MISS SOPHIA.Miss Sophy, one fine sunny day,Left her work and ran away:When soon she reach’d the garden gate,Which finding lock’d, she would not wait,But tried to climb and scramble o’erA gate as high as any door.Now little girls should never climb,And Sophy won’t another time,For when upon the highest railHer frock was caught upon a nail,She lost her hold, and, sad to tell,Was hurt and bruis’d—for down she fell.PRETTY PUSS.Come, pretty Cat!Come here to me!I want to patYou on my knee.Go, naughty Tray!By barking thus,You’ll drive away,My pretty Puss.POLITENESS.Good little boys should never say,I will, and,Give me these;O no! that never is the way,But,Mother, if you please.And,if you please, to sister Ann,Good boys to say are ready;And,Yes, Sir, to a gentleman,And,Yes, Ma’am, to a lady.MAMA, HOW HAPPY I CAN BE.Mama, how happy I can be,Whilst sitting face to face with thee,I hear you gently speak, and seeYour needle quickly fly!’Tis then you teach my little heartThat virtue is the fairest part,And thinking on how good thou art,To be as good I try.Then speaking of God’s awful power,His care and kindness every hour,I learn to love and to adoreThis Father in the sky.And, taught no bad or idle ways,I try to gain your love and praise,And wonder whilst on you I gaze,Why any fear to die.Since God’s indulgent care is shown,In calling each good child his own,We’ll happy be before his throne,When called up on high.And there, mama, may I and youLove God’s commands as here we do,And love each other ever too,Together in the sky.A FINE THING.Who am I, with noble face,Shining in a clear blue place?If to look at me you try,I shall blind your little eye.When my noble face I showOver yonder mountain blue,All the clouds away do ride,And the dusky night beside.Then the clear wet dews I dry,With the look of my bright eye;And the little birds awake,Many a merry tune to make.Cowslips then, and harebells blue,And lily-cups their lips undo,For they shut themselves up tight,All the dark and foggy night.Then the busy people go,Every one his work unto;Little girl, when your’s is done,Guess if I am not the Sun.SLEEPY TOM.Get up, little boy,You are sleeping too long;Your brother is dressed,He is singing a song,And Tom must be wakened,O, fie!Come, open the curtains,And let in the light;For children should onlyBe sleepy at night,When stars may be seenIn the sky.SANDY.Wee Sandy in the corner,Sits crying on a stool;And deep the laddie ruesPlaying truant from the school.So you’ll learn from silly Sandy,He’s gotten such a fright;To do nothing through the day,That may cause you tears at night.Those who will not be advised,Are sure to rue ere long;And many pains it costs themTo do the thing that’s wrong.THE CARE OF BIRDS.Who gave the bird its feathers bright,Its pretty breast to warm;In winter’s cold to keep it quitePreserved from every harm?Who taught the bird to build its nestOf wool, and hay, and moss;Who taught it how to weave it best,And lay the twigs across?’Twas God who taught it all the way,And gave it power and skill;And teaches children when they pray,To do His holy will.WILLIE WINKIE.Hey! Willie Winkie,Are you coming then?The cat’s singing gay tunesTo the sleeping hen.The dog is lying on the floor,And does not even peep;But here’s a wakeful laddie,That will not fall asleep.Anything but sleep, you rogue,Glowing like the moon;Rattling in a stone jug,With an iron spoon.Rumbling, tumbling all aboutCrowing like a cock;Screaming like I don’t know whatWaking sleeping folks.Hey! Willie Winkie!Can’t you keep him still,Wriggling off a body’s kneeLike a very eel.That has with sleep a battle,Before he’s done with play,A wee, wee, dumpy, toddling ladThat runs the livelong day.COME WHEN YOU ARE CALLED.Where’s Susan, and Kitty, and Jane?Where’s Billy, and Sammy, and Jack?O, there they are down in the lane;Go, Betty, and bring them all back.But Billy is rude and won’t come,And Sammy is running too fast;Come, dear little children come home,And Billy is coming at last.I’m glad he remembers what’s right,For though he likes sliding on ice,He should not be long out of sight,And never want sending for twice.DOG POMPEY.Come hither little Dog to play,And do not go so far away,But stand and beg for food;And if your tail I chance to touch,You must not snarl so very much,Pray Pompey don’t be rude.The Dog can eat and drink and sleep,And help to bring the Cows and Sheep,O, hear how Pompey barks:Hark! hark! he says, “Bow Wow! bow wow!”Then run away good Pompey now,You’ll tire us with your noise.MISS PEGGY.As Peggy was crying aloud for a cake,Which her mother had said she was going to make,A gentleman knock’d at the door!He enter’d the parlor and show’d much surprise,That it really was Peggy who made all the noise,For he never had heard her before.Miss Peggy asham’d, and to hide her disgrace,Took hold of her frock, and quite cover’d her face,For she knew she was naughty just thenAnd, instantly wiping the tears from her eyes,She promis’d her mother to make no more noise,And kiss’d her again and again.THE BIRD.Look, what a pretty Bird I’ve got!In yonder island field ’twas caught;Just see its breast and painted wings,And listen, John, how sweet it sings.Do let me keep it, I’ll engageTo mind it safely in this cage;And not a moment will I askTo idle from my school or task.I’ll feed you well, my pretty Bird,With worms and crumbs of bread and seed,And no ill-natured cat is hereTo fill your little breast with fear.Said kind Mama, O do not so,But haste, Maria, let it goAnd then among the feathered throng,’Twill treat you with its pretty song.THE SETTING SUN.Papa, the Sun is setting nowI see him in the west,And all this weary world belowMay now retire to rest:Whilst in those countries far beyond,The day begins to break,A many a child, and many a bird,Doth now begin to wake.And when the morning dawns again,The Sun comes to our east,Then evening will begin with them,Andtheyto bed will haste.How very good of God it is,To make the Sun to goAbout this great round world of ours,To light each country so.GOOD MAMA.Love, come and sit upon my knee,And give me kisses, one, two, three,And tell me whether you love me,My baby.For this I’m sure, that I love you,And many, many things I do,And all day long I sit and sewFor baby.And then at night I lay awake,Thinking of things that I can make,And trouble that I mean to takeFor baby.And when you’re good and do not cryNor into wicked passion fly,You can’t think how papa and ILove baby.But, if my little girl should growTo be a naughty child, I know’Twould grieve mama to serve her so,My baby.And when you saw me pale and thin,By grieving for my baby’s sin,I think, you’d wish that you had beenA better baby.Good Little Fred.When little Fred was call’d to bedHe always acted right;He kiss’d Mama, and then Papa,And wish’d them both good night.He made no noise, like naughty boysBut quietly up stairsDirectly went, when he was sent,And always said his prayers.THE DIZZY GIRL.As Frances was playing, and turning around,Her head grew so giddy, she fell to the ground;’Twas well that she was not much hurt:But, O what a pity! her frock was so soiled,That had you beheld the unfortunate child,You had seen her all covered with dirt.Her mother was sorry, and said, Do not cry,And Mary shall wash you, and make you quite dry,If you’ll promise to turn round no more.What, not in the parlor? the little girl said:No, not in the parlor; for lately I read,Of a girl who was hurt with the door.She was playing and turning, until her poor headFell against the hard door, and it very much bled,And I heard Dr. Camomile tell,That he put on a plaster, and covered it up,Then he gave her some tea, that was bitter to sup,Or perhaps it had never been well.NEAT LITTLE CLARA.Little Clara, come away,Little Clara, come and play;Leave your work, Maria’s here,So come and play with me, my dear.I will come, and very soon,For I always play at noon,But must put my work away,Ere with you I come and play.First my bodkin I must placeWith my needle in their case;I like to put them by with careAnd then I always find them there.There’s my cotton, there’s my thread,Thimble in its little bed;All is safe—my box I lock,Now I come—’tis twelve o’clock.HINTY, MINTY.Hinty, Minty, Irish maid,Picks roses sweet in briar’s shade;On higher briar, by the rock,Are ten Sparrows in a flock,That sit and singBy cooling spring,When shoot one! shoot two!Comes sportsman Tom in jacket blue.O, U, T—out!—away they go on nimble wings,Over the hills,And through the dells,Where Minty dwells,With many pretty things.Yet strike one! strike two!From out the flock, eight only flew,And two are now but game.O, cruel Tom, let birdies be,And blithely sing from bush and tree.Come here, my bonnie,Come here to me;Rosy cheeked applesYou shall have three—All full of honey,They dropped from the tree,Like your bonny self—All the sweeter that they’re wee.CARELESS MARIA.Maria was a careless child,And grieved her friends by this:Where’er she went,Her clothes were rent,Her hat and bonnet spoiled,A careless little miss.Her gloves and mits were often lost,Her tippet sadly soiled;You might have seenWhere she had been,For toys all round were tossed,O what a careless child.One day her uncle bought a toy,That round and round would twirl,But when he foundThe littered ground,He said, I don’t tee-totums buyFor such a careless girl.THE PARROT.Sweet Poll! his doting mistress cries,Sweet Poll! the mimic bird repliesAnd calls aloud for sack.She next instructs him in the kiss,’Tis now a little one, like Miss,—And now a hearty smack!WHY EMMA IS LOVED.Little Mary call’d Emma, who was just skipping by,And she said, little cousin, can you tell me whyYou are loved so much better by people than I?My face is as clean, and my hair shines like gold,And my walk and my dress are as nice to behold,Yet nobody likes me for that, I am told.Ah, Mary, she said, this is all very true,But if half as much mischief were I to do,Indeed people would love me no better than you.Your faceisas clean, and your hair is as bright,Your frock is as tidy, your hands are as white,But there’s one thing, dear Mary—you seldom do right.If Mama bids less noise to be made when we play,Or desires you be still whilst your lessons you say,You never do try these commands to obey.And when people are talking, you never care howYou interrupt what they’re saying, which is ill-bred, you know,And papa has so oft bid us not to do so.You take grand-mama’s pies, you climb on her chair,You lay hold of the gowns as you go up the stair,And you gather the flowers that on the beds are.Now I am no taller, nor bigger, you see,Yet nobody here is angry with me,Because I have learnt so obedient to be.I mind what mama says, whatever it is,And when people are busy take care not to tease,But endeavor, as much as I’m able, to please.Then said Mary to Emma, O now do I seeWhy you are more loved, and more happy than me;And we’re like mama’s tale of the Wasp and the Bee.I remember it said, little children beware,Because like the Wasp if you ill behaved are,You will never be loved, if you’re ever so fair.THE GOOD SCHOLAR.Joseph West had been told,That if, when he grew old,He had not learnt rightly to spell,Though his writings were good,’Twould be not understood:And Joe said, I will learn my task well.And he made it a ruleTo be silent at school,And what do you think came to pass?Why he learnt it so fast,That from being the last,He soon was the first in the class.NAUGHTY SAM.Tom and Charles once took a walk,To see a pretty lamb;And, as they went, began to talkOf little naughty Sam.Who beat his youngest brother, Bill,And threw him in the dirt;And when his poor mama was ill,He teas’d her for a squirt.And I, said Tom, won’t play with SamAlthough he has a top:But here the pretty little lambTo talking put a stop.Two legs sat upon three legs,With one leg in his lap;In comes four legs,And runs away with one leg;Up jumps two legs,Catches up three legs,Throws it after four legs,And makes him bring one leg back.As I was going up primrose HillPrimrose Hill was dirty;There I met a pretty Miss,And she dropped me a curtsy.Little Miss, pretty Miss,Blessings light upon you,If I had half a crown a day,I’d spend it all upon you.There was an old man of Tobago,Who lived on rice, gruel, and sago,Till, much to his bliss,His physician said this,To a leg, sir, of mutton you may go.Pease pudding hot,Pease pudding cold,Pease pudding in the pot,Nine days old.Some like it hot,Some like it cold,Some like it in the pot,Nine days old.When I was a ba-che-lor, I liv-ed by my-self.And all the meat I got I put upon a shelf;The rats and the mice did lead me such a life,That I went to Lon-don, to get my-self a wife.The streets were so broad, and the lanes were so nar-row,I could not get my wife home with-out a wheel-bar-row.The wheel-bar-row broke, my wife got a fall,Down tum-bled wheel-bar-row, lit-tle wife, and all.To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,Home again, home again, jiggety jig.To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,Home again, home again, jiggety jog.Jacky, come give me thy fiddle,If ever thou mean to thrive.Nay, I’ll not give my fiddleTo any man alive.If I should give my fiddle,They’ll think that I’m gone mad;For many a joyful dayMy fiddle and I have had.Old King Cole,Was a merry old soul,And a merry old soul was he,And he called for his pipe,And he called for his glass,And he called for his fiddlers three.And every fiddler, he had a fine fiddle,And a very fine fiddle had he;“Tweedle dee, tweedle dee,” said the fiddlers,“Oh there’s none so rare“As can compare“With King Cole and his fiddlers three.”High diddle doubt, my candle’s out,My little maid is not at home;Saddle my hog, and bridle my dog,And fetch my little maid home.Bat, bat, come under my hat,And I’ll give you a slice of bacon,And when I bake I’ll give you a cake,If I am not mistaken.I’ll tell you story,About John-a-Nory:And now my story’s begun.I’ll tell you another,About Jack and his brother,And now my story’s done.My little old man and I fell out,I’ll tell you what ’twas all about,I had money and he had none,And that’s the way the noise begun.Little Tommy GraceHad a pain in his face,So bad that he could not learn a letter;When in came Dicky Long,Singing such a funny song,That Tommy laughed, and found his face much better.Pus-sy sits be-side the fire. How can she be fair?In walks a lit-tle dog-gy, Pus-sy, are you there?Oh, the rus-ty, dus-ty, rus-ty mill-er.I’ll not change my wife for gold or sill-er.There was a crook-ed man, and he went a crook-ed mile,And he found a crook-ed six-pence a-gainst a crook-ed stile;He bought a crook-ed cat, which caught a crook-ed mouse,And they all liv-ed to-ge-ther in a lit-tle crook-ed house.The Li-on and the U-ni-corn were fight-ing for the crown,The Li-on beat the U-ni-corn all round a-bout the town.Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown,Some gave them plum-cake, and sent them out of town.Thomas a Tat-ta-mus took two T’sTo tie two Tups to two tall trees,To fright-en the ter-ri-ble Thomas a Tat-ta-mus.Tell me how many T’s there are in all THAT.A little boy went into a barn,And lay down on some hay;An owl came out and flew about,And the little boy ran away.If all the world were water,And all the water were ink,What should we do for bread and cheese?What should we do for drink?Jack be nimble,Jack be quick,And Jack jump over the candlestick.Cur-ly locks, cur-ly locks, wilt thou be mine?Thou shalt not wash the dish-es, nor yet feed the swine;But sit on a cush-ion, and sew a fine seam,And feed up-on straw-ber-ries, su-gar, and cream.Mar-ge-ry Mut-ton-pie, and John-ny Bo-peep,They met to-ge-ther in Grace-church Street;In and out, in and out, o-ver the way,Oh! says John-ny, ’tis Chop-nose Day.Is John Smith with-in?Yes, that he is.Can he set a shoe?Aye, mar-ry, two.Here a nail, there a nail,Tick, tack, too.Old Mother Goose,When she wanted to wander,Would ride through the airOn a very fine gander.Mother Goose had a house,’Twas built in a wood,Where an owl at the doorFor sentinel stood.This is her son Jack,A smart-looking lad;He is not very good,Nor yet very bad.She sent him to market,A live goose he bought.“Here, mother,” says he,“It will not go for nought.”Jack’s goose and her ganderGrew very fond,They’d both eat together,Or swim in one pond.Jack found one morning,As I have been told,His goose had laid himAn egg of pure gold.Jack rode to his mother,The news for to tell;She call’d him a good boy,And said it was well.Jack sold his gold eggTo a rogue of a Jew,Who cheated him out ofThe half of his due.Then Jack went a-courtingA lady so gay,As fair as the Lily,And sweet as the May.The Jew and the SquireCame close at his back,And began to belaborThe sides of poor Jack.And then the gold eggWas thrown into the sea,But Jack he jump’d in,And got it back presently.The Jew got the goose,Which he vow’d he’d kill,Resolving at onceHis pockets to fill.Jack’s mother came in,And caught the goose soon,And, mounting its back,Flew up to the moon.One, two, buckle my shoe;Three, four, open the door;Five, six, pick up sticks;Seven, eight, lay them straight;Nine, ten, a good fat hen.Jack Sprat could eat no fat,His wife could eat no lean;And so betwixt them both, you see,They licked the platter clean.See a pin and pick it up,All the day you’ll have good luck.See a pin and let it lay,Bad luck you’ll have all the day.Leg over leg,As the dog went to Dover,When he came to a stileJump he went over.
Miss Sophy, one fine sunny day,Left her work and ran away:When soon she reach’d the garden gate,Which finding lock’d, she would not wait,But tried to climb and scramble o’erA gate as high as any door.
Now little girls should never climb,And Sophy won’t another time,For when upon the highest railHer frock was caught upon a nail,She lost her hold, and, sad to tell,Was hurt and bruis’d—for down she fell.
Come, pretty Cat!Come here to me!I want to patYou on my knee.
Go, naughty Tray!By barking thus,You’ll drive away,My pretty Puss.
Good little boys should never say,I will, and,Give me these;O no! that never is the way,But,Mother, if you please.
And,if you please, to sister Ann,Good boys to say are ready;And,Yes, Sir, to a gentleman,And,Yes, Ma’am, to a lady.
Mama, how happy I can be,Whilst sitting face to face with thee,I hear you gently speak, and seeYour needle quickly fly!
’Tis then you teach my little heartThat virtue is the fairest part,And thinking on how good thou art,To be as good I try.
Then speaking of God’s awful power,His care and kindness every hour,I learn to love and to adoreThis Father in the sky.
And, taught no bad or idle ways,I try to gain your love and praise,And wonder whilst on you I gaze,Why any fear to die.
Since God’s indulgent care is shown,In calling each good child his own,We’ll happy be before his throne,When called up on high.
And there, mama, may I and youLove God’s commands as here we do,And love each other ever too,Together in the sky.
Who am I, with noble face,Shining in a clear blue place?If to look at me you try,I shall blind your little eye.
When my noble face I showOver yonder mountain blue,All the clouds away do ride,And the dusky night beside.
Then the clear wet dews I dry,With the look of my bright eye;And the little birds awake,Many a merry tune to make.
Cowslips then, and harebells blue,And lily-cups their lips undo,For they shut themselves up tight,All the dark and foggy night.
Then the busy people go,Every one his work unto;Little girl, when your’s is done,Guess if I am not the Sun.
Get up, little boy,You are sleeping too long;Your brother is dressed,He is singing a song,And Tom must be wakened,O, fie!
Come, open the curtains,And let in the light;For children should onlyBe sleepy at night,When stars may be seenIn the sky.
Wee Sandy in the corner,Sits crying on a stool;And deep the laddie ruesPlaying truant from the school.
So you’ll learn from silly Sandy,He’s gotten such a fright;To do nothing through the day,That may cause you tears at night.
Those who will not be advised,Are sure to rue ere long;And many pains it costs themTo do the thing that’s wrong.
Who gave the bird its feathers bright,Its pretty breast to warm;In winter’s cold to keep it quitePreserved from every harm?
Who taught the bird to build its nestOf wool, and hay, and moss;Who taught it how to weave it best,And lay the twigs across?
’Twas God who taught it all the way,And gave it power and skill;And teaches children when they pray,To do His holy will.
Hey! Willie Winkie,Are you coming then?The cat’s singing gay tunesTo the sleeping hen.
The dog is lying on the floor,And does not even peep;But here’s a wakeful laddie,That will not fall asleep.
Anything but sleep, you rogue,Glowing like the moon;Rattling in a stone jug,With an iron spoon.
Rumbling, tumbling all aboutCrowing like a cock;Screaming like I don’t know whatWaking sleeping folks.
Hey! Willie Winkie!Can’t you keep him still,Wriggling off a body’s kneeLike a very eel.
That has with sleep a battle,Before he’s done with play,A wee, wee, dumpy, toddling ladThat runs the livelong day.
Where’s Susan, and Kitty, and Jane?Where’s Billy, and Sammy, and Jack?O, there they are down in the lane;Go, Betty, and bring them all back.
But Billy is rude and won’t come,And Sammy is running too fast;Come, dear little children come home,And Billy is coming at last.
I’m glad he remembers what’s right,For though he likes sliding on ice,He should not be long out of sight,And never want sending for twice.
Come hither little Dog to play,And do not go so far away,But stand and beg for food;And if your tail I chance to touch,You must not snarl so very much,Pray Pompey don’t be rude.
The Dog can eat and drink and sleep,And help to bring the Cows and Sheep,O, hear how Pompey barks:Hark! hark! he says, “Bow Wow! bow wow!”Then run away good Pompey now,You’ll tire us with your noise.
As Peggy was crying aloud for a cake,Which her mother had said she was going to make,A gentleman knock’d at the door!He enter’d the parlor and show’d much surprise,That it really was Peggy who made all the noise,For he never had heard her before.
Miss Peggy asham’d, and to hide her disgrace,Took hold of her frock, and quite cover’d her face,For she knew she was naughty just thenAnd, instantly wiping the tears from her eyes,She promis’d her mother to make no more noise,And kiss’d her again and again.
Look, what a pretty Bird I’ve got!In yonder island field ’twas caught;Just see its breast and painted wings,And listen, John, how sweet it sings.
Do let me keep it, I’ll engageTo mind it safely in this cage;And not a moment will I askTo idle from my school or task.
I’ll feed you well, my pretty Bird,With worms and crumbs of bread and seed,And no ill-natured cat is hereTo fill your little breast with fear.
Said kind Mama, O do not so,But haste, Maria, let it goAnd then among the feathered throng,’Twill treat you with its pretty song.
Papa, the Sun is setting nowI see him in the west,And all this weary world belowMay now retire to rest:
Whilst in those countries far beyond,The day begins to break,A many a child, and many a bird,Doth now begin to wake.
And when the morning dawns again,The Sun comes to our east,Then evening will begin with them,Andtheyto bed will haste.
How very good of God it is,To make the Sun to goAbout this great round world of ours,To light each country so.
Love, come and sit upon my knee,And give me kisses, one, two, three,And tell me whether you love me,My baby.
For this I’m sure, that I love you,And many, many things I do,And all day long I sit and sewFor baby.
And then at night I lay awake,Thinking of things that I can make,And trouble that I mean to takeFor baby.
And when you’re good and do not cryNor into wicked passion fly,You can’t think how papa and ILove baby.
But, if my little girl should growTo be a naughty child, I know’Twould grieve mama to serve her so,My baby.
And when you saw me pale and thin,By grieving for my baby’s sin,I think, you’d wish that you had beenA better baby.
When little Fred was call’d to bedHe always acted right;He kiss’d Mama, and then Papa,And wish’d them both good night.
He made no noise, like naughty boysBut quietly up stairsDirectly went, when he was sent,And always said his prayers.
As Frances was playing, and turning around,Her head grew so giddy, she fell to the ground;’Twas well that she was not much hurt:But, O what a pity! her frock was so soiled,That had you beheld the unfortunate child,You had seen her all covered with dirt.
Her mother was sorry, and said, Do not cry,And Mary shall wash you, and make you quite dry,If you’ll promise to turn round no more.What, not in the parlor? the little girl said:No, not in the parlor; for lately I read,Of a girl who was hurt with the door.
She was playing and turning, until her poor headFell against the hard door, and it very much bled,And I heard Dr. Camomile tell,That he put on a plaster, and covered it up,Then he gave her some tea, that was bitter to sup,Or perhaps it had never been well.
Little Clara, come away,Little Clara, come and play;Leave your work, Maria’s here,So come and play with me, my dear.
I will come, and very soon,For I always play at noon,But must put my work away,Ere with you I come and play.
First my bodkin I must placeWith my needle in their case;I like to put them by with careAnd then I always find them there.
There’s my cotton, there’s my thread,Thimble in its little bed;All is safe—my box I lock,Now I come—’tis twelve o’clock.
Hinty, Minty, Irish maid,Picks roses sweet in briar’s shade;On higher briar, by the rock,Are ten Sparrows in a flock,That sit and singBy cooling spring,When shoot one! shoot two!Comes sportsman Tom in jacket blue.
O, U, T—out!—away they go on nimble wings,Over the hills,And through the dells,Where Minty dwells,With many pretty things.Yet strike one! strike two!From out the flock, eight only flew,And two are now but game.
O, cruel Tom, let birdies be,And blithely sing from bush and tree.
Come here, my bonnie,Come here to me;Rosy cheeked applesYou shall have three—All full of honey,They dropped from the tree,Like your bonny self—All the sweeter that they’re wee.
Maria was a careless child,And grieved her friends by this:Where’er she went,Her clothes were rent,Her hat and bonnet spoiled,A careless little miss.
Her gloves and mits were often lost,Her tippet sadly soiled;You might have seenWhere she had been,For toys all round were tossed,O what a careless child.
One day her uncle bought a toy,That round and round would twirl,But when he foundThe littered ground,He said, I don’t tee-totums buyFor such a careless girl.
Sweet Poll! his doting mistress cries,Sweet Poll! the mimic bird repliesAnd calls aloud for sack.She next instructs him in the kiss,’Tis now a little one, like Miss,—And now a hearty smack!
Little Mary call’d Emma, who was just skipping by,And she said, little cousin, can you tell me whyYou are loved so much better by people than I?
My face is as clean, and my hair shines like gold,And my walk and my dress are as nice to behold,Yet nobody likes me for that, I am told.
Ah, Mary, she said, this is all very true,But if half as much mischief were I to do,Indeed people would love me no better than you.
Your faceisas clean, and your hair is as bright,Your frock is as tidy, your hands are as white,But there’s one thing, dear Mary—you seldom do right.
If Mama bids less noise to be made when we play,Or desires you be still whilst your lessons you say,You never do try these commands to obey.
And when people are talking, you never care howYou interrupt what they’re saying, which is ill-bred, you know,And papa has so oft bid us not to do so.
You take grand-mama’s pies, you climb on her chair,You lay hold of the gowns as you go up the stair,And you gather the flowers that on the beds are.
Now I am no taller, nor bigger, you see,Yet nobody here is angry with me,Because I have learnt so obedient to be.
I mind what mama says, whatever it is,And when people are busy take care not to tease,But endeavor, as much as I’m able, to please.
Then said Mary to Emma, O now do I seeWhy you are more loved, and more happy than me;And we’re like mama’s tale of the Wasp and the Bee.
I remember it said, little children beware,Because like the Wasp if you ill behaved are,You will never be loved, if you’re ever so fair.
Joseph West had been told,That if, when he grew old,He had not learnt rightly to spell,Though his writings were good,’Twould be not understood:And Joe said, I will learn my task well.
And he made it a ruleTo be silent at school,And what do you think came to pass?Why he learnt it so fast,That from being the last,He soon was the first in the class.
Tom and Charles once took a walk,To see a pretty lamb;And, as they went, began to talkOf little naughty Sam.
Who beat his youngest brother, Bill,And threw him in the dirt;And when his poor mama was ill,He teas’d her for a squirt.
And I, said Tom, won’t play with SamAlthough he has a top:But here the pretty little lambTo talking put a stop.
Two legs sat upon three legs,With one leg in his lap;In comes four legs,And runs away with one leg;Up jumps two legs,Catches up three legs,Throws it after four legs,And makes him bring one leg back.
As I was going up primrose HillPrimrose Hill was dirty;There I met a pretty Miss,And she dropped me a curtsy.
Little Miss, pretty Miss,Blessings light upon you,If I had half a crown a day,I’d spend it all upon you.
There was an old man of Tobago,Who lived on rice, gruel, and sago,Till, much to his bliss,His physician said this,To a leg, sir, of mutton you may go.
Pease pudding hot,Pease pudding cold,Pease pudding in the pot,Nine days old.
Some like it hot,Some like it cold,Some like it in the pot,Nine days old.
When I was a ba-che-lor, I liv-ed by my-self.And all the meat I got I put upon a shelf;The rats and the mice did lead me such a life,That I went to Lon-don, to get my-self a wife.
The streets were so broad, and the lanes were so nar-row,I could not get my wife home with-out a wheel-bar-row.The wheel-bar-row broke, my wife got a fall,Down tum-bled wheel-bar-row, lit-tle wife, and all.
To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,Home again, home again, jiggety jig.To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,Home again, home again, jiggety jog.
Jacky, come give me thy fiddle,If ever thou mean to thrive.Nay, I’ll not give my fiddleTo any man alive.
If I should give my fiddle,They’ll think that I’m gone mad;For many a joyful dayMy fiddle and I have had.
Old King Cole,Was a merry old soul,And a merry old soul was he,And he called for his pipe,And he called for his glass,And he called for his fiddlers three.
And every fiddler, he had a fine fiddle,And a very fine fiddle had he;“Tweedle dee, tweedle dee,” said the fiddlers,“Oh there’s none so rare“As can compare“With King Cole and his fiddlers three.”
High diddle doubt, my candle’s out,My little maid is not at home;Saddle my hog, and bridle my dog,And fetch my little maid home.
Bat, bat, come under my hat,And I’ll give you a slice of bacon,And when I bake I’ll give you a cake,If I am not mistaken.
I’ll tell you story,About John-a-Nory:And now my story’s begun.I’ll tell you another,About Jack and his brother,And now my story’s done.
My little old man and I fell out,I’ll tell you what ’twas all about,I had money and he had none,And that’s the way the noise begun.
Little Tommy GraceHad a pain in his face,So bad that he could not learn a letter;
When in came Dicky Long,Singing such a funny song,That Tommy laughed, and found his face much better.
Pus-sy sits be-side the fire. How can she be fair?In walks a lit-tle dog-gy, Pus-sy, are you there?
Oh, the rus-ty, dus-ty, rus-ty mill-er.I’ll not change my wife for gold or sill-er.
There was a crook-ed man, and he went a crook-ed mile,And he found a crook-ed six-pence a-gainst a crook-ed stile;He bought a crook-ed cat, which caught a crook-ed mouse,And they all liv-ed to-ge-ther in a lit-tle crook-ed house.
The Li-on and the U-ni-corn were fight-ing for the crown,The Li-on beat the U-ni-corn all round a-bout the town.Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown,Some gave them plum-cake, and sent them out of town.
Thomas a Tat-ta-mus took two T’sTo tie two Tups to two tall trees,To fright-en the ter-ri-ble Thomas a Tat-ta-mus.Tell me how many T’s there are in all THAT.
A little boy went into a barn,And lay down on some hay;An owl came out and flew about,And the little boy ran away.
If all the world were water,And all the water were ink,What should we do for bread and cheese?What should we do for drink?
Jack be nimble,Jack be quick,And Jack jump over the candlestick.
Cur-ly locks, cur-ly locks, wilt thou be mine?Thou shalt not wash the dish-es, nor yet feed the swine;But sit on a cush-ion, and sew a fine seam,And feed up-on straw-ber-ries, su-gar, and cream.
Mar-ge-ry Mut-ton-pie, and John-ny Bo-peep,They met to-ge-ther in Grace-church Street;In and out, in and out, o-ver the way,Oh! says John-ny, ’tis Chop-nose Day.
Is John Smith with-in?Yes, that he is.Can he set a shoe?Aye, mar-ry, two.Here a nail, there a nail,Tick, tack, too.
Old Mother Goose,When she wanted to wander,Would ride through the airOn a very fine gander.
Mother Goose had a house,’Twas built in a wood,Where an owl at the doorFor sentinel stood.
This is her son Jack,A smart-looking lad;He is not very good,Nor yet very bad.
She sent him to market,A live goose he bought.“Here, mother,” says he,“It will not go for nought.”
Jack’s goose and her ganderGrew very fond,They’d both eat together,Or swim in one pond.
Jack found one morning,As I have been told,His goose had laid himAn egg of pure gold.
Jack rode to his mother,The news for to tell;She call’d him a good boy,And said it was well.
Jack sold his gold eggTo a rogue of a Jew,Who cheated him out ofThe half of his due.
Then Jack went a-courtingA lady so gay,As fair as the Lily,And sweet as the May.
The Jew and the SquireCame close at his back,And began to belaborThe sides of poor Jack.
And then the gold eggWas thrown into the sea,But Jack he jump’d in,And got it back presently.
The Jew got the goose,Which he vow’d he’d kill,Resolving at onceHis pockets to fill.
Jack’s mother came in,And caught the goose soon,And, mounting its back,Flew up to the moon.
One, two, buckle my shoe;Three, four, open the door;Five, six, pick up sticks;Seven, eight, lay them straight;Nine, ten, a good fat hen.
Jack Sprat could eat no fat,His wife could eat no lean;And so betwixt them both, you see,They licked the platter clean.
See a pin and pick it up,All the day you’ll have good luck.See a pin and let it lay,Bad luck you’ll have all the day.
Leg over leg,As the dog went to Dover,When he came to a stileJump he went over.