A little girl I knew,Who looked extremely mild;And many thought her tooA very clever child.But ah, one fault she had,Although her face was prettyHer temper it was bad;And was not that a pity?Both absent were one dayHer Father and her MotherAnd then, I grieve to say,She beat her little brother.The Nurse then thought it right,For beating little Fred,(Although it was not night)To put her into bed.THE NEW BOOK.Mama, see what a pretty bookMy dear papa has brought,That I may at the pictures look,And by the words be taught.He knew I had been good, you said,And had learnt all my spelling;I’m very much obliged to you,My dear mama, for telling.And that when I am better taught,And read with greater ease,Some more new books shall then be bought,His little girl to please.My dear papa, he is so kind,I dearly love a book;And dearly too, I love to findThese pictures—pray do look!And, O, dear, if I could but readAs fast as I can spell,How very happy I should be,I love to read so well.I know mama, you’ll tell me thatTo practice is the way,So will you kindly let me, now,Another lesson say.THE DOG.O, don’t hurt the Dog, poor honest old Tray,What good will it do you to drive him away?Kind treatment is justly his right.Remember how faithful he is to his charge,And barks at the rogues when we set him at large,And guards us by day and by night.THE COW.Thank you, pretty Cow, that madePleasant milk, to soak my bread;Every day, and every night,Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.Do not chew the hemlock rank,Growing on the weedy bank;But the yellow cowslips eat,They will make it very sweet.Where the purple violet grows,Where the bubbling water flows,Where the grass is fresh and fine,Pretty Cow, go there and dine.THE BUTTERFLY.See yonder painted Butterfly,How gaudily it soars on high,And seems to wish to reach the sky.Late it was an insect mean,Crawling o’er the shaven green,Or on the cabbage leaves was seen.And thus, my child, is man on earth,A thing of mean and mortal birth;His life a span; his power a breath.But his immortal better partInto a higher world will start,When death his soul and body part.And then he will glorious riseWith body fitted to the skies,An Angel’s form, not Butterfly’s!There was an old wo-man tos-sed up in a bas-ket,Nine-ty times as high as the moon;And where she was go-ing, I could-n’t but ask her,For in her hand she car-ried a broom.“Old wo-man, old wo-man, old wo-man,” quoth I,“Whi-ther, O whi-ther, O whi-ther so high?”“To sweep the cob-webs off the sky!”“Shall I go with you?” “Aye, by-and-by.”To make your candles last for a’,You wives and maids give ear-o!To put them out ’s the only way,Says honest John Boldero.A milking, a milking, my maid,“Cow, take care of your heels,” she said;“And you shall have some nice new hay,If you’ll quietly let me milk away.”Old father Grey Beard,Without tooth or tongue;If you’ll give me your finger,I’ll give you my thumb.There was an old woman, as I’ve heard tell,She went to market her eggs for to sell;She went to market all on a market day,And she fell asleep on the king’s highway.There came by a pedlar, whose name was Stout,He cut her petticoats all round about;He cut her petticoats up to the knees,Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze.When the little old woman first did wake,She began to shiver and she began to shake;She began to wonder, and she began to cry,“Lauk a mercy on me, this can’t be I!”But if it be I, as I hope it be,I’ve a little dog at home, and he’ll know me;If it be I, he’ll wag his little tail,And if it be not I, he’ll loudly bark and wail.Home went the little woman all in the dark,Up got the little dog, and he began to bark;He began to bark, so she began to cry,“Lauk a mercy on me, this is none of I.”Bye, baby bunting,Father’s gone a hunting,Mother’s gone a milking,Sister’s gone a silking,Brother’s gone to buy a skinTo wrap the baby bunting in.Away Birds, away!Take a little, and leave a little,And do not come again;For if you do,I will shoot you through,And then there will be an end of you.Ba-a, ba-a, black sheep,Have you any wool?Yes, sir, yes, sir,Three bags full:One for my mas-ter,One for my dame,And one for the lit-tle boyThat lives in our lane.One mis-ty morn-ing,When clou-dy was the wea-ther,I met a lit-tle old man,Cloth-ed all in lea-ther,Cloth-ed all in lea-ther,With a strap be-low his chin.How do you do? and how do you do?And how do you do a-gain?Dee-dle, dee-dle, dump-ling, my son John,He went to bed with his stock-ings on;One shoe off, and one shoe on.Dee-dle, dee-dle, dump-ling, my son John.Swan, swan, over the sea;Swim, swan, swim.Swan, swan, back again;Well, swan, swam.I had a lit-tle Hus-band, no big-ger than my thumb;I put him in a pint-pot, and there I bid him drum.I bought a lit-tle horse that gal-lop-ed up and down;I sad-dled him and bri-dled him, and sent him out of town.I gave him some gar-ters, to gar-ter up his hose,And a lit-tle pock-et hand-ker-chief to wipe his pretty nose.Ma-ry, Ma-ry, quite con-tra-ry,How does your gar-den grow?Sil-ver bells and coc-kle shells,And pret-ty maids all in a row.Hey, my kit-ten, my kit-ten,Hey, my kit-ten, my deary;Such a sweet pet as thisWas nei-ther far nor neary.Here we go up, up, up,Here we go down, down, downy;Here we go back-wards and for-wards,And here we go round, round, roundy.Some lit-tle mice sat in a barn to spin.Pus-sy came by, and she pop-ped her head in;“Shall I come in and cut your threads off?”“Oh no, kind sir, you will snap our heads off.”Ding, dong, bell, Pus-sy’s in the well.Who put her in? Lit-tle Tom-my Green.Who pull-ed her out? Lit-tle Tom-my Trout.What a naugh-ty boy was that,To drown poor Pus-sy Cat.As I was going along, long, long,A singing a comical song, song, song,The lane that I went was so long, long, long,And the song that I sung was so long, long, long,And so I went singing along.Dance a baby diddit,What can a mother do with it,But sit in a lap,And give him some pap,Dance a baby diddit.Hush, baby, my doll, I pray you, don’t cry,And I’ll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-bye;Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,Then to either you are welcome, with all my heart.Jack Spratt’s pig,He was not very little,Nor yet very big;He was not very lean,He was not very fat,He’ll do well for a grunt,Says little Jack Sprat.The man in the moon,Came tumbling down,And asked the way to Norwich.He went by the south,And burnt his mouth,With eating cold pease porridge.There was an old wo-man, and what do you think?She liv-ed up-on no-thing but vic-tuals and drink;Vic-tuals and drink were the chief of her diet,Yet the pla-guey old wo-man could ne-ver be qui-et.She went to the ba-ker’s to buy some bread;And when she came home, her hus-band was dead.She went to the clerk, to toll the great bell;And when she came back, her hus-band was well.A Frog he would a-wooing go,Sing, heigho, says Rowley;Whether his mother would let him or no:With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach;Heigho, says Anthony Rowley.So off he marched with his opera-hat,Heigho, says Rowley;And on the way he met with a rat,With a rowley, powley, &c.And when they came to mouse’s hall,Heigho, says Rowley;They gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call,With a rowley, powley, &c.“Pray, Mrs. Mouse, are you within?”Heigho, says Rowley;“Yes, kind sir, I am sitting to spin,”With a rowley, powley, &c.“Pray, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us some beer?”Heigho, says Rowley;“For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer,”With a rowley, powley, &c.Now while they all were a merry making,Heigho, says Rowley;The cat and her kittens came tumbling in,With a rowley, powley, &c.The cat she seized the rat by the crown,Heigho, says Rowley;The kittens they pulled the little mouse down,With a rowley, powley, &c.This put poor frog in a terrible fright,Heigho, says Rowley;So he took up his hat, and he wished them good night,With a rowley, powley, &c.But as Froggy was crossing over a brook,Heigho, says Rowley;A lily-white duck came and gobbled him up,With a rowley, powley, &c.So there was an end of one, two, and three,Heigho, says Rowley;The rat, the mouse, and the little Frog-ee!With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach;Heigho, says Anthony Rowley.Here am I, little jumping Joan,When nobody’s with me, I’m always alone.Jack and Gill went up the hill,To fetch a pail of wa-ter;Jack fell down, and broke his crown,And Gill came tum-bling af-ter.Up Jack got and home did trot,As fast as he could ca-per;Dame Gill had the Job to plais-ter his knob,With vin-e-gar and brown paper.Pus-sy cat, pus-sy cat, where have you been?I’ve been to Lon-don to look at the Queen.Pus-sy cat, pus-sy cat, what did you do there?I fright-en-ed a lit-tle mouse un-der the chair.GOOD NIGHT.Baby, baby, lay your headOn your pretty little bed;Shut your eye-peeps, now the dayAnd the light are gone away;All the clothes are tuck’d in tight,Little baby dear, good night.Yes, my darling, well I knowHow the bitter wind doth blowAnd the winter’s snow and rainPatter on the window pane;But they cannot come in hereTo my little baby dear.For the curtains warm are spreadRound about her cradle-bed;And her little night-cap hidesEvery breath of air besides;So ’till morning shineth bright,Little baby dear, good night.HOT APPLE PIE.As Charles his sisters sat betweenAn Apple Pie was brought;Slily to get a piece unseen,The little fellow thought.A piece from off Sophia’s plateInto his mouth he flung;But, ah! repentance came too late,It burn’d his little tongue.The tears ran trickling down his cheek,It put him to such pain;He said (as soon as he could speak)“I’ll ne’er do so again.”LUCY AND DICKY.Miss Lucy was a charming child.She never said, I won’t!If little Dick her playthings spoiled,She said pray, Dicky, don’t!He took her waxen doll one day,And banged it round and round,Then tore its legs and arms away,And threw them on the ground.His good mama was angry quite,And Lucy’s tears ran down;But Dick went supperless that night,And since has better grown.THE FAIRY MAN.Oh, dear Mama, where have you gone?Come here, the baby stands alone;And only think, indeed ’tis truth,He has, just feel, a little tooth.Look at his pretty shining hair,His cheek so red, his skin so fair,His curly ringlets, just like flax,His little bosom, just like wax.Oh, how I long ’till he can walk;And then I’ll long ’till he can talk;And then I’ll long ’till he can play,When we have said our tasks each day.I think he’s growing very wise,Now, don’t you think so? Julia cries.Then to the cradle off she ran,To kiss the little fairy man.COME PLAY IN THE GARDEN.Little sister, come away,And let us in the garden play,For it is a pleasant day.On the grass-plat let us sit,Or, if you please, we’ll play a bit,And run about all over it.But the fruit we will not pick,That would be a naughty trick,And, very likely, make us sick.Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers,That grow about the beds and bowers.Because, you know, they are not ours.We’ll pluck the daisies, white and red,Because mama has often said,That we may gather them instead.And much I hope we always mayOur very dear mama obey,And mind whatever she may say.THE UMBRELLA.Once as little IsabellaVentured, with a large Umbrella,Out upon a rainy day,She was nearly blown away.Sadly frighten’d then was she,For ’twas very near the sea,And the wind was very high,But, alas! no friend was nigh.Luckily, her good MamaSaw her trouble from afar;Running just in time, she caught herPretty little flying daughter.NO BREAKFAST FOR GROWLER.No, naughty Growler, get away,You shall not have a bit;Now when I speak, how dare you stay!I can’t spare any, sir, I sayAnd so you need not sit.Poor Growler! do not make him goBut recollect, before,That he has never serv’d you so,For you have given him many a blowThat patiently he bore.Poor Growler! if he could speak,He’d tell, (as well he might,)How he would bear with many a freak,And wag his tail and look so meek,And neither bark nor bite.Clever Little Thomas.When Thomas Poole first went to school,He was but scarcely seven;Yet knew as well to read and spell,As most boys of eleven.He took his seat, and wrote quite neat,And never idly acted;And then, beside, he multiplied,Divided and subtracted.His master said, (and strok’d his head),“If thus you persevere,“My little friend you may depend“Upon a Prize next year.”SULKING.Why is Mary standing idle,Leaning down upon the table,With pouting lip, and frowning brow?I wonder what’s the matter now!Come here, my dear, and tell me true,Is it because I scolded youFor doing work so bad and slow,That you are standing sulking so?Why then, indeed, I’m griev’d to see,That you can so ill-temper’d be;You make your faults a great deal worse,By being angry and perverse.O, how much better it appears,To see you melting into tears,And then to hear you humbly say,I’ll not do so another day.But when you stand and sulk about,And look so cross, and cry and pout,Why that, my little girl, you know,Isworsethan working bad and slow.GIVING WITH PRUDENCE.I see, Mama, said little Jane,A beggar coming down the lane;O, let me take him (may not I?)This cheese-cake and some currant pie.Your charity I much approve,And something you may take him, love;But let it be some bread and cheese,Much better than such things as these.By giving sweetmeats to the poorWho never tasted them before,We spoil the good we have in view,And teach them wants they never knew.THE FIELD DAISY.I’m a pretty little thing,Always coming with the spring,In the meadows green I’m foundPeeping just above the ground,And my stalk is cover’d flat,With a white and yellow hatLittle lady, when you passLightly o’er the tender grass,Skip about, but do not treadOn my meek and healthy headFor I always seem to say,Chilly winter’s gone away.THE MOUSE.O come brother come;I’m frightened, becauseThere’s a Mouse in the room,It is under the drawers.O silence, John said,Do not make such a noise;The Mouse is afraidOf us little boys.It is gentle and weak,And can never do harm;But it gives a faint squeakAt the slightest alarm.SHORT ADVICE.Hear,DearLittle Son;GoSlow;Do not run.NearHereIs a well;PoorMooreIn it fell.DownTownDo not stray;ThereDareNot to play.Do youMake a rule;ComeHomeStraightFrom school.LEARNING TO GO ALONE.Come, my darling, come away,Take a pretty walk to-day;Run along and never fear,I’ll take care of baby dear;Up and down with little feet,That’s the way to walk, my sweet.Now it is so very near,Soon she’ll get to mother dear,There she comes along at last,Here’s my finger, hold it fast;Now one pretty little kiss,After such a walk as this.CHARITY.Do you see that old beggar who stands at the door?Do not send him away—we must pity the poor.Oh, see how he shivers!—he’s hungry and cold,For people can’t work when they grow very old.Go, set near the fire a table and seat;And Betty shall bring him some bread and some meat.I hope my dear children will always be kind,Whenever they meet with the aged and blind.For a Little Girl that did not like to be Washed.What! cry to be wash’d, and not love to be clean!There go and be dirty, not fit to be seen,And ’till you leave off, and I see you have smiled,I won’t take the trouble to wash such a child.Suppose I should leave you now just as you are,Do you think you’d deserve a sweet kiss from papa?Or to sit on his knee, and learn pretty great A,With fingers that have not been washed all the day!Ah, look at your fingers, you see it is so?Did you ever behold such a little black row?And foronceyou may look at yourself in the glass:There’s a face to belong to a good little lass!Come, come, now I see you’re beginning to clear,You won’t be so foolish again then, my dear?The Snow Ball.Little Edward loved to goPlaying in the drifted snow,Like some little boys I know;Cold Edward!He a solid snow ball made,(Friendly tricks at home he played),Which he in his pocket laid;Wise Edward!Very hard that day it freezed,Very hard the ball was squeezed,And he trotted home well pleased;Sly Edward!By the fire he took a seat,Thoughtless of the power of heat,Drops fall trickling on his feet;Wet Edward!Now the snow began to melt,Vainly on the ground he knelt,All now laughed at what he felt;Poor Edward!Jenny Wren fell sick upon a merry time,In came Robin Redbreast, and brought her sops and wine.“Eat well of the sop, Jenny, drink well of the wine.”“Thank you, Robin, kindly, you shall be mine.”Then Jenny she got well and stood upon her feet,And told Robin plainly she loved him not a bit.Robin being angry, hopp’d upon a twig,Saying, “Out upon you, fie upon you, bold-faced jig!”Jenny Wren fell sick again, and Jenny Wren did die;The doctors vow’d they’d cure her, or know the reason why.Doctor Hawk felt her pulse, and shaking his head,Says, “I fear I can’t save her, because she’s quite dead.”“She’ll do very well,” says sly Doctor Fox;“If she takes but one pill from out of this box.”With hartshorn in hand came Doctor Tomtit,Saying, “Really, good sirs, it’s only a fit.”“You’re right, Doctor Tit, the truth I’ve no doubt of;But death is a fit folks seldom get out of.”Doctor Cat says, “Indeed, I don’t think she’s dead;I believe, if I try, she might yet be bled.”“I think, Puss, you’re foolish,” then says Doctor Goose;“For to bleed a dead Wren can be of no use.”Doctor Owl then declared that the cause of her death,He really believed, was the want of more breath.“Indeed, Doctor Owl, you are much in the right;You might as well have said the day is not night.”Says Robin, “Get out! you’re a parcel of quacks;Or I’ll lay this good stick on each of your backs.”Then Robin began to bang them about;They staid for no fees, but were glad to get out.There was a lit-tle man, and he had a lit-tle gun,And his bul-lets were made of lead, lead, lead;He shot John-ny King through the mid-dle of his wig,And knock-ed it right of his head, head, head.Daf-fy-down-Dil-ly has come up to town,In a yel-low pet-ti-coat and a green gown.Mul-ti-pli-ca-tion is a vex-a-tion,Di-vi-sion is as bad,The Rule of Three per-plex-es me,And Prac-tice drives me mad.Goo-sey, goo-sey, gan-der, whi-ther shall I wan-der?Up-stairs, and down-stairs, and in my la-dy’s cham-ber.There I met an old man, who would not say his pray-ers;I took him by the left leg, and threw him down stairs.Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,Had a wife and couldn’t keep her;He put her in a pumpkin shell,And then he kept her very well.Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,Had another and didn’t love her;Peter learnt to read and spell,And then he loved her very well.When good King Arthur ruled his landHe was a goodly king;He stole three pecks of barley mealTo make a bag-pudding.A bag-pudding the king did make,And stuff’d it well with plums;And in it put great lumps of fat,As big as my two thumbs.The king and queen did eat thereof,And noblemen beside;And what they could not eat that night,The queen next morning fried.
A little girl I knew,Who looked extremely mild;And many thought her tooA very clever child.
But ah, one fault she had,Although her face was prettyHer temper it was bad;And was not that a pity?
Both absent were one dayHer Father and her MotherAnd then, I grieve to say,She beat her little brother.
The Nurse then thought it right,For beating little Fred,(Although it was not night)To put her into bed.
Mama, see what a pretty bookMy dear papa has brought,That I may at the pictures look,And by the words be taught.
He knew I had been good, you said,And had learnt all my spelling;I’m very much obliged to you,My dear mama, for telling.
And that when I am better taught,And read with greater ease,Some more new books shall then be bought,His little girl to please.
My dear papa, he is so kind,I dearly love a book;And dearly too, I love to findThese pictures—pray do look!
And, O, dear, if I could but readAs fast as I can spell,How very happy I should be,I love to read so well.
I know mama, you’ll tell me thatTo practice is the way,So will you kindly let me, now,Another lesson say.
O, don’t hurt the Dog, poor honest old Tray,What good will it do you to drive him away?Kind treatment is justly his right.
Remember how faithful he is to his charge,And barks at the rogues when we set him at large,And guards us by day and by night.
Thank you, pretty Cow, that madePleasant milk, to soak my bread;Every day, and every night,Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
Do not chew the hemlock rank,Growing on the weedy bank;But the yellow cowslips eat,They will make it very sweet.
Where the purple violet grows,Where the bubbling water flows,Where the grass is fresh and fine,Pretty Cow, go there and dine.
See yonder painted Butterfly,How gaudily it soars on high,And seems to wish to reach the sky.
Late it was an insect mean,Crawling o’er the shaven green,Or on the cabbage leaves was seen.
And thus, my child, is man on earth,A thing of mean and mortal birth;His life a span; his power a breath.
But his immortal better partInto a higher world will start,When death his soul and body part.
And then he will glorious riseWith body fitted to the skies,An Angel’s form, not Butterfly’s!
There was an old wo-man tos-sed up in a bas-ket,Nine-ty times as high as the moon;And where she was go-ing, I could-n’t but ask her,For in her hand she car-ried a broom.
“Old wo-man, old wo-man, old wo-man,” quoth I,“Whi-ther, O whi-ther, O whi-ther so high?”“To sweep the cob-webs off the sky!”“Shall I go with you?” “Aye, by-and-by.”
To make your candles last for a’,You wives and maids give ear-o!To put them out ’s the only way,Says honest John Boldero.
A milking, a milking, my maid,“Cow, take care of your heels,” she said;“And you shall have some nice new hay,If you’ll quietly let me milk away.”
Old father Grey Beard,Without tooth or tongue;If you’ll give me your finger,I’ll give you my thumb.
There was an old woman, as I’ve heard tell,She went to market her eggs for to sell;She went to market all on a market day,And she fell asleep on the king’s highway.
There came by a pedlar, whose name was Stout,He cut her petticoats all round about;He cut her petticoats up to the knees,Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze.
When the little old woman first did wake,She began to shiver and she began to shake;She began to wonder, and she began to cry,“Lauk a mercy on me, this can’t be I!”
But if it be I, as I hope it be,I’ve a little dog at home, and he’ll know me;If it be I, he’ll wag his little tail,And if it be not I, he’ll loudly bark and wail.
Home went the little woman all in the dark,Up got the little dog, and he began to bark;He began to bark, so she began to cry,“Lauk a mercy on me, this is none of I.”
Bye, baby bunting,Father’s gone a hunting,Mother’s gone a milking,Sister’s gone a silking,Brother’s gone to buy a skinTo wrap the baby bunting in.
Away Birds, away!Take a little, and leave a little,And do not come again;For if you do,I will shoot you through,And then there will be an end of you.
Ba-a, ba-a, black sheep,Have you any wool?Yes, sir, yes, sir,Three bags full:
One for my mas-ter,One for my dame,And one for the lit-tle boyThat lives in our lane.
One mis-ty morn-ing,When clou-dy was the wea-ther,I met a lit-tle old man,Cloth-ed all in lea-ther,Cloth-ed all in lea-ther,With a strap be-low his chin.How do you do? and how do you do?And how do you do a-gain?
Dee-dle, dee-dle, dump-ling, my son John,He went to bed with his stock-ings on;One shoe off, and one shoe on.Dee-dle, dee-dle, dump-ling, my son John.
Swan, swan, over the sea;Swim, swan, swim.Swan, swan, back again;Well, swan, swam.
I had a lit-tle Hus-band, no big-ger than my thumb;I put him in a pint-pot, and there I bid him drum.
I bought a lit-tle horse that gal-lop-ed up and down;I sad-dled him and bri-dled him, and sent him out of town.
I gave him some gar-ters, to gar-ter up his hose,And a lit-tle pock-et hand-ker-chief to wipe his pretty nose.
Ma-ry, Ma-ry, quite con-tra-ry,How does your gar-den grow?Sil-ver bells and coc-kle shells,And pret-ty maids all in a row.
Hey, my kit-ten, my kit-ten,Hey, my kit-ten, my deary;Such a sweet pet as thisWas nei-ther far nor neary.
Here we go up, up, up,Here we go down, down, downy;Here we go back-wards and for-wards,And here we go round, round, roundy.
Some lit-tle mice sat in a barn to spin.Pus-sy came by, and she pop-ped her head in;“Shall I come in and cut your threads off?”“Oh no, kind sir, you will snap our heads off.”
Ding, dong, bell, Pus-sy’s in the well.Who put her in? Lit-tle Tom-my Green.Who pull-ed her out? Lit-tle Tom-my Trout.What a naugh-ty boy was that,To drown poor Pus-sy Cat.
As I was going along, long, long,A singing a comical song, song, song,The lane that I went was so long, long, long,And the song that I sung was so long, long, long,And so I went singing along.
Dance a baby diddit,What can a mother do with it,But sit in a lap,And give him some pap,Dance a baby diddit.
Hush, baby, my doll, I pray you, don’t cry,And I’ll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-bye;Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,Then to either you are welcome, with all my heart.
Jack Spratt’s pig,He was not very little,Nor yet very big;He was not very lean,He was not very fat,He’ll do well for a grunt,Says little Jack Sprat.
The man in the moon,Came tumbling down,And asked the way to Norwich.He went by the south,And burnt his mouth,With eating cold pease porridge.
There was an old wo-man, and what do you think?She liv-ed up-on no-thing but vic-tuals and drink;Vic-tuals and drink were the chief of her diet,Yet the pla-guey old wo-man could ne-ver be qui-et.
She went to the ba-ker’s to buy some bread;And when she came home, her hus-band was dead.She went to the clerk, to toll the great bell;And when she came back, her hus-band was well.
A Frog he would a-wooing go,Sing, heigho, says Rowley;Whether his mother would let him or no:With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach;Heigho, says Anthony Rowley.
So off he marched with his opera-hat,Heigho, says Rowley;And on the way he met with a rat,With a rowley, powley, &c.
And when they came to mouse’s hall,Heigho, says Rowley;They gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call,With a rowley, powley, &c.
“Pray, Mrs. Mouse, are you within?”Heigho, says Rowley;“Yes, kind sir, I am sitting to spin,”With a rowley, powley, &c.
“Pray, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us some beer?”Heigho, says Rowley;“For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer,”With a rowley, powley, &c.
Now while they all were a merry making,Heigho, says Rowley;The cat and her kittens came tumbling in,With a rowley, powley, &c.
The cat she seized the rat by the crown,Heigho, says Rowley;The kittens they pulled the little mouse down,With a rowley, powley, &c.
This put poor frog in a terrible fright,Heigho, says Rowley;So he took up his hat, and he wished them good night,With a rowley, powley, &c.
But as Froggy was crossing over a brook,Heigho, says Rowley;A lily-white duck came and gobbled him up,With a rowley, powley, &c.
So there was an end of one, two, and three,Heigho, says Rowley;The rat, the mouse, and the little Frog-ee!With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach;Heigho, says Anthony Rowley.
Here am I, little jumping Joan,When nobody’s with me, I’m always alone.
Jack and Gill went up the hill,To fetch a pail of wa-ter;Jack fell down, and broke his crown,And Gill came tum-bling af-ter.
Up Jack got and home did trot,As fast as he could ca-per;Dame Gill had the Job to plais-ter his knob,With vin-e-gar and brown paper.
Pus-sy cat, pus-sy cat, where have you been?I’ve been to Lon-don to look at the Queen.Pus-sy cat, pus-sy cat, what did you do there?I fright-en-ed a lit-tle mouse un-der the chair.
Baby, baby, lay your headOn your pretty little bed;Shut your eye-peeps, now the dayAnd the light are gone away;All the clothes are tuck’d in tight,Little baby dear, good night.
Yes, my darling, well I knowHow the bitter wind doth blowAnd the winter’s snow and rainPatter on the window pane;But they cannot come in hereTo my little baby dear.
For the curtains warm are spreadRound about her cradle-bed;And her little night-cap hidesEvery breath of air besides;So ’till morning shineth bright,Little baby dear, good night.
As Charles his sisters sat betweenAn Apple Pie was brought;Slily to get a piece unseen,The little fellow thought.
A piece from off Sophia’s plateInto his mouth he flung;But, ah! repentance came too late,It burn’d his little tongue.
The tears ran trickling down his cheek,It put him to such pain;He said (as soon as he could speak)“I’ll ne’er do so again.”
Miss Lucy was a charming child.She never said, I won’t!If little Dick her playthings spoiled,She said pray, Dicky, don’t!
He took her waxen doll one day,And banged it round and round,Then tore its legs and arms away,And threw them on the ground.
His good mama was angry quite,And Lucy’s tears ran down;But Dick went supperless that night,And since has better grown.
Oh, dear Mama, where have you gone?Come here, the baby stands alone;And only think, indeed ’tis truth,He has, just feel, a little tooth.
Look at his pretty shining hair,His cheek so red, his skin so fair,His curly ringlets, just like flax,His little bosom, just like wax.
Oh, how I long ’till he can walk;And then I’ll long ’till he can talk;And then I’ll long ’till he can play,When we have said our tasks each day.
I think he’s growing very wise,Now, don’t you think so? Julia cries.Then to the cradle off she ran,To kiss the little fairy man.
Little sister, come away,And let us in the garden play,For it is a pleasant day.
On the grass-plat let us sit,Or, if you please, we’ll play a bit,And run about all over it.
But the fruit we will not pick,That would be a naughty trick,And, very likely, make us sick.
Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers,That grow about the beds and bowers.Because, you know, they are not ours.
We’ll pluck the daisies, white and red,Because mama has often said,That we may gather them instead.
And much I hope we always mayOur very dear mama obey,And mind whatever she may say.
Once as little IsabellaVentured, with a large Umbrella,Out upon a rainy day,She was nearly blown away.
Sadly frighten’d then was she,For ’twas very near the sea,And the wind was very high,But, alas! no friend was nigh.
Luckily, her good MamaSaw her trouble from afar;Running just in time, she caught herPretty little flying daughter.
No, naughty Growler, get away,You shall not have a bit;Now when I speak, how dare you stay!I can’t spare any, sir, I sayAnd so you need not sit.
Poor Growler! do not make him goBut recollect, before,That he has never serv’d you so,For you have given him many a blowThat patiently he bore.
Poor Growler! if he could speak,He’d tell, (as well he might,)How he would bear with many a freak,And wag his tail and look so meek,And neither bark nor bite.
When Thomas Poole first went to school,He was but scarcely seven;Yet knew as well to read and spell,As most boys of eleven.
He took his seat, and wrote quite neat,And never idly acted;And then, beside, he multiplied,Divided and subtracted.
His master said, (and strok’d his head),“If thus you persevere,“My little friend you may depend“Upon a Prize next year.”
Why is Mary standing idle,Leaning down upon the table,With pouting lip, and frowning brow?I wonder what’s the matter now!
Come here, my dear, and tell me true,Is it because I scolded youFor doing work so bad and slow,That you are standing sulking so?
Why then, indeed, I’m griev’d to see,That you can so ill-temper’d be;You make your faults a great deal worse,By being angry and perverse.
O, how much better it appears,To see you melting into tears,And then to hear you humbly say,I’ll not do so another day.
But when you stand and sulk about,And look so cross, and cry and pout,Why that, my little girl, you know,Isworsethan working bad and slow.
I see, Mama, said little Jane,A beggar coming down the lane;O, let me take him (may not I?)This cheese-cake and some currant pie.
Your charity I much approve,And something you may take him, love;But let it be some bread and cheese,Much better than such things as these.
By giving sweetmeats to the poorWho never tasted them before,We spoil the good we have in view,And teach them wants they never knew.
I’m a pretty little thing,Always coming with the spring,In the meadows green I’m foundPeeping just above the ground,And my stalk is cover’d flat,With a white and yellow hatLittle lady, when you passLightly o’er the tender grass,Skip about, but do not treadOn my meek and healthy headFor I always seem to say,Chilly winter’s gone away.
O come brother come;I’m frightened, becauseThere’s a Mouse in the room,It is under the drawers.
O silence, John said,Do not make such a noise;The Mouse is afraidOf us little boys.
It is gentle and weak,And can never do harm;But it gives a faint squeakAt the slightest alarm.
Hear,DearLittle Son;GoSlow;Do not run.
NearHereIs a well;PoorMooreIn it fell.
DownTownDo not stray;ThereDareNot to play.
Do youMake a rule;ComeHomeStraightFrom school.
Come, my darling, come away,Take a pretty walk to-day;Run along and never fear,I’ll take care of baby dear;Up and down with little feet,That’s the way to walk, my sweet.
Now it is so very near,Soon she’ll get to mother dear,There she comes along at last,Here’s my finger, hold it fast;Now one pretty little kiss,After such a walk as this.
Do you see that old beggar who stands at the door?Do not send him away—we must pity the poor.Oh, see how he shivers!—he’s hungry and cold,For people can’t work when they grow very old.
Go, set near the fire a table and seat;And Betty shall bring him some bread and some meat.I hope my dear children will always be kind,Whenever they meet with the aged and blind.
What! cry to be wash’d, and not love to be clean!There go and be dirty, not fit to be seen,And ’till you leave off, and I see you have smiled,I won’t take the trouble to wash such a child.
Suppose I should leave you now just as you are,Do you think you’d deserve a sweet kiss from papa?Or to sit on his knee, and learn pretty great A,With fingers that have not been washed all the day!
Ah, look at your fingers, you see it is so?Did you ever behold such a little black row?
And foronceyou may look at yourself in the glass:There’s a face to belong to a good little lass!
Come, come, now I see you’re beginning to clear,You won’t be so foolish again then, my dear?
Little Edward loved to goPlaying in the drifted snow,Like some little boys I know;Cold Edward!
He a solid snow ball made,(Friendly tricks at home he played),Which he in his pocket laid;Wise Edward!
Very hard that day it freezed,Very hard the ball was squeezed,And he trotted home well pleased;Sly Edward!
By the fire he took a seat,Thoughtless of the power of heat,Drops fall trickling on his feet;Wet Edward!
Now the snow began to melt,Vainly on the ground he knelt,All now laughed at what he felt;Poor Edward!
Jenny Wren fell sick upon a merry time,In came Robin Redbreast, and brought her sops and wine.“Eat well of the sop, Jenny, drink well of the wine.”“Thank you, Robin, kindly, you shall be mine.”Then Jenny she got well and stood upon her feet,And told Robin plainly she loved him not a bit.
Robin being angry, hopp’d upon a twig,Saying, “Out upon you, fie upon you, bold-faced jig!”Jenny Wren fell sick again, and Jenny Wren did die;The doctors vow’d they’d cure her, or know the reason why.
Doctor Hawk felt her pulse, and shaking his head,Says, “I fear I can’t save her, because she’s quite dead.”“She’ll do very well,” says sly Doctor Fox;“If she takes but one pill from out of this box.”
With hartshorn in hand came Doctor Tomtit,Saying, “Really, good sirs, it’s only a fit.”“You’re right, Doctor Tit, the truth I’ve no doubt of;But death is a fit folks seldom get out of.”
Doctor Cat says, “Indeed, I don’t think she’s dead;I believe, if I try, she might yet be bled.”“I think, Puss, you’re foolish,” then says Doctor Goose;“For to bleed a dead Wren can be of no use.”
Doctor Owl then declared that the cause of her death,He really believed, was the want of more breath.“Indeed, Doctor Owl, you are much in the right;You might as well have said the day is not night.”
Says Robin, “Get out! you’re a parcel of quacks;Or I’ll lay this good stick on each of your backs.”Then Robin began to bang them about;They staid for no fees, but were glad to get out.
There was a lit-tle man, and he had a lit-tle gun,And his bul-lets were made of lead, lead, lead;He shot John-ny King through the mid-dle of his wig,And knock-ed it right of his head, head, head.
Daf-fy-down-Dil-ly has come up to town,In a yel-low pet-ti-coat and a green gown.
Mul-ti-pli-ca-tion is a vex-a-tion,Di-vi-sion is as bad,The Rule of Three per-plex-es me,And Prac-tice drives me mad.
Goo-sey, goo-sey, gan-der, whi-ther shall I wan-der?Up-stairs, and down-stairs, and in my la-dy’s cham-ber.There I met an old man, who would not say his pray-ers;I took him by the left leg, and threw him down stairs.
Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,Had a wife and couldn’t keep her;He put her in a pumpkin shell,And then he kept her very well.Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,Had another and didn’t love her;Peter learnt to read and spell,And then he loved her very well.
When good King Arthur ruled his landHe was a goodly king;He stole three pecks of barley mealTo make a bag-pudding.
A bag-pudding the king did make,And stuff’d it well with plums;And in it put great lumps of fat,As big as my two thumbs.
The king and queen did eat thereof,And noblemen beside;And what they could not eat that night,The queen next morning fried.