they do?
They screamed for help, 'twas all in vain!
So then they said: "We'll scream again;
Make haste, make haste, me-ow, me-o,
She'll burn to death; we told her so."

So she was burnt, with all her clothes,
And arms, and hands, and eyes, and nose;
Till she had nothing more to lose
Except her little scarlet shoes;
And nothing else but these was found
Among her ashes on the ground.

And when the good cats sat beside

The smoking ashes, how they cried!
"Me-ow, me-oo, me-ow, me-oo,
What will Mamma and Nursey do?"
Their tears ran down their cheeks so fast,
They made a little pond at last.

The
Story of the Man that went out Shooting

This is the man that shoots the
hares;
This is the coat he always wears:
With game-bag, powder-horn, and gun
He's going out to have some fun.
He finds it hard, without a
pair

Of spectacles, to shoot the hare.
The Story of the Man that went out Shooting The hare sits snug in leaves and
grass
And laughs to see the green man pass.
The little hare came, hop, hop, hop Now, as the sun grew very
hot,
And he a heavy gun had got,

He lay down underneath a tree
And went to sleep, as you may see.
And, while he slept like any top,
The little hare came, hop, hop, hop,
Took gun and spectacles, and then
On her hind legs went off again.

The green man wakes and sees her
place
The spectacles upon her face;
And now she's trying all she can
To shoot the sleepy, green-coat man.
He cries and screams and runs away;
The hare runs after him all day
And hears him call out everywhere:
"Help! Fire! Help! The Hare! The Hare!"
Help! Fire! Help! The Hare! The Hare!
Head over ears, and in he fell. At last he stumbled at the
well,
Head over ears, and in he fell.
The hare stopped short, took aim and, hark!
Bang went the gun—she missed her mark!
Bang went the gun--she missed her mark!
  The poor man's wife was drinking
up
Her coffee in her coffee-cup;
The gun shot cup and saucer through;
"Oh dear!" cried she; "what shall I do?"
There lived close by the cottage there
The hare's own child, the little hare;

And while she stood upon her toes,
The coffee fell and burned her nose.
"Oh dear!" she cried, with spoon in hand,
"Such fun I do not understand."

The Story of
Little Suck-a-Thumb

The Story of Little Suck-A-Thumb One day Mamma said "Conrad
dear,
I must go out and leave you here.
But mind now, Conrad, what I say,
Don't suck your thumb while I'm away.
The great tall tailor always comes
To little boys who suck their thumbs;
And ere they dream what he's about,
He takes his great sharp scissors out,
And cuts their thumbs clean off—and then,

You know, they never grow again."

Mamma had scarcely turned her back,
The thumb was in, Alack! Alack!
The great, long, red-legged scissor-man.
Mamma comes home, there Conrad stands The door flew open, in he
ran,
The great, long, red-legged scissor-man.
Oh! children, see! the tailor's come
And caught out little Suck-a-Thumb.
Snip! Snap! Snip! the scissors go;

And Conrad cries out "Oh! Oh! Oh!"
Snip! Snap! Snip! They go so fast,
That both his thumbs are off at last.

Mamma comes home: there Conrad stands,
And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;
"Ah!" said Mamma, "I knew he'd come
To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb."

The Story of Augustus,
who would not have any Soup

The Story of Augustus Augustus was a chubby lad;
Fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had:
And everybody saw with joy
The plump and hearty, healthy boy.

He ate and drank as he was told,
And never let his soup get cold.
But one day, one cold winter's day,
He screamed out "Take the soup away!
O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup today."

Next day, now look, the picture shows
How lank and lean Augustus grows!

Yet, though he feels so weak and ill,
The naughty fellow cries out still
"Not any soup for me, I say:
O take the nasty soup away!
I won't have any soup today."

The third day comes: Oh what a sin!
To make himself so pale and thin.

Yet, when the soup is put on table,
He screams, as loud as he is able,
"Not any soup for me, I say:
O take the nasty soup away!
I WON'T have any soup today."

Look at him, now the fourth day's come!
He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum;
He's like a little bit of thread,

And, on the fifth day, he was—dead!
And, on the fifth day, he was--Dead

The Story of Fidgety
Philip

The Story of Fidgety Philip
Let me see if Philip can "Let me see if Philip can
Be a little gentleman;
Let me see if he is able
To sit still for once at table":
Thus Papa bade Phil behave;
And Mamma looked very grave.
But fidgety Phil,
He won't sit still;
He wriggles,

And giggles,
And then, I declare,
Swings backwards and forwards,
And tilts up his chair,
Just like any rocking horse—
"Philip! I am getting cross!"

 Be a little gentleman
Growing still more rude and wild
Philip screams with all his might See the naughty, restless
child
Growing still more rude and wild,
Till his chair falls over quite.
Philip screams with all his might,
Catches at the cloth, but then
That makes matters worse again.

Down upon the ground they fall,
Glasses, plates, knives, forks, and all.
How Mamma did fret and frown,
When she saw them tumbling down!
And Papa made such a face!
Philip is in sad disgrace.

 Philip is in sad disgrace.
Where is Philip, where is he?
What a terrible to-do! Where is Philip, where is
he?
Fairly covered up you see!
Cloth and all are lying on him;
He has pulled down all upon him.
What a terrible to-do!
Dishes, glasses, snapt in two!

Here a knife, and there a fork!
Philip, this is cruel work.
Table all so bare, and ah!
Poor Papa, and poor Mamma
Look quite cross, and wonder how
They shall have their dinner now.

 Philip, this is cruel work.

The Story of
Johnny Head-in-Air

The Story of Johnny Head-in-Air
As he trudged along to
school,
It was always Johnny's rule
To be looking at the sky
And the clouds that floated by;
But what just before him lay,
In his way,

Johnny never thought about;
So that every one cried out
"Look at little Johnny there,
Little Johnny Head-In-Air!"

Running just in Johnny's way
Came a little dog one day;
Johnny's eyes were still astray
Up on high,

In the sky;
And he never heard them cry
"Johnny, mind, the dog is nigh!"
Bump!
Dump!
Down they fell, with such a thump,
Dog and Johnny in a lump!

 Dog and Johnny in a lump!

Once, with head as high as
ever,
Johnny walked beside the river.
Johnny watched the swallows trying
Which was cleverest at flying.
Oh! what fun!
Johnny watched the bright round sun
Going in and coming out;

This was all he thought about.
So he strode on, only think!
To the river's very brink,
Where the bank was high and steep,
And the water very deep;
And the fishes, in a row,
Stared to see him coming so.

One step more! oh! sad to tell!
Headlong in poor Johnny fell.
And the fishes, in dismay,
Wagged their tails and swam away.

 There lay Johnny on his face

There lay Johnny on his
face,
With his nice red writing-case;
But, as they were passing by,
Two strong men had heard him cry;
And, with sticks, these two strong men
Hooked poor Johnny out again.		 Oh! you should have seen him shiver

Oh! you should have seen him
shiver
When they pulled him from the river.
He was in a sorry plight!
Dripping wet, and such a fright!
Wet all over, everywhere,
Clothes, and arms, and face, and hair:
Johnny never will forget

What it is to be so wet.

And the fishes, one, two, three,
Are come back again, you see;
Up they came the moment after,
To enjoy the fun and laughter.
Each popped out his little head,
And, to tease poor Johnny, said
"Silly little Johnny, look,

You have lost your writing-book!"

 Silly little Johnny, look

The Story of Flying
Robert

The Story of Flying Robert When the rain comes tumbling
down
In the country or the town,
All good little girls and boys

Stay at home and mind their toys.
Robert thought, "No, when it pours,
It is better out of doors."
Rain it did, and in a minute
Bob was in it.
Here you see him, silly fellow,
Underneath his red umbrella.
What a wind! oh! how it
whistles
Through the trees and flowers and thistles!
It has caught his red umbrella:
Now look at him, silly fellow—
Up he flies
To the skies.
No one heard his screams and cries;
Through the clouds the rude wind bore him,

And his hat flew on before him.

 And his hat flew on before him.
Bob was never seen again! Soon they got to such a
height,
They were nearly out of sight.
And the hat went up so high,
That it nearly touched the sky.
No one ever yet could tell

Where they stopped, or where they fell:
Only this one thing is plain,
Bob was never seen again!

Bertie Stories