OH, where’s the little maidThat Garibaldi kissed?She ought to be displayed,She shall be, I insist,Command, resolve, determine,—Beneath a tent of gold,In swan’s-down and in ermine,If Christmas should be cold!I am not very rich,But would give a golden guineaTo see that little witch,That happy pick-a-ninny!He bowed to my own daughter,And Polly is her name;She wore a shirt of slaughter,Of Garibaldi flame,—Of course I mean of scarlet;But the girl he kissed—who knows?—May be named Selina Charlotte,And dressed in yellow clothes!I look for her in church,I seek her in the crowd;Some bellman on a perchOught to ask for her out loud!I would offer a reward,But I might get cheated then,And I cannot well affordTo make that guinea ten.She may live up in Lancashire,All in her yellow gown,Or down in Hankypankyshire,Or here in London town.She may be on board a steamerUpon the briny sea—O stewardess! esteem her,For a glorious girl is she!Perhaps at some academyHerTélémaqueis read—They would think it very bad of meTo turn her little head!She may be doing fancy-work,She may be taking tea;But I wish some necromancy-workWould bring that girl to me!For I would dress the little girlThat Garibaldi kissedIn a necklace all of precious pearl,With a bracelet for her wrist,With diamonds in her stomacher,And garlands in her hair;She should sit, for folks to come at her,All in a silver chair;And no one would be rudeTo Garibaldi’s pet,—The sight would do the people good,They never would forget!Oh glorious is the girlWhom such a man has kissed,The proudest duke or earlStands lower in the list!It would be a happy planFor everything that’s human,If the pet of such a manShould grow to such a woman!If she does as much in her wayAs he has done in his,—Turns bad things topsy-turvey,And sad things into bliss,—Oh, we shall not need a surveyTo find that little miss,Grown to a woman worthyOf Garibaldi’s kiss!
OH, where’s the little maidThat Garibaldi kissed?She ought to be displayed,She shall be, I insist,Command, resolve, determine,—Beneath a tent of gold,In swan’s-down and in ermine,If Christmas should be cold!I am not very rich,But would give a golden guineaTo see that little witch,That happy pick-a-ninny!He bowed to my own daughter,And Polly is her name;She wore a shirt of slaughter,Of Garibaldi flame,—Of course I mean of scarlet;But the girl he kissed—who knows?—May be named Selina Charlotte,And dressed in yellow clothes!I look for her in church,I seek her in the crowd;Some bellman on a perchOught to ask for her out loud!I would offer a reward,But I might get cheated then,And I cannot well affordTo make that guinea ten.She may live up in Lancashire,All in her yellow gown,Or down in Hankypankyshire,Or here in London town.She may be on board a steamerUpon the briny sea—O stewardess! esteem her,For a glorious girl is she!Perhaps at some academyHerTélémaqueis read—They would think it very bad of meTo turn her little head!She may be doing fancy-work,She may be taking tea;But I wish some necromancy-workWould bring that girl to me!For I would dress the little girlThat Garibaldi kissedIn a necklace all of precious pearl,With a bracelet for her wrist,With diamonds in her stomacher,And garlands in her hair;She should sit, for folks to come at her,All in a silver chair;And no one would be rudeTo Garibaldi’s pet,—The sight would do the people good,They never would forget!Oh glorious is the girlWhom such a man has kissed,The proudest duke or earlStands lower in the list!It would be a happy planFor everything that’s human,If the pet of such a manShould grow to such a woman!If she does as much in her wayAs he has done in his,—Turns bad things topsy-turvey,And sad things into bliss,—Oh, we shall not need a surveyTo find that little miss,Grown to a woman worthyOf Garibaldi’s kiss!
OH, where’s the little maidThat Garibaldi kissed?She ought to be displayed,She shall be, I insist,
Command, resolve, determine,—Beneath a tent of gold,In swan’s-down and in ermine,If Christmas should be cold!
I am not very rich,But would give a golden guineaTo see that little witch,That happy pick-a-ninny!
He bowed to my own daughter,And Polly is her name;She wore a shirt of slaughter,Of Garibaldi flame,—
Of course I mean of scarlet;But the girl he kissed—who knows?—May be named Selina Charlotte,And dressed in yellow clothes!
I look for her in church,I seek her in the crowd;Some bellman on a perchOught to ask for her out loud!
I would offer a reward,But I might get cheated then,And I cannot well affordTo make that guinea ten.
She may live up in Lancashire,All in her yellow gown,Or down in Hankypankyshire,Or here in London town.
She may be on board a steamerUpon the briny sea—O stewardess! esteem her,For a glorious girl is she!
Perhaps at some academyHerTélémaqueis read—They would think it very bad of meTo turn her little head!
She may be doing fancy-work,She may be taking tea;But I wish some necromancy-workWould bring that girl to me!
For I would dress the little girlThat Garibaldi kissedIn a necklace all of precious pearl,With a bracelet for her wrist,
With diamonds in her stomacher,And garlands in her hair;She should sit, for folks to come at her,All in a silver chair;
And no one would be rudeTo Garibaldi’s pet,—The sight would do the people good,They never would forget!
Oh glorious is the girlWhom such a man has kissed,The proudest duke or earlStands lower in the list!
It would be a happy planFor everything that’s human,If the pet of such a manShould grow to such a woman!
If she does as much in her wayAs he has done in his,—Turns bad things topsy-turvey,And sad things into bliss,—Oh, we shall not need a surveyTo find that little miss,Grown to a woman worthyOf Garibaldi’s kiss!
IT is dark, the night is come,And the world is hushed and dumb;Sleep, my darling; God is here!—Shall I see Him, mother dear?It is day, the sun is bright,And the world is laid in light;Wake, my darling, God is here!—Shall I see Him, mother dear?Not the day’s awakening light,Babe, can show thee God aright;Not the dark, that brings thee sleep,Him can from my darling keep.Day and night are His, to fill:We are His, to do His will;Do His will, and, never fear,Thou shalt see Him, baby dear.
IT is dark, the night is come,And the world is hushed and dumb;Sleep, my darling; God is here!—Shall I see Him, mother dear?It is day, the sun is bright,And the world is laid in light;Wake, my darling, God is here!—Shall I see Him, mother dear?Not the day’s awakening light,Babe, can show thee God aright;Not the dark, that brings thee sleep,Him can from my darling keep.Day and night are His, to fill:We are His, to do His will;Do His will, and, never fear,Thou shalt see Him, baby dear.
IT is dark, the night is come,And the world is hushed and dumb;Sleep, my darling; God is here!—Shall I see Him, mother dear?
It is day, the sun is bright,And the world is laid in light;Wake, my darling, God is here!—Shall I see Him, mother dear?
Not the day’s awakening light,Babe, can show thee God aright;Not the dark, that brings thee sleep,Him can from my darling keep.
Day and night are His, to fill:We are His, to do His will;Do His will, and, never fear,Thou shalt see Him, baby dear.
FAIR lady, rare lady,Light on the leaWandering, and pondering—“Oh, bring him to me!”Gallant knight, valiant knight,Swift on the seaSailing, prevailing,Thy shallop shall be!Ringing bells, singing bells,Chime merrilie!Brave knight and lady brightWedded shall be!
FAIR lady, rare lady,Light on the leaWandering, and pondering—“Oh, bring him to me!”Gallant knight, valiant knight,Swift on the seaSailing, prevailing,Thy shallop shall be!Ringing bells, singing bells,Chime merrilie!Brave knight and lady brightWedded shall be!
FAIR lady, rare lady,Light on the leaWandering, and pondering—“Oh, bring him to me!”
Gallant knight, valiant knight,Swift on the seaSailing, prevailing,Thy shallop shall be!
Ringing bells, singing bells,Chime merrilie!Brave knight and lady brightWedded shall be!
IKNOW an absent-minded boy,To meditate is all his joy;He seldom does the thing he oughtBecause he is so rapt in thought.At marbles he can never win;He wears his waistcoat outside in;He cannot add a sum up right;And often he is not polite.His mother cries, “My poor heart breaks,Because the child makes such mistakes;He never knows,” she says with sighs,“Which side his bread the butter lies!”One day, absorbed in meditation,He roamed into a railway station,And in a corner of a trainSat down, with inattentive brain.They rang the bell, the whistle blew,They shook the flags, the engine flew;But all the noise did not induceThis boy to quit his mood abstruse.And when three hours were past and goneHe found himself at Somethington;“What is this place?” he sighed in vain,For railway men can not speak plain.When he got home his parents hadTo pay his fare, which was too bad;More than two hundred miles, alas!The Absent Boy had gone first-class.For fear he should, in absentness,Forget his own name and addressWhilst he pursues his meditations,And so be lost to his relations,Would it be best that he should wearA collar like our Tray? or bearHis name and home in indigoPricked on his shoulder, or below?The chief objection to this planIs, that his father is a manWho often moves. If we beginTo prick the Boy’s home on his skin,Before long he will be tattooedWith indigo from head to foot:Perhaps a label on his chestWould meet the difficulty best.
IKNOW an absent-minded boy,To meditate is all his joy;He seldom does the thing he oughtBecause he is so rapt in thought.At marbles he can never win;He wears his waistcoat outside in;He cannot add a sum up right;And often he is not polite.His mother cries, “My poor heart breaks,Because the child makes such mistakes;He never knows,” she says with sighs,“Which side his bread the butter lies!”One day, absorbed in meditation,He roamed into a railway station,And in a corner of a trainSat down, with inattentive brain.They rang the bell, the whistle blew,They shook the flags, the engine flew;But all the noise did not induceThis boy to quit his mood abstruse.And when three hours were past and goneHe found himself at Somethington;“What is this place?” he sighed in vain,For railway men can not speak plain.When he got home his parents hadTo pay his fare, which was too bad;More than two hundred miles, alas!The Absent Boy had gone first-class.For fear he should, in absentness,Forget his own name and addressWhilst he pursues his meditations,And so be lost to his relations,Would it be best that he should wearA collar like our Tray? or bearHis name and home in indigoPricked on his shoulder, or below?The chief objection to this planIs, that his father is a manWho often moves. If we beginTo prick the Boy’s home on his skin,Before long he will be tattooedWith indigo from head to foot:Perhaps a label on his chestWould meet the difficulty best.
IKNOW an absent-minded boy,To meditate is all his joy;He seldom does the thing he oughtBecause he is so rapt in thought.
At marbles he can never win;He wears his waistcoat outside in;He cannot add a sum up right;And often he is not polite.
His mother cries, “My poor heart breaks,Because the child makes such mistakes;He never knows,” she says with sighs,“Which side his bread the butter lies!”
One day, absorbed in meditation,He roamed into a railway station,And in a corner of a trainSat down, with inattentive brain.
They rang the bell, the whistle blew,They shook the flags, the engine flew;But all the noise did not induceThis boy to quit his mood abstruse.
And when three hours were past and goneHe found himself at Somethington;“What is this place?” he sighed in vain,For railway men can not speak plain.
When he got home his parents hadTo pay his fare, which was too bad;More than two hundred miles, alas!The Absent Boy had gone first-class.
For fear he should, in absentness,Forget his own name and addressWhilst he pursues his meditations,And so be lost to his relations,
Would it be best that he should wearA collar like our Tray? or bearHis name and home in indigoPricked on his shoulder, or below?
The chief objection to this planIs, that his father is a manWho often moves. If we beginTo prick the Boy’s home on his skin,
Before long he will be tattooedWith indigo from head to foot:Perhaps a label on his chestWould meet the difficulty best.
WELCOME to the new To-day!Yesterday is past and gone;Good-bye Night and Twilight gray,Earth has put the Morning on:Morning on the high hill’s shoulder,On the valley’s lap so soft,On the river running colder,On the trees with heads aloft.All night Baby thought of nothing,Sleep took care of Baby dear;Baby, too, has fine new clothing,Now the sweet To-day is here.Tell me, without many guesses,—Come! it is not much to con,—Tell me what my Babe’s new dress is?Babe has put the Morning on!
WELCOME to the new To-day!Yesterday is past and gone;Good-bye Night and Twilight gray,Earth has put the Morning on:Morning on the high hill’s shoulder,On the valley’s lap so soft,On the river running colder,On the trees with heads aloft.All night Baby thought of nothing,Sleep took care of Baby dear;Baby, too, has fine new clothing,Now the sweet To-day is here.Tell me, without many guesses,—Come! it is not much to con,—Tell me what my Babe’s new dress is?Babe has put the Morning on!
WELCOME to the new To-day!Yesterday is past and gone;Good-bye Night and Twilight gray,Earth has put the Morning on:
Morning on the high hill’s shoulder,On the valley’s lap so soft,On the river running colder,On the trees with heads aloft.
All night Baby thought of nothing,Sleep took care of Baby dear;Baby, too, has fine new clothing,Now the sweet To-day is here.
Tell me, without many guesses,—Come! it is not much to con,—Tell me what my Babe’s new dress is?Babe has put the Morning on!
AH, the moon is watching me!Red, and round as round can be,Over the house and the top of the treeRising slowly. We shall seeSomething happen very soon;—Hide me from the dreadful moon!Slowly, surely, rising higher,Soon she will be as high as the spire!It seems as if something must happen thenTo all the world, and all the men!Oh, I dare not think, for I am not wise—I must look away, I must shut my eyes!
AH, the moon is watching me!Red, and round as round can be,Over the house and the top of the treeRising slowly. We shall seeSomething happen very soon;—Hide me from the dreadful moon!Slowly, surely, rising higher,Soon she will be as high as the spire!It seems as if something must happen thenTo all the world, and all the men!Oh, I dare not think, for I am not wise—I must look away, I must shut my eyes!
AH, the moon is watching me!Red, and round as round can be,Over the house and the top of the treeRising slowly. We shall seeSomething happen very soon;—Hide me from the dreadful moon!
Slowly, surely, rising higher,Soon she will be as high as the spire!It seems as if something must happen thenTo all the world, and all the men!Oh, I dare not think, for I am not wise—I must look away, I must shut my eyes!
WHEN Love arose in heart and deed,To wake the world to greater joy,“What can she give me now?” said Greed,Who thought to win some costly toy.He rose, he ran, he stooped, he clutched,And soon the flowers, that Love let fall,In Greed’s hot grasp were frayed and smutched,And Greed said, “Flowers! can this be all?”He flung them down, and went his way,He cared no jot for thyme or rose;But boys and girls came out to play,And some took these, and some took those,Red, blue, and white, and green and gold;And at their touch the dew returned,And all the bloom a thousand fold,So red, so ripe, the roses burned.
WHEN Love arose in heart and deed,To wake the world to greater joy,“What can she give me now?” said Greed,Who thought to win some costly toy.He rose, he ran, he stooped, he clutched,And soon the flowers, that Love let fall,In Greed’s hot grasp were frayed and smutched,And Greed said, “Flowers! can this be all?”He flung them down, and went his way,He cared no jot for thyme or rose;But boys and girls came out to play,And some took these, and some took those,Red, blue, and white, and green and gold;And at their touch the dew returned,And all the bloom a thousand fold,So red, so ripe, the roses burned.
WHEN Love arose in heart and deed,To wake the world to greater joy,“What can she give me now?” said Greed,Who thought to win some costly toy.
He rose, he ran, he stooped, he clutched,And soon the flowers, that Love let fall,In Greed’s hot grasp were frayed and smutched,And Greed said, “Flowers! can this be all?”
He flung them down, and went his way,He cared no jot for thyme or rose;But boys and girls came out to play,And some took these, and some took those,
Red, blue, and white, and green and gold;And at their touch the dew returned,And all the bloom a thousand fold,So red, so ripe, the roses burned.
IMET a fair maiden, I saw her plain,In the five-acre when the corn was mellow,Counting her fingers again and again,Her kirtle was green, her hair was yellow,“Oh, what are you counting, fair maid?” said I,“Counting, I will be bound, your treasures?”“Oh no, kind sir,” she made sad reply,“Counting, for penance, my unshared pleasures.”Her head was bent low, and slowly went she;If she goes on straight, she must come to the sea!Blow, blow, south wind, the year’s on the turn;Creep, little blue-bell, close under the fern!I hope that the penance the little maid is doingWill be finished before winter comes with rattle, rain, and ruin?“Oh yes, kind sir, my penance will be over”(She told me in a dream last night, I know it will come true),“Come and look for me next summer, when the bee is in the clover,And I will share my pleasures then with you, you, you!”
IMET a fair maiden, I saw her plain,In the five-acre when the corn was mellow,Counting her fingers again and again,Her kirtle was green, her hair was yellow,“Oh, what are you counting, fair maid?” said I,“Counting, I will be bound, your treasures?”“Oh no, kind sir,” she made sad reply,“Counting, for penance, my unshared pleasures.”Her head was bent low, and slowly went she;If she goes on straight, she must come to the sea!Blow, blow, south wind, the year’s on the turn;Creep, little blue-bell, close under the fern!I hope that the penance the little maid is doingWill be finished before winter comes with rattle, rain, and ruin?“Oh yes, kind sir, my penance will be over”(She told me in a dream last night, I know it will come true),“Come and look for me next summer, when the bee is in the clover,And I will share my pleasures then with you, you, you!”
IMET a fair maiden, I saw her plain,In the five-acre when the corn was mellow,Counting her fingers again and again,Her kirtle was green, her hair was yellow,“Oh, what are you counting, fair maid?” said I,“Counting, I will be bound, your treasures?”“Oh no, kind sir,” she made sad reply,“Counting, for penance, my unshared pleasures.”
Her head was bent low, and slowly went she;If she goes on straight, she must come to the sea!
Blow, blow, south wind, the year’s on the turn;Creep, little blue-bell, close under the fern!
I hope that the penance the little maid is doingWill be finished before winter comes with rattle, rain, and ruin?
“Oh yes, kind sir, my penance will be over”(She told me in a dream last night, I know it will come true),“Come and look for me next summer, when the bee is in the clover,And I will share my pleasures then with you, you, you!”
DID you ever see Giant Frodgedobbulum,With his double great-toe and his double great thumb?Did you ever hear Giant Frodgedobbulum,SayingFa-fe-fiandfo-faw-fum?He shakes the earth as he walks along,As deep as the sea, as far as Hong-kong!He is a giant and no mistake;With teeth like the prongs of a garden rake!
DID you ever see Giant Frodgedobbulum,With his double great-toe and his double great thumb?Did you ever hear Giant Frodgedobbulum,SayingFa-fe-fiandfo-faw-fum?He shakes the earth as he walks along,As deep as the sea, as far as Hong-kong!He is a giant and no mistake;With teeth like the prongs of a garden rake!
DID you ever see Giant Frodgedobbulum,With his double great-toe and his double great thumb?
Did you ever hear Giant Frodgedobbulum,SayingFa-fe-fiandfo-faw-fum?
He shakes the earth as he walks along,As deep as the sea, as far as Hong-kong!
He is a giant and no mistake;With teeth like the prongs of a garden rake!
The Giant Frodgedobbulum got out of bed,Sighing, “Heigh-ho! that I were but wed!”The Giant Frodgedobbulum sat in his chair,Saying, “Why should a giant be wanting a fair?”The Giant Frodgedobbulum said to his boots,“The first maid I meet I will wed, if she suits!”They were Magic Boots, and they laughed as he spoke—“Oh, ho,” says the giant, “you think it’s a joke?”
The Giant Frodgedobbulum got out of bed,Sighing, “Heigh-ho! that I were but wed!”The Giant Frodgedobbulum sat in his chair,Saying, “Why should a giant be wanting a fair?”The Giant Frodgedobbulum said to his boots,“The first maid I meet I will wed, if she suits!”They were Magic Boots, and they laughed as he spoke—“Oh, ho,” says the giant, “you think it’s a joke?”
The Giant Frodgedobbulum got out of bed,Sighing, “Heigh-ho! that I were but wed!”
The Giant Frodgedobbulum sat in his chair,Saying, “Why should a giant be wanting a fair?”
The Giant Frodgedobbulum said to his boots,“The first maid I meet I will wed, if she suits!”
They were Magic Boots, and they laughed as he spoke—“Oh, ho,” says the giant, “you think it’s a joke?”
So he put on his boots, and came stumping down,Clatter and clump, into Banbury town—He did not fly into Banbury,For plenty of time to walk had he!He kicked at the gate—“Within there, ho!”“Oh, what is your name?” says the porter Slow.“Oh, the Giant Frodgedobbulum am I,For a wife out of Banbury town I sigh!”Up spake the porter, bold and free,“Your room we prefer to your company.”Up spake Frodgedobbulum, free and bold,“I will build up your town with silver andgold!”Up spake Marjorie, soft and small,“I will not be your wife at all!”The giant knocked in the gate with his feet,And there stood Marjorie in the street!She was nine years old, she was lissome and fair,And she wore emeralds in her hair.She could dance like a leaf, she could sing like a thrush,She was bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush.Her father tanned, her mother span,“But Marjorie shall marry a gentleman,—Silks and satins, I’ll lay you a crown!”—So said the people in Banbury town.Such was Marjorie—and who should comeTo woo her but this Frodgedobbulum,A vulgar giant, who wore no gloves,And very pig-headed in his loves!
So he put on his boots, and came stumping down,Clatter and clump, into Banbury town—He did not fly into Banbury,For plenty of time to walk had he!He kicked at the gate—“Within there, ho!”“Oh, what is your name?” says the porter Slow.“Oh, the Giant Frodgedobbulum am I,For a wife out of Banbury town I sigh!”Up spake the porter, bold and free,“Your room we prefer to your company.”Up spake Frodgedobbulum, free and bold,“I will build up your town with silver andgold!”Up spake Marjorie, soft and small,“I will not be your wife at all!”The giant knocked in the gate with his feet,And there stood Marjorie in the street!She was nine years old, she was lissome and fair,And she wore emeralds in her hair.She could dance like a leaf, she could sing like a thrush,She was bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush.Her father tanned, her mother span,“But Marjorie shall marry a gentleman,—Silks and satins, I’ll lay you a crown!”—So said the people in Banbury town.Such was Marjorie—and who should comeTo woo her but this Frodgedobbulum,A vulgar giant, who wore no gloves,And very pig-headed in his loves!
So he put on his boots, and came stumping down,Clatter and clump, into Banbury town—
He did not fly into Banbury,For plenty of time to walk had he!
He kicked at the gate—“Within there, ho!”“Oh, what is your name?” says the porter Slow.
“Oh, the Giant Frodgedobbulum am I,For a wife out of Banbury town I sigh!”
Up spake the porter, bold and free,“Your room we prefer to your company.”
Up spake Frodgedobbulum, free and bold,“I will build up your town with silver andgold!”
Up spake Marjorie, soft and small,“I will not be your wife at all!”
The giant knocked in the gate with his feet,And there stood Marjorie in the street!
She was nine years old, she was lissome and fair,And she wore emeralds in her hair.
She could dance like a leaf, she could sing like a thrush,She was bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush.
Her father tanned, her mother span,“But Marjorie shall marry a gentleman,—
Silks and satins, I’ll lay you a crown!”—So said the people in Banbury town.
Such was Marjorie—and who should comeTo woo her but this Frodgedobbulum,
A vulgar giant, who wore no gloves,And very pig-headed in his loves!
They rang the alarum, and in the steepleThey tolled the church-bells to rouse the people.But all the people in Banbury townCould not put Frodgedobbulum down.The tanner thought to stab him dead—“Somebody pricked me?” the giant said.The mother wept—“I do not care,”Said F.—“Why should I be wanting a fair?”He snatched up Marjorie, stroked his boot,And fled; with Banbury in pursuit!“What ho, my boots! put forth your power!Carry me sixty miles an hour!”In ditches and dykes, over stocks and stones,The Banbury people fell, with groans.Frodgedobbulum passed over river and tree,Gallopy-gallop, with Marjorie;—The people beneath her Marjorie seesOf the size of mites in an Oxford cheese!
They rang the alarum, and in the steepleThey tolled the church-bells to rouse the people.But all the people in Banbury townCould not put Frodgedobbulum down.The tanner thought to stab him dead—“Somebody pricked me?” the giant said.The mother wept—“I do not care,”Said F.—“Why should I be wanting a fair?”He snatched up Marjorie, stroked his boot,And fled; with Banbury in pursuit!“What ho, my boots! put forth your power!Carry me sixty miles an hour!”In ditches and dykes, over stocks and stones,The Banbury people fell, with groans.Frodgedobbulum passed over river and tree,Gallopy-gallop, with Marjorie;—The people beneath her Marjorie seesOf the size of mites in an Oxford cheese!
They rang the alarum, and in the steepleThey tolled the church-bells to rouse the people.
But all the people in Banbury townCould not put Frodgedobbulum down.
The tanner thought to stab him dead—“Somebody pricked me?” the giant said.
The mother wept—“I do not care,”Said F.—“Why should I be wanting a fair?”
He snatched up Marjorie, stroked his boot,And fled; with Banbury in pursuit!
“What ho, my boots! put forth your power!Carry me sixty miles an hour!”
In ditches and dykes, over stocks and stones,The Banbury people fell, with groans.
Frodgedobbulum passed over river and tree,Gallopy-gallop, with Marjorie;—
The people beneath her Marjorie seesOf the size of mites in an Oxford cheese!
Castle Frodgedobbulum sulked betweenTwo bleak hills, in a deep ravine.It was always dark there, and always drear,The same time of day and the same time of year,The walls of the castle were slimy and black,There were dragons in front, and toads at the back.Spiders there were, and of vampires lots;Ravens croaked round the chimney-pots.Seven bull-dogs barked in the hall;Seven wild cats did caterwaul!The giant said, with a smirk on his face,“My Marjorie, this is a pretty place;As Mrs. F. you will lead, with me,A happier life than in Banbury!Pour out my wine, and comb my hair,And put me to sleep in my easy chair;But, first, my boots I will kick away”—And Marjorie answered, “S’il vous plait!”Then the giant mused, “It befits my stationTo marry a lady of education;But who would have thought this Banbury wenchWas so accomplished, and could speak French?”Did you ever hear Frodgedobbulum snore?He shook the castle from roof to floor!Fast asleep as a pig was he—“And very much like one!” thought Marjorie.
Castle Frodgedobbulum sulked betweenTwo bleak hills, in a deep ravine.It was always dark there, and always drear,The same time of day and the same time of year,The walls of the castle were slimy and black,There were dragons in front, and toads at the back.Spiders there were, and of vampires lots;Ravens croaked round the chimney-pots.Seven bull-dogs barked in the hall;Seven wild cats did caterwaul!The giant said, with a smirk on his face,“My Marjorie, this is a pretty place;As Mrs. F. you will lead, with me,A happier life than in Banbury!Pour out my wine, and comb my hair,And put me to sleep in my easy chair;But, first, my boots I will kick away”—And Marjorie answered, “S’il vous plait!”Then the giant mused, “It befits my stationTo marry a lady of education;But who would have thought this Banbury wenchWas so accomplished, and could speak French?”Did you ever hear Frodgedobbulum snore?He shook the castle from roof to floor!Fast asleep as a pig was he—“And very much like one!” thought Marjorie.
Castle Frodgedobbulum sulked betweenTwo bleak hills, in a deep ravine.
It was always dark there, and always drear,The same time of day and the same time of year,
The walls of the castle were slimy and black,There were dragons in front, and toads at the back.
Spiders there were, and of vampires lots;Ravens croaked round the chimney-pots.
Seven bull-dogs barked in the hall;Seven wild cats did caterwaul!
The giant said, with a smirk on his face,“My Marjorie, this is a pretty place;
As Mrs. F. you will lead, with me,A happier life than in Banbury!
Pour out my wine, and comb my hair,And put me to sleep in my easy chair;
But, first, my boots I will kick away”—And Marjorie answered, “S’il vous plait!”
Then the giant mused, “It befits my stationTo marry a lady of education;
But who would have thought this Banbury wenchWas so accomplished, and could speak French?”
Did you ever hear Frodgedobbulum snore?He shook the castle from roof to floor!
Fast asleep as a pig was he—“And very much like one!” thought Marjorie.
Then Marjorie stood on a leathern chair,And opened the window to the air.The bats flap, the owls hoot—Marjorie lifted the giant’s boot!The ravens shriek, the owls hoot—Marjorie got into the giant’s boot!And Marjorie said, “I can reach the moonBefore you waken, you big buffoon!”Once, twice, three times, and away,—“Which is the road to Banbury, pray?”The Boot made answer, “Hah, hah! hoh, hoh!The road to Banbury town I know.”
Then Marjorie stood on a leathern chair,And opened the window to the air.The bats flap, the owls hoot—Marjorie lifted the giant’s boot!The ravens shriek, the owls hoot—Marjorie got into the giant’s boot!And Marjorie said, “I can reach the moonBefore you waken, you big buffoon!”Once, twice, three times, and away,—“Which is the road to Banbury, pray?”The Boot made answer, “Hah, hah! hoh, hoh!The road to Banbury town I know.”
Then Marjorie stood on a leathern chair,And opened the window to the air.
The bats flap, the owls hoot—Marjorie lifted the giant’s boot!
The ravens shriek, the owls hoot—Marjorie got into the giant’s boot!
And Marjorie said, “I can reach the moonBefore you waken, you big buffoon!”
Once, twice, three times, and away,—“Which is the road to Banbury, pray?”
The Boot made answer, “Hah, hah! hoh, hoh!The road to Banbury town I know.”
The giant awoke in his easy chair,Saying, “Ho, little Marjorie, are you there?A stoup of wine, to be spiced the same!—Exquisite Marjorie,je vous aime!”Now where was Marjorie? Safe and soundIn the Magic Boot she cleared the ground.Frodgedobbulum groaned—“I am bereft!The left boot’s gone, and the right is left!—The window’s open! I’ll bet a crownThe chit is off to Banbury town!But follow, follow, my faithful Boot!One is enough for the pursuit;And back to my arms the wench shall comeAs sure as my name’s Frodgedobbulum!”
The giant awoke in his easy chair,Saying, “Ho, little Marjorie, are you there?A stoup of wine, to be spiced the same!—Exquisite Marjorie,je vous aime!”Now where was Marjorie? Safe and soundIn the Magic Boot she cleared the ground.Frodgedobbulum groaned—“I am bereft!The left boot’s gone, and the right is left!—The window’s open! I’ll bet a crownThe chit is off to Banbury town!But follow, follow, my faithful Boot!One is enough for the pursuit;And back to my arms the wench shall comeAs sure as my name’s Frodgedobbulum!”
The giant awoke in his easy chair,Saying, “Ho, little Marjorie, are you there?
A stoup of wine, to be spiced the same!—Exquisite Marjorie,je vous aime!”
Now where was Marjorie? Safe and soundIn the Magic Boot she cleared the ground.
Frodgedobbulum groaned—“I am bereft!The left boot’s gone, and the right is left!—
The window’s open! I’ll bet a crownThe chit is off to Banbury town!
But follow, follow, my faithful Boot!One is enough for the pursuit;
And back to my arms the wench shall comeAs sure as my name’s Frodgedobbulum!”
Hasty Frodgedobbulum, being a fool,Forgot of the Magic Boots the rule.They were made on a right and a left boot-tree,But he put the wrong leg in the boot, you see!It was a terrible mistakeFor even a giant in love to make—Terrible in its consequences,Frightful to any man’s seven senses!Down came a thunderbolt, rumble and glare!Frodgedobbulum Castle blew up in the air!The giant, deprived of self-control,Was carried away to the very North Pole;For such was the magic rule. Poor F.Now sits on the peak of the Arctic cliff!The point is so sharp it makes him shrink;The northern streamers, they make him blink;One boot on, and one boot off,He shivers and shakes, and thinks, with a cough,“Safe in Banbury Marjorie dwells;Marjorie will marry some one else!”
Hasty Frodgedobbulum, being a fool,Forgot of the Magic Boots the rule.They were made on a right and a left boot-tree,But he put the wrong leg in the boot, you see!It was a terrible mistakeFor even a giant in love to make—Terrible in its consequences,Frightful to any man’s seven senses!Down came a thunderbolt, rumble and glare!Frodgedobbulum Castle blew up in the air!The giant, deprived of self-control,Was carried away to the very North Pole;For such was the magic rule. Poor F.Now sits on the peak of the Arctic cliff!The point is so sharp it makes him shrink;The northern streamers, they make him blink;One boot on, and one boot off,He shivers and shakes, and thinks, with a cough,“Safe in Banbury Marjorie dwells;Marjorie will marry some one else!”
Hasty Frodgedobbulum, being a fool,Forgot of the Magic Boots the rule.
They were made on a right and a left boot-tree,But he put the wrong leg in the boot, you see!
It was a terrible mistakeFor even a giant in love to make—
Terrible in its consequences,Frightful to any man’s seven senses!
Down came a thunderbolt, rumble and glare!Frodgedobbulum Castle blew up in the air!
The giant, deprived of self-control,Was carried away to the very North Pole;
For such was the magic rule. Poor F.Now sits on the peak of the Arctic cliff!
The point is so sharp it makes him shrink;The northern streamers, they make him blink;
One boot on, and one boot off,He shivers and shakes, and thinks, with a cough,
“Safe in Banbury Marjorie dwells;Marjorie will marry some one else!”
And so Frodgedobbulum, the giant,Sits on the North Pole incompliant.He blinks at the snow with its weary white;He blinks at the spears of the northern light;Kicks out with one boot; says, “Fi-fo-fum!I am the Giant Frodgedobbulum!”But who cares whether he is or not,Living in such an inclement spot?Banbury town is the place for me,And a kiss from merry Marjorie,With the clerk in the vestry to see all fair—For she wears orange-flowers in her hair!She can dance like a leaf, she can sing like a thrush,She is bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush;Her father he tans, her mother she spins;Frodgedobbulum sits on the Pole for his sins;But here comes Marjorie, white as milk,A rose on her bosom as soft as silk,On her finger a gay gold ring;The bridegroom holds up his head like a king!Marjorie has married a gentleman;Who knows when the wedding began?
And so Frodgedobbulum, the giant,Sits on the North Pole incompliant.He blinks at the snow with its weary white;He blinks at the spears of the northern light;Kicks out with one boot; says, “Fi-fo-fum!I am the Giant Frodgedobbulum!”But who cares whether he is or not,Living in such an inclement spot?Banbury town is the place for me,And a kiss from merry Marjorie,With the clerk in the vestry to see all fair—For she wears orange-flowers in her hair!She can dance like a leaf, she can sing like a thrush,She is bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush;Her father he tans, her mother she spins;Frodgedobbulum sits on the Pole for his sins;But here comes Marjorie, white as milk,A rose on her bosom as soft as silk,On her finger a gay gold ring;The bridegroom holds up his head like a king!Marjorie has married a gentleman;Who knows when the wedding began?
And so Frodgedobbulum, the giant,Sits on the North Pole incompliant.
He blinks at the snow with its weary white;He blinks at the spears of the northern light;
Kicks out with one boot; says, “Fi-fo-fum!I am the Giant Frodgedobbulum!”
But who cares whether he is or not,Living in such an inclement spot?
Banbury town is the place for me,And a kiss from merry Marjorie,
With the clerk in the vestry to see all fair—For she wears orange-flowers in her hair!
She can dance like a leaf, she can sing like a thrush,She is bold as the north wind, and sweet as a blush;
Her father he tans, her mother she spins;Frodgedobbulum sits on the Pole for his sins;
But here comes Marjorie, white as milk,A rose on her bosom as soft as silk,
On her finger a gay gold ring;The bridegroom holds up his head like a king!
Marjorie has married a gentleman;Who knows when the wedding began?
“OH, I never would be a guinea-pig, never!They have so little brains!”—The guinea-pig sprang, and—wasn’t it clever?—He hid in the raspberry canes.They scratched their fingers, they taxed their wits,To get the guinea-pig out;They nearly laughed themselves to fitsTo see him run about.The old and the young, the patient, the bold,Were in that companie;But the guinea-pig baffled the young and the old,And merrily scampered he.You thought you had him, but oh, mistake!You grappled a lump of mould—The guinea-pig stuck to the raspberry brakeAs hath before been told.“Oh, make me into a guinea-pig, make,And never mind what I said;For then I can hide in the raspberry brake,When it’s time to go to bed.”
“OH, I never would be a guinea-pig, never!They have so little brains!”—The guinea-pig sprang, and—wasn’t it clever?—He hid in the raspberry canes.They scratched their fingers, they taxed their wits,To get the guinea-pig out;They nearly laughed themselves to fitsTo see him run about.The old and the young, the patient, the bold,Were in that companie;But the guinea-pig baffled the young and the old,And merrily scampered he.You thought you had him, but oh, mistake!You grappled a lump of mould—The guinea-pig stuck to the raspberry brakeAs hath before been told.“Oh, make me into a guinea-pig, make,And never mind what I said;For then I can hide in the raspberry brake,When it’s time to go to bed.”
“OH, I never would be a guinea-pig, never!They have so little brains!”—The guinea-pig sprang, and—wasn’t it clever?—He hid in the raspberry canes.
They scratched their fingers, they taxed their wits,To get the guinea-pig out;They nearly laughed themselves to fitsTo see him run about.
The old and the young, the patient, the bold,Were in that companie;But the guinea-pig baffled the young and the old,And merrily scampered he.
You thought you had him, but oh, mistake!You grappled a lump of mould—The guinea-pig stuck to the raspberry brakeAs hath before been told.
“Oh, make me into a guinea-pig, make,And never mind what I said;For then I can hide in the raspberry brake,When it’s time to go to bed.”
ALL in the morning early,The Little Boy in Blue(The grass with rain is pearly)Has thought of something new.He saddled dear old Dobbin;He had but half-a-crown;And jogging, cantering, bobbing,He came to London town.The sheep were in the meadows,The cows were in the corn;Beneath the city shadowsAt last he stood forlorn.He stood beneath Bow steeple,That is in London town;And tried to count the peopleAs they went up and down.Oh, there was not a daisy,And not a buttercup;The air was thick and hazy,The Blue Boy gave it up.The houses, next, in London,He thought that he would count;But still the sum was undone,So great was the amount.He could not think of robbing,He had but half-a-crown;And so he mounted Dobbin,And rode back from the town.The sheep were in the meadows,The cows were in the corn;Amid the evening shadowsHe stood where he was born.
ALL in the morning early,The Little Boy in Blue(The grass with rain is pearly)Has thought of something new.He saddled dear old Dobbin;He had but half-a-crown;And jogging, cantering, bobbing,He came to London town.The sheep were in the meadows,The cows were in the corn;Beneath the city shadowsAt last he stood forlorn.He stood beneath Bow steeple,That is in London town;And tried to count the peopleAs they went up and down.Oh, there was not a daisy,And not a buttercup;The air was thick and hazy,The Blue Boy gave it up.The houses, next, in London,He thought that he would count;But still the sum was undone,So great was the amount.He could not think of robbing,He had but half-a-crown;And so he mounted Dobbin,And rode back from the town.The sheep were in the meadows,The cows were in the corn;Amid the evening shadowsHe stood where he was born.
ALL in the morning early,The Little Boy in Blue(The grass with rain is pearly)Has thought of something new.
He saddled dear old Dobbin;He had but half-a-crown;And jogging, cantering, bobbing,He came to London town.
The sheep were in the meadows,The cows were in the corn;Beneath the city shadowsAt last he stood forlorn.
He stood beneath Bow steeple,That is in London town;And tried to count the peopleAs they went up and down.
Oh, there was not a daisy,And not a buttercup;The air was thick and hazy,The Blue Boy gave it up.
The houses, next, in London,He thought that he would count;But still the sum was undone,So great was the amount.
He could not think of robbing,He had but half-a-crown;And so he mounted Dobbin,And rode back from the town.
The sheep were in the meadows,The cows were in the corn;Amid the evening shadowsHe stood where he was born.
MISS Hooper was a little girl,Whose head was always in a whirl;For she had hoop upon the head—“My precious, precious hoop!” she said.Trundling a hoop was her delightFrom breakfast time to nearly night,She loved it so! and, truth to tell,At last she drove her hoop too well.That hoop began to go one dayAs if it never meant to stay;Of course the girl would not give in,But followed it through thick and thin.The King and Queen came out to seeWhat sort of hoop this hoop might be;My Lady said, “I think, my Lord,That hoop goes of its own accord.”This vexed the little girl, and soShe gave the hoop another blow,And off it went—oh, just like mad—She ran with all the strength she had.Her hat-strings slipped, her hat hung back,And soon she felt her waistband crack,Her dear long hair flew out behind her,—Her parents sent forth scouts to find her.The King leapt on his swiftest horse,And followed her with all his force;Her father cried, “A thousand poundTo get my girl back safe and sound!”
MISS Hooper was a little girl,Whose head was always in a whirl;For she had hoop upon the head—“My precious, precious hoop!” she said.Trundling a hoop was her delightFrom breakfast time to nearly night,She loved it so! and, truth to tell,At last she drove her hoop too well.That hoop began to go one dayAs if it never meant to stay;Of course the girl would not give in,But followed it through thick and thin.The King and Queen came out to seeWhat sort of hoop this hoop might be;My Lady said, “I think, my Lord,That hoop goes of its own accord.”This vexed the little girl, and soShe gave the hoop another blow,And off it went—oh, just like mad—She ran with all the strength she had.Her hat-strings slipped, her hat hung back,And soon she felt her waistband crack,Her dear long hair flew out behind her,—Her parents sent forth scouts to find her.The King leapt on his swiftest horse,And followed her with all his force;Her father cried, “A thousand poundTo get my girl back safe and sound!”
MISS Hooper was a little girl,Whose head was always in a whirl;For she had hoop upon the head—“My precious, precious hoop!” she said.
Trundling a hoop was her delightFrom breakfast time to nearly night,She loved it so! and, truth to tell,At last she drove her hoop too well.
That hoop began to go one dayAs if it never meant to stay;Of course the girl would not give in,But followed it through thick and thin.
The King and Queen came out to seeWhat sort of hoop this hoop might be;My Lady said, “I think, my Lord,That hoop goes of its own accord.”
This vexed the little girl, and soShe gave the hoop another blow,And off it went—oh, just like mad—She ran with all the strength she had.
Her hat-strings slipped, her hat hung back,And soon she felt her waistband crack,Her dear long hair flew out behind her,—Her parents sent forth scouts to find her.
The King leapt on his swiftest horse,And followed her with all his force;Her father cried, “A thousand poundTo get my girl back safe and sound!”
SOME people came and made a dashTo pull her backward by the sash,But all in vain—she did not stop—At last she fainted, with a flop.When she came to she sighed, with pain,“I’ll never touch a hoop again!”Is it not sad, when girls and boysGo to excess like this with toys?As for the hoop, the people sayIt kept on going night and day,Turning the corners, quite correct,—A thing which you would not expect.And so it lived, a hoop at large,Which no one dared to take in charge;Of course it thinned, but kept its shape,A sort of hoop of wooden tape.It thinned till people took a glassTo see the ghostly circle pass,And only stopped—the facts are so—When there was nothing left to go.
SOME people came and made a dashTo pull her backward by the sash,But all in vain—she did not stop—At last she fainted, with a flop.When she came to she sighed, with pain,“I’ll never touch a hoop again!”Is it not sad, when girls and boysGo to excess like this with toys?As for the hoop, the people sayIt kept on going night and day,Turning the corners, quite correct,—A thing which you would not expect.And so it lived, a hoop at large,Which no one dared to take in charge;Of course it thinned, but kept its shape,A sort of hoop of wooden tape.It thinned till people took a glassTo see the ghostly circle pass,And only stopped—the facts are so—When there was nothing left to go.
SOME people came and made a dashTo pull her backward by the sash,But all in vain—she did not stop—At last she fainted, with a flop.
When she came to she sighed, with pain,“I’ll never touch a hoop again!”Is it not sad, when girls and boysGo to excess like this with toys?
As for the hoop, the people sayIt kept on going night and day,Turning the corners, quite correct,—A thing which you would not expect.
And so it lived, a hoop at large,Which no one dared to take in charge;Of course it thinned, but kept its shape,A sort of hoop of wooden tape.
It thinned till people took a glassTo see the ghostly circle pass,And only stopped—the facts are so—When there was nothing left to go.
TO shoot, to shoot, would be my delight,To shoot the cats that howl in the night;To shoot the lion, the wolf, the bear,To shoot the mad dogs out in the square.I learnt to shoot with a pop-gun good,Made out of a branch of elder-wood;It was round, and long, full half a yard,The plug was strong, the pellets were hard.I should like to shoot with a bow of yew,As the English at Agincourt used to do;The strings of a thousand bows went twang!And a thousand arrows whizzed and sang!On Hounslow Heath I should like to ride,With a great horse-pistol at my side:It is dark—hark! A robber, I know!Click! crick-crack! and away we go!I will shoot with a double-barrelled gun,Two bullets are better than only one;I will shoot some rooks to put in a pie;I will shoot an eagle up in the sky.I once shot a bandit in a dream,In a mountain-pass I heard a scream;I rescued the lady and set her free,“Do not fear, madam, lean on me!”With a boomerang I could not aim;A poison blow-pipe would be the same;A double-barrelled is my desire,Get out of the way—one, two, three, fire!
TO shoot, to shoot, would be my delight,To shoot the cats that howl in the night;To shoot the lion, the wolf, the bear,To shoot the mad dogs out in the square.I learnt to shoot with a pop-gun good,Made out of a branch of elder-wood;It was round, and long, full half a yard,The plug was strong, the pellets were hard.I should like to shoot with a bow of yew,As the English at Agincourt used to do;The strings of a thousand bows went twang!And a thousand arrows whizzed and sang!On Hounslow Heath I should like to ride,With a great horse-pistol at my side:It is dark—hark! A robber, I know!Click! crick-crack! and away we go!I will shoot with a double-barrelled gun,Two bullets are better than only one;I will shoot some rooks to put in a pie;I will shoot an eagle up in the sky.I once shot a bandit in a dream,In a mountain-pass I heard a scream;I rescued the lady and set her free,“Do not fear, madam, lean on me!”With a boomerang I could not aim;A poison blow-pipe would be the same;A double-barrelled is my desire,Get out of the way—one, two, three, fire!
TO shoot, to shoot, would be my delight,To shoot the cats that howl in the night;To shoot the lion, the wolf, the bear,To shoot the mad dogs out in the square.
I learnt to shoot with a pop-gun good,Made out of a branch of elder-wood;It was round, and long, full half a yard,The plug was strong, the pellets were hard.
I should like to shoot with a bow of yew,As the English at Agincourt used to do;The strings of a thousand bows went twang!And a thousand arrows whizzed and sang!
On Hounslow Heath I should like to ride,With a great horse-pistol at my side:It is dark—hark! A robber, I know!Click! crick-crack! and away we go!
I will shoot with a double-barrelled gun,Two bullets are better than only one;I will shoot some rooks to put in a pie;I will shoot an eagle up in the sky.
I once shot a bandit in a dream,In a mountain-pass I heard a scream;I rescued the lady and set her free,“Do not fear, madam, lean on me!”
With a boomerang I could not aim;A poison blow-pipe would be the same;A double-barrelled is my desire,Get out of the way—one, two, three, fire!
THERE was a boy whose name was Phinn,And he was fond of fishing;His father could not keep him in,Nor all his mother’s wishing.His life’s ambition was to landA fish of several pound weight;The chief thing he could understandWas hooks, or worms for ground-bait.The worms crept out, the worms crept in,From every crack and pocket;He had a worm-box made of tin,With proper worms to stock it.
THERE was a boy whose name was Phinn,And he was fond of fishing;His father could not keep him in,Nor all his mother’s wishing.His life’s ambition was to landA fish of several pound weight;The chief thing he could understandWas hooks, or worms for ground-bait.The worms crept out, the worms crept in,From every crack and pocket;He had a worm-box made of tin,With proper worms to stock it.
THERE was a boy whose name was Phinn,And he was fond of fishing;His father could not keep him in,Nor all his mother’s wishing.
His life’s ambition was to landA fish of several pound weight;The chief thing he could understandWas hooks, or worms for ground-bait.
The worms crept out, the worms crept in,From every crack and pocket;He had a worm-box made of tin,With proper worms to stock it.
HE gave his mind to breeding wormsAs much as he was able;His sister spoke in angry termsTo see them on the table.You found one walking up the stairs,You found one in a bonnet,Or, in the bed-room, unawares,You set your foot upon it.Worms, worms, worms for bait!Roach, and dace, and gudgeon!With rod and line to Twickenham AitTo-morrow he is trudging!O worms and fishes day and night!Such was his sole ambition;I’m glad to think you are not quiteSo very fond of fishing!
HE gave his mind to breeding wormsAs much as he was able;His sister spoke in angry termsTo see them on the table.You found one walking up the stairs,You found one in a bonnet,Or, in the bed-room, unawares,You set your foot upon it.Worms, worms, worms for bait!Roach, and dace, and gudgeon!With rod and line to Twickenham AitTo-morrow he is trudging!O worms and fishes day and night!Such was his sole ambition;I’m glad to think you are not quiteSo very fond of fishing!
HE gave his mind to breeding wormsAs much as he was able;His sister spoke in angry termsTo see them on the table.
You found one walking up the stairs,You found one in a bonnet,Or, in the bed-room, unawares,You set your foot upon it.
Worms, worms, worms for bait!Roach, and dace, and gudgeon!With rod and line to Twickenham AitTo-morrow he is trudging!
O worms and fishes day and night!Such was his sole ambition;I’m glad to think you are not quiteSo very fond of fishing!
“OYES! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”The bellman’s voice is loud and strong;So is his bell: “O yes! ding dong!”He wears a red coat with golden lace;See how the people of the placeCome running to hear what the bellman says!“O yes! Sir Nicholas HildebrandHas just returned from the Holy Land,And freely offers his heart and hand—O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”—All the women hurry along,Maids and widows, a chattering throng.“O sir, you are hard to understand!To whom does he offer his heart and hand?Explain your meaning, we do command!”“O yes! ding dong! you shall understand!O yes! Sir Nicholas HildebrandInvites the ladies of this landTo feast with him in his castle strongThis very day at three. Ding dong!O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”Then all the women went off to dress,Mary, Margaret, Bridget, Bess,Patty, and more than I can guess.They powdered their hair with golden dust,And bought new ribbons—they said they must—But none of them painted, we will trust.Long before the time arrives,All the women that could be wivesAre dressed within an inch of their lives.Meanwhile, Sir Nicholas HildebrandHad brought with him from the Holy LandA couple of bears—oh, that was grand!He tamed the bears, and they loved him true,Whatever he told them they would do—Hark! ’tis the town clock striking two!
“OYES! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”The bellman’s voice is loud and strong;So is his bell: “O yes! ding dong!”He wears a red coat with golden lace;See how the people of the placeCome running to hear what the bellman says!“O yes! Sir Nicholas HildebrandHas just returned from the Holy Land,And freely offers his heart and hand—O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”—All the women hurry along,Maids and widows, a chattering throng.“O sir, you are hard to understand!To whom does he offer his heart and hand?Explain your meaning, we do command!”“O yes! ding dong! you shall understand!O yes! Sir Nicholas HildebrandInvites the ladies of this landTo feast with him in his castle strongThis very day at three. Ding dong!O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”Then all the women went off to dress,Mary, Margaret, Bridget, Bess,Patty, and more than I can guess.They powdered their hair with golden dust,And bought new ribbons—they said they must—But none of them painted, we will trust.Long before the time arrives,All the women that could be wivesAre dressed within an inch of their lives.Meanwhile, Sir Nicholas HildebrandHad brought with him from the Holy LandA couple of bears—oh, that was grand!He tamed the bears, and they loved him true,Whatever he told them they would do—Hark! ’tis the town clock striking two!
“OYES! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”The bellman’s voice is loud and strong;So is his bell: “O yes! ding dong!”
He wears a red coat with golden lace;See how the people of the placeCome running to hear what the bellman says!
“O yes! Sir Nicholas HildebrandHas just returned from the Holy Land,And freely offers his heart and hand—
O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”—All the women hurry along,Maids and widows, a chattering throng.
“O sir, you are hard to understand!To whom does he offer his heart and hand?Explain your meaning, we do command!”
“O yes! ding dong! you shall understand!O yes! Sir Nicholas HildebrandInvites the ladies of this land
To feast with him in his castle strongThis very day at three. Ding dong!O yes! O yes! O yes! ding dong!”
Then all the women went off to dress,Mary, Margaret, Bridget, Bess,Patty, and more than I can guess.
They powdered their hair with golden dust,And bought new ribbons—they said they must—But none of them painted, we will trust.
Long before the time arrives,All the women that could be wivesAre dressed within an inch of their lives.
Meanwhile, Sir Nicholas HildebrandHad brought with him from the Holy LandA couple of bears—oh, that was grand!
He tamed the bears, and they loved him true,Whatever he told them they would do—Hark! ’tis the town clock striking two!