VIII

Thereis a curious boy, whose nameIs Lumpy Loggerhead;His greatest joy is—oh, for shame!—To spend his time in bed.They fit with gongs alarum clocksThat make your blood run chill;And they encourage crowing cocksBeneath his window-sill.In vain the gongs,—his eyes are shut—In vain the cocks do crow;Empty on him a water-butt,And he will say, “Hallo!”But only in a drowsy style,And in a second moreHe sleeps—and, oh! to see him smile!And, oh! to hear him snore!He seems to carry, all day long,Sleep in his very shape;And, though you may be brisk and strong,You often want to gapeWhen Lumpy Loggerhead comes near,Whose bed is all his joy.How glad I am he is not here,That very sleepy boy!

Thereis a curious boy, whose nameIs Lumpy Loggerhead;His greatest joy is—oh, for shame!—To spend his time in bed.

They fit with gongs alarum clocksThat make your blood run chill;And they encourage crowing cocksBeneath his window-sill.

In vain the gongs,—his eyes are shut—In vain the cocks do crow;Empty on him a water-butt,And he will say, “Hallo!”

But only in a drowsy style,And in a second moreHe sleeps—and, oh! to see him smile!And, oh! to hear him snore!

He seems to carry, all day long,Sleep in his very shape;And, though you may be brisk and strong,You often want to gape

When Lumpy Loggerhead comes near,Whose bed is all his joy.How glad I am he is not here,That very sleepy boy!

Therewas a giant walked out one day,To eat whatever came in his way;This giant was greedy, this giant was grim,And the people were all afraid of him.He crossed the field and came into the street,And a dainty damsel he there did meet;“What is your name?” says he to her,And she says, “Lucy Locket, sir.”“A very nice name is Lucy Locket,And you will just fit my waistcoat-pocket;”So said the giant, and popped her in,And the pocket was more than up to her chin.The giant says, “Oh, this is the street;Your father and mother I mean to eat.”But Lucy, she thought, “You wicked man!”And then to tickle him she began.Her hand was light, her hand was small,He scarcely felt it at first at all;She tickled and tickled, and by degreesHe felt as if he should like to sneeze!This giant could growl, and shout, and roar,But he never had laughed in his life before,And now he began to look less grimAs Lucy kept on tickling him.The people heard and the people saw,—“He, hee!” says the giant, “ha hah! haw haw!”Oh, they were puzzled, but Lucy LocketMade signs to them out of his doublet-pocket.His mad guffaws for a mile they hear,His mouth is stretched from ear to ear;Thinks he, “To laugh is a pleasant plan,So now I will laugh as long as I can.”He laughed till he ached and his eyes grew dim,As Lucy kept on tickling him;He laughed till the tears ran down his face,And he fell down, flop, in the market-place!Then out of his pocket Lucy leapt,And close behind him the people crept;With twisted cables and iron bandsAnd things of that sort they tied his hands.They tied his hands and they tied his feet,They said, “Pray, what would you like to eat?”And Lucy got into his pocket again,And made him laugh like a thousand men!He laughed all day, he laughed all night,He laughed when they woke in the morning light,He laughed that week and the fortnight after,—Travellers came to hear his laughter!They let him laugh on to his heart’s contentIn a show as high as the Monument;They gave to Lucy a penny clearFor every person who came to hear,So now the girl is as rich as a prince,For he has been laughing ever since.

Therewas a giant walked out one day,To eat whatever came in his way;This giant was greedy, this giant was grim,And the people were all afraid of him.

He crossed the field and came into the street,And a dainty damsel he there did meet;“What is your name?” says he to her,And she says, “Lucy Locket, sir.”

“A very nice name is Lucy Locket,And you will just fit my waistcoat-pocket;”So said the giant, and popped her in,And the pocket was more than up to her chin.

The giant says, “Oh, this is the street;Your father and mother I mean to eat.”But Lucy, she thought, “You wicked man!”And then to tickle him she began.

Her hand was light, her hand was small,He scarcely felt it at first at all;She tickled and tickled, and by degreesHe felt as if he should like to sneeze!

This giant could growl, and shout, and roar,But he never had laughed in his life before,And now he began to look less grimAs Lucy kept on tickling him.

The people heard and the people saw,—“He, hee!” says the giant, “ha hah! haw haw!”Oh, they were puzzled, but Lucy LocketMade signs to them out of his doublet-pocket.

His mad guffaws for a mile they hear,His mouth is stretched from ear to ear;Thinks he, “To laugh is a pleasant plan,So now I will laugh as long as I can.”

He laughed till he ached and his eyes grew dim,As Lucy kept on tickling him;He laughed till the tears ran down his face,And he fell down, flop, in the market-place!

Then out of his pocket Lucy leapt,And close behind him the people crept;With twisted cables and iron bandsAnd things of that sort they tied his hands.

They tied his hands and they tied his feet,They said, “Pray, what would you like to eat?”And Lucy got into his pocket again,And made him laugh like a thousand men!

He laughed all day, he laughed all night,He laughed when they woke in the morning light,He laughed that week and the fortnight after,—Travellers came to hear his laughter!

They let him laugh on to his heart’s contentIn a show as high as the Monument;They gave to Lucy a penny clearFor every person who came to hear,So now the girl is as rich as a prince,For he has been laughing ever since.

Baby, baby bowling,Set the hoop a-rolling;The hoop will waitAt the turnpike gate,And the man will take the toll in.

DiddyDoddy Dumpling,Muslin all a-crumpling;Cap like an arch,Stiff with starch—Diddy Doddy Dumpling!Niddy Noddy Nursey,How shall we makehersee?Bobs and blinks,Wobbles and winks—Niddy Noddy Nursey!

DiddyDoddy Dumpling,Muslin all a-crumpling;Cap like an arch,Stiff with starch—Diddy Doddy Dumpling!

Niddy Noddy Nursey,How shall we makehersee?Bobs and blinks,Wobbles and winks—Niddy Noddy Nursey!

Whatdo you think?Why, pen and ink,And a rosewood desk, or better;The old black hen,She mended the pen,And the little pig wrote a letter.

Johnnydrew a picture, but Johnny couldn’t spell;What he wrote under it I’m ashamed to tell;All in large capitals Johnny wrote PECTURE,Stuck it up upon the wall, and said that he would lecture;What a funny lecture, though, Johnny will deliver;While, with aches at his mistakes, all the people shiver!

Mindthe cat,Find the cat,Who will be first behind the cat?The cat’s on the matIn a billycock hat,And that’s the way to find the cat.

Largeeyes, little eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes,My doll has had an accident and wants a pair of new eyes;Strong legs, long legs, one leg and two legs,My doll has had an accident and wants a pair of new legs;Dribble dribble, trickle trickle, what a lot of raw dust!Dolly had an accident, and out came the sawdust!

One, two, three,Put the cups for tea;Two, three, one,Toast a Sally-Lunn.Fanny sat downIn a new gown;Emma spilt the milkOver the satin and silk,One, two, three,“Never wear silk at tea,”(Two, three, one),So said Dimity Dunn;Ever so many slices,Bread and butter, and niceys;One, two, three,White sugar for me!Two, three, one,Now the tea’s done.

One, two, three,Put the cups for tea;Two, three, one,Toast a Sally-Lunn.Fanny sat downIn a new gown;Emma spilt the milkOver the satin and silk,One, two, three,“Never wear silk at tea,”

(Two, three, one),So said Dimity Dunn;Ever so many slices,Bread and butter, and niceys;One, two, three,White sugar for me!Two, three, one,Now the tea’s done.

Babyhas just been feeding;See, he has emptied the cup!And now he sits a-reading,But the book is wrong-side up;Will he make out what the book is aboutBefore it is time to sup?His fist he doubles;He blows little bubbles;He splutters and stutters,And tells you his troubles,Reading the book that is wrong-side up!

Babyhas just been feeding;See, he has emptied the cup!And now he sits a-reading,But the book is wrong-side up;

Will he make out what the book is aboutBefore it is time to sup?His fist he doubles;He blows little bubbles;He splutters and stutters,And tells you his troubles,Reading the book that is wrong-side up!

“Daughter, daughter,Mind the water!”She said she never should,So she went inRight up to her chin,And did not find it good;For the water was bitter,And made her twitter,As nobody thought she could!She cried in haste,“What a nasty taste!I wish I had understood!”Oh, send and save her!A beautiful flavourIs not to be found in the flood;And wine or teaIs the drink for meAt a picnic in the wood!

“Daughter, daughter,Mind the water!”She said she never should,So she went inRight up to her chin,And did not find it good;

For the water was bitter,And made her twitter,As nobody thought she could!She cried in haste,“What a nasty taste!I wish I had understood!”

Oh, send and save her!A beautiful flavourIs not to be found in the flood;And wine or teaIs the drink for meAt a picnic in the wood!

HurlyBurlyAnd Curly WurlyWent to the fair together;It rained in the nightFor more delight,And it was windy weather.Hurly Burly jumped the stiles,Laughed and in-and-outed;Hurly Burly ran for miles,Hurly Burly shouted.Curly Wurly went off in smiles,Except just when she pouted!The Quakeress peeped from under the tiles,Saying, “If I could smile as thou did!”Hurly Buriy’s talk was mad,Like Singlestick and Latin;Curly Wurly a sweet tongue had,And she was soft as satin.Then Hurly Burly and Curly Wurly,When they had their airing,Came home betimes, like a poet’s rhymes,Each of them with a fairing.For he had a monstrous popgun got,That went with a noise like thunder;And she had a beautiful true-love knot,That never would come in sunder.

HurlyBurlyAnd Curly WurlyWent to the fair together;It rained in the nightFor more delight,And it was windy weather.

Hurly Burly jumped the stiles,Laughed and in-and-outed;Hurly Burly ran for miles,Hurly Burly shouted.

Curly Wurly went off in smiles,Except just when she pouted!The Quakeress peeped from under the tiles,Saying, “If I could smile as thou did!”

Hurly Buriy’s talk was mad,Like Singlestick and Latin;Curly Wurly a sweet tongue had,And she was soft as satin.

Then Hurly Burly and Curly Wurly,When they had their airing,Came home betimes, like a poet’s rhymes,Each of them with a fairing.

For he had a monstrous popgun got,That went with a noise like thunder;And she had a beautiful true-love knot,That never would come in sunder.

Nathan Nobb,Oh, what a job!Always walked on his head;His mother would sobTo his brother Bob,And his father took to his bed.They made him a bootHis head to suit,But a horrible thing must be said,—His hair took root,And began to shoot,One day, in the garden bed!So there he standsWith the help of his handsAnd a little support from his nose:The gardener man,With the watering-can,Says, “Gracious, how fast he grows!”

Nathan Nobb,Oh, what a job!Always walked on his head;His mother would sobTo his brother Bob,And his father took to his bed.

They made him a bootHis head to suit,But a horrible thing must be said,—His hair took root,And began to shoot,One day, in the garden bed!

So there he standsWith the help of his handsAnd a little support from his nose:The gardener man,With the watering-can,Says, “Gracious, how fast he grows!”

Blow, blow, east wind!What does the east wind do?Shine, shine, sunlight!And what does the sunshine do?The sunshine clearGoes there and here,And searches in every nook,And, while it is going,The wind is blowingFarther than you can look;The east wind blows,It sweeps, it goesThe whole world through;As the world grows green,It sweeps it clean,And the sky is a pale, cold blue:Blow, blow, east wind,Finish your blowing, do!And the west wind, dear, will soon be here,With skies of deep, warm blue.

DING, Dong, and DellWent and sat under the bell,Saying, “Bell, bell, bell,What have you got to tell?”And the clapper rose and fell,And the bell rang wellOver Ding, Dong, and Dell,As they sat under the bell.Here is pencil, and here is pen,Walk up, ladies and gentlemen!Here are their pictures, as you see,Ding, and Dong, and Dell make three,There they are, and here are we.First there is Ding, a dot of a thing,And, not to go wrong, her brother Dong,A little older and ever so much bolder,And both of them seem ready to sing,And Dell will belong and take part in the song.Now Dell—I am not so sure about Dell—Dell wears a mask, and hides till you ask,And peeps at you from over a screen;But if you must know the truth of it,—well!—I really am not so sure about Dell.So Ding, Dong, and DellWent and sat under the bell,Saying, “Bell, bell, bell,What have you got to tell?”And the clapper rose and fell,And the bell rang wellOver Ding, Dong, and Dell,As they sat under the bell.

Here is pencil, and here is pen,Walk up, ladies and gentlemen!Here are their pictures, as you see,Ding, and Dong, and Dell make three,There they are, and here are we.

First there is Ding, a dot of a thing,And, not to go wrong, her brother Dong,A little older and ever so much bolder,And both of them seem ready to sing,And Dell will belong and take part in the song.

Now Dell—I am not so sure about Dell—Dell wears a mask, and hides till you ask,And peeps at you from over a screen;But if you must know the truth of it,—well!—I really am not so sure about Dell.

So Ding, Dong, and DellWent and sat under the bell,Saying, “Bell, bell, bell,What have you got to tell?”And the clapper rose and fell,And the bell rang wellOver Ding, Dong, and Dell,As they sat under the bell.

Dingand Dong went out a-walking,Ding and Dong were gaily talking:“My eyes are strong,You know,” says Dong,“And once on a time I saw through a wall.”“And so did I,” says little Ding,“I also can do a wonderful thing.”Thus they disputed, and by-and-byePoor little Ding began to cry.“You didn’t,” says Dong; “it isn’t true——”I did, you didn’t, no more did you,You didn’t, I did, you didn’t, pooh!So they came squabbling to Dell, who said,“You both deserve to be put to bed.When Ding saw through a wall, the wallWas made of glass, and that is all!When Dong saw through a wall, it hadA hole in it.” Then both were glad,Ding and Dong, that they thought to askDell of the screen, who wore the mask;And Ding and Dong said, “Clever Dell;Who would have thought that Dell could tell?

Thus they disputed, and by-and-byePoor little Ding began to cry.“You didn’t,” says Dong; “it isn’t true——”I did, you didn’t, no more did you,You didn’t, I did, you didn’t, pooh!

So they came squabbling to Dell, who said,“You both deserve to be put to bed.When Ding saw through a wall, the wallWas made of glass, and that is all!When Dong saw through a wall, it hadA hole in it.” Then both were glad,Ding and Dong, that they thought to askDell of the screen, who wore the mask;And Ding and Dong said, “Clever Dell;Who would have thought that Dell could tell?

Dingand Dong, because they findDell so very clever.Say they have made up their mindTo go in masks for ever.Is there wisdom in a mask?They are none the wittier yet;Is there beauty? do not ask!They are none the prettier yet!

Thegirls and the boysThey made such a noiseAt play, that they frightened away their toys.Dolly, she fled,And went to bed,Because she had caught such a pain in her head!The German bricks,The candlesticks,The elephant,And the cormorant,The ass and the horse,And the rest in their course,(But there was no shark,)Of the Noah’s Ark,The saucers and the cups,And the little woolly pups,(You heard them bark)Belonging to the Ark,Were frightened, like all the rest of the toys,And hid themselves from the dreadful noise:So, if I were you, next time I played,I would not be so loud in the noise that I made!

Sparro, sparrow,Swift as an arrow,What are you doing there in the sun?A hunter am I,And the white butterflyI am chasing to-day in the summer sun.

Sitin the sunTill the day is done,Reading and working and making fun:Then look at the moon,And eat with a spoonA basin of sop that is made from a bun.

Whatmakes the starling so merry?The starling has had a cherry,A cherry as soft as a baby’s cheek,I can see the pulp hanging out of his beak.This is the lass, this is the lad,That like to see the starling glad!

Hereis a rugThat looks very snug;And here is a cat—What shall we be at?You take off your bonnet,I take off my hat,And let us sit upon it,And talk to the cat—Not upon the hat, you know,But on the little rug—The hat would not come pat, you know,But, oh, the rug is snug!Ding, Dong, Dell,Said “Bell, bell, bell!What have you got to tell?”—And you hear what the bells sayFrom Greenwich up to Chelsea;Ring, ring, ring,About this, and the other thing,These, and those, and that,The cat, and the rug, and the mat,The Noah’s Ark and the sparrow,And the sop as soft as marrow!And whether you live by Bow bells,Or out in a place with no bells,And neither at Greenwich nor at Chelsea,You shall hear what the different bells sayFrom Ding, Dong, and Dell,Who like to sit under the bell.

SaidDing, Dong, and Dell,“Listen to the bell!”Now it was not bell, but bells,For the bells that rang were many,—Bells upon bells;You shall have a silver penny,Or almost anything else,If you can count the bellsThat are ringing. And what for?—Ding, Dong, and DellWill explain every bell,That is to say, the bells,Neither less nor moreThan the meaning of the Bells.

“Whoare you?”Says One to Two;Says Two to One “I’m plenty;”“Think again!”Says little Ten,And, “Think again!” says Twenty.

Lilywhite, Rose red,Standing in the garden-bed;Wind from the south, wind from the west,Can you tell me which is best?

Johnnyhas finished his lessons,All in good time;Then in his very resence,The bells set up a chime;All round the school-roomThe bells began to ring,All round the school-room,“Johnny is a king!”

Johnnyhas finished his lessons,All in good time;Then in his very resence,The bells set up a chime;

All round the school-roomThe bells began to ring,All round the school-room,“Johnny is a king!”

Now, then, let us tell a tale—Six travellers in a dale,Feeling weak about the knees,Resting under six elm-trees;Six robbers, after them,Draw their swords and say, “Ahem!”Then the travellers, who have notAny weapons with them got,Shake and shiver in their boots,And they play upon their flutesThen the robbers six remarkTo the travellers, “It is dark.”“No,” say they, “it is not quite.—Every traveller strikes a light!Will you see some conjuring tricks?”“Yes,” say all the robbers six;Then six tigers and six lionsCame along and roared defiance,And the thieves and travellers tooCould not tell what next to do:“This,” said they, “is very sad!”Then there came an earthquake bad,And the air was very hot,And it swallowed up the lot.

WhenDing and Dong,Had finished a song,One day, they went to Dell,And to him or herSaid, “We should preferThat you should do something as well,—Something amusingOf your own choosing.”—“And so I will,” says Dell.There goes a bell,Ding, dong, dell,A cracked old bell,A shaky old bell,A quavering old bell,—Can anybody tellWhat the cracked old bell is saying?“Yes, I can tell,” says Dell,“Without measuring or weighing,And this is what it is saying;Ding, dong, dell!Goes the cracked old bell;And this is what it is saying:“There is an old woman whose name it is Gray,Lives in an old town in an old-fashioned way;You cross an old bridge, and go up an old road,And down an old lane, to find out her abode.“She wears an old cap that stands ever so high;She looks through old goggles as round as the sky;She keeps an old dog, and a very old cat;She sits in an arm-chair much older than that.“She crosses her old arms; she shakes her old pate;She only hears half of the tale you relate;She puts her old ear-trumpet up, and cries ‘What?’And when you say ‘Freezing!’ she thinks you say ‘Hot!’

There goes a bell,Ding, dong, dell,A cracked old bell,A shaky old bell,A quavering old bell,—Can anybody tellWhat the cracked old bell is saying?

“Yes, I can tell,” says Dell,“Without measuring or weighing,And this is what it is saying;Ding, dong, dell!Goes the cracked old bell;And this is what it is saying:

“There is an old woman whose name it is Gray,Lives in an old town in an old-fashioned way;You cross an old bridge, and go up an old road,And down an old lane, to find out her abode.

“She wears an old cap that stands ever so high;She looks through old goggles as round as the sky;She keeps an old dog, and a very old cat;She sits in an arm-chair much older than that.

“She crosses her old arms; she shakes her old pate;She only hears half of the tale you relate;She puts her old ear-trumpet up, and cries ‘What?’And when you say ‘Freezing!’ she thinks you say ‘Hot!’

‘She thinks as she sits that she hears a bell ring,As even and slow as a rook on the wing;It booms in her old ear; she shakes her old head;That old bell says,Put out the lights and to bed!”

Ding, dong, dell,Bell, bell, bell!What have you got to tell?What is it the bells say,From Greenwich up to Chelsea,—The bells of wandering fancies,Up and downBy sea and townLike knights in old romances?What is it that the bells say?What is it you hear Dell say?Explaining what the bells say?An August day: an August night;A morning in September;A lily red; a jasmine white;What more do you remember?A harvest-moon, a hunter’s moon;A partridge on the moorland;A stack of wheat; an afternoonIn a yacht out by the Foreland.A foxglove faded, a brook to be waded,Apples and pears grown redder;And the ways of the birds, which, without any words,Say, “Come let us consider!”

An August day: an August night;A morning in September;A lily red; a jasmine white;What more do you remember?

A harvest-moon, a hunter’s moon;A partridge on the moorland;A stack of wheat; an afternoonIn a yacht out by the Foreland.

A foxglove faded, a brook to be waded,Apples and pears grown redder;And the ways of the birds, which, without any words,Say, “Come let us consider!”

Thenthose bells stop,The bells of wandering fanciesAnd Autumn and Summer chances;And a bell rings with a flop,A sort of heavy drop,A distant blunt bark,As if it was made in the dark,And lived underground like a mole,And the rope was as black as a coal.O bell, what a comical voice!What a stupid sort of noise!Do you call it ringing or drumming?And who is it that is coming?It must be a bogie of some sort,A blunt, black, stupid, dumb sort!Hark! what do we hear this bell say?And what do you hear Dell say?“This is the King of the Blackaways,And very black is he,So black you cannot see his face,—Not you! No more can we!Black, black,Breast and back;Teeth and eyes,Lips likewise;Just like a blotTied in a knot!And oh, the land of the Blackaways,Where this King reigns, is a very black place.The grass is black, and so are the trees,The chalk is black, and so are the geese;The milk, the eggs, the flour, and the cheese;The sheets and the shirts; for it all agrees!”Get you gone, Blackaway King, if you please!And dine off black bread, and flesh of black geese,Where the grass grows black on the Blackaway leas!

Thenthose bells stop,The bells of wandering fanciesAnd Autumn and Summer chances;

And a bell rings with a flop,A sort of heavy drop,A distant blunt bark,As if it was made in the dark,And lived underground like a mole,And the rope was as black as a coal.O bell, what a comical voice!What a stupid sort of noise!Do you call it ringing or drumming?And who is it that is coming?It must be a bogie of some sort,A blunt, black, stupid, dumb sort!Hark! what do we hear this bell say?And what do you hear Dell say?

“This is the King of the Blackaways,And very black is he,So black you cannot see his face,—Not you! No more can we!

Black, black,Breast and back;Teeth and eyes,Lips likewise;Just like a blotTied in a knot!

And oh, the land of the Blackaways,Where this King reigns, is a very black place.

The grass is black, and so are the trees,The chalk is black, and so are the geese;The milk, the eggs, the flour, and the cheese;The sheets and the shirts; for it all agrees!”

Get you gone, Blackaway King, if you please!And dine off black bread, and flesh of black geese,Where the grass grows black on the Blackaway leas!

Whatsort of bell is this?A wisdom bell,Or a nonsense bell?What sort of bell is this?“Bell, bell, how high do you hang?”I said to the bell as it rang, as it rang,And “Neveryoumind!” a goblin sang,One who did dwellWithin the bell!Wibbling-wobblingWent the bell,And what had the goblinGot to tell?Why, ill said or well said,This is what the bell said;Wisdom bellOr nonsense bell,This is what the bell said:Betsy Bounce—her taste was such—Of her bonnet thought too much;Strutting up and down she went,(People wondered what she meant).In the villages and townsFolks said, “Look how Betsy BounceTakes her walks around the nation!”She thought this was admiration.“Oh, that all the world,” says she,“Could my lovely bonnet see,See my bonnet, but withoutAll this walking round about!”For in truth the girl got tired,Though her bonnet was admired,Of this walking round the nationAfter people’s admiration.Now observe what came to pass—One fine day this foolish lassFound her bonnet growing, growingOn her head like flowers a-blowing!Higher still, and higher piledGrew the bonnet on the child,Farther back and farther out,Farther down and round about!Rivers sprawling to the seaBoth the strings appeared to be,Till the bow beneath her chinShut her up and shut her in.Oh, how foreigners did stareWhen her bonnet filled the air,Russian, Turk, and Mexican,Folks in India and Japan!Betsy Bounce has her desire:All the world can now admire!Yet perhaps she will not poutWhen the bonnet is worn out.But her parents, being poor,Cannot, for a time, procureBetsy Bounce another hat,So she must keep on with that.

Whatsort of bell is this?A wisdom bell,Or a nonsense bell?What sort of bell is this?

“Bell, bell, how high do you hang?”I said to the bell as it rang, as it rang,And “Neveryoumind!” a goblin sang,One who did dwellWithin the bell!Wibbling-wobblingWent the bell,And what had the goblinGot to tell?Why, ill said or well said,This is what the bell said;Wisdom bellOr nonsense bell,This is what the bell said:

Betsy Bounce—her taste was such—Of her bonnet thought too much;Strutting up and down she went,(People wondered what she meant).

In the villages and townsFolks said, “Look how Betsy BounceTakes her walks around the nation!”She thought this was admiration.

“Oh, that all the world,” says she,“Could my lovely bonnet see,See my bonnet, but withoutAll this walking round about!”

For in truth the girl got tired,Though her bonnet was admired,Of this walking round the nationAfter people’s admiration.

Now observe what came to pass—One fine day this foolish lassFound her bonnet growing, growingOn her head like flowers a-blowing!

Higher still, and higher piledGrew the bonnet on the child,Farther back and farther out,Farther down and round about!

Rivers sprawling to the seaBoth the strings appeared to be,Till the bow beneath her chinShut her up and shut her in.

Oh, how foreigners did stareWhen her bonnet filled the air,Russian, Turk, and Mexican,Folks in India and Japan!

Betsy Bounce has her desire:All the world can now admire!Yet perhaps she will not poutWhen the bonnet is worn out.

But her parents, being poor,Cannot, for a time, procureBetsy Bounce another hat,So she must keep on with that.

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