The Story Of Augustus Who Would Not Have Any Soup

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!

Heinrich Hoffmann

Heinrich Hoffmann was a German psychiatrist, who also wrote some short works including poetry, for example the well-known children's book "Struwwelpeter". He was born on June 13, 1809, and died on September 20, 1894. Hoffmann wrote under the pseudonym Reimerich Kinderlieb. He became a medical doctor in 1835 and worked as a physician in various cities before settling in Frankfurt. His book "Struwwelpeter," published in 1845, became famous for its moral tales and vivid illustrations.

Heinrich Hoffmann

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Heinrich Hoffmann, Simple Poetry

English

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A peasant woman, a widow, had an only son, a young man of twenty, the best workman in the village, and he died.

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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,
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I never refuse, when the plum puddings come,
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On things unsubstantial, like puddings and pies,
So made up of suet, and currants, and flour,
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And stirred up and beaten with eggs by the hour,
With bread crumbs, and citron, and small piece of mace;
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And" currants, and raisins, and spices so race,
And what else I know not of things of that ilk.

The whole after cooking six hours at the least,
When thus well compounded with delicate skill,
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In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

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