A pretty little girl she was, and good as she could be.

Her father often kiss’d her; and her mother loved her so,

That if the king had pledged his crown for her, she had said—no.

Her grandmother, who lived in a village through a wood,

Had made her little granddaughter a nice red riding-hood,

This riding-hood she used to wear whenever she walk’d out;

And all the neighbours loved her, and to see her often came;

And little Dame Red-riding-hood they call’d her for her name.

One beautiful fine morning when her mother had been churning,

This little girl upon the hearth some nice sweet cakes was turning:

And whisper’d softly to herself, how well our oven bakes!

Oh, how I wish that grandmamma could taste these nice sweet cakes!

Her mother who was close behind, and heard her little mutter,

Then you shall take her some, she said, with some of my fresh butter.

But loiter not upon the road, nor from the footpath stray,

For many wicked folks there be might harm thee by the way.

For she old granny loved as much as most love a new toy.

She put on her red-riding-hood, and started off in haste;

All eager for her grandmother her nice sweet cakes to taste.

And thus as on she trotted with her basket on her arm,

She little thought that any one would wish to do her harm.

Now when she came into the wood, through which the footpath lay,

The birds were singing all around, the flowers were blooming gay.

Such yellow buttercups she saw, such violets white and blue,

Such primroses, such sweet-briars, and honey-suckles too;

That, oh! she thought within herself, I wish Mamma were here:

I must just pick these pretty flowers which smell so fresh and sweet:

’Twill be so nice to take her home a nose-gay for a treat.

She told me not to loiter here, nor from the footpath stray;

And so I wont stop very long, nor wander far away.

And so she stopp’d, nor thought of harm, because she knew not what:

Enough it should have been to know—Mamma had told her not.

And from the path she stray’d away, and pick’d a thousand flowers;

And all the birds did welcome her within their leafy bowers.

But, as it so fell out, a wolf was basking in the grass,

And soon with his sharp hazel eyes espied the little lass.

How do you do, my dear? said he; what brings you to my wood?

Now though his coat was very rough, his words were soft and kind;

And not a single thought of fear e’er cross’d her simple mind.

And so she freely said,—I go to see my Granny, Sir,

Who lives in yonder village in the cottage near the fir.

I am her little pet, you know, and take her nice sweet cakes—

Good bye; said he, and brush’d away thro’ bushes and thro’ brakes.

And not five minutes had pass’d by since he had quitted her,

Before he reach’d the village and the cottage near the fir.

He rubb’d and scratch’d against the door; but she was ill in bed;

And cried, who knocks at Martha’s door, and poor old Martha wakes?

It is your little pet, said he, who brings you nice sweet cakes.

God help you, dearest child, she cried, so pull the string you know;

And up the latch will go, my love, and you may enter so.

Then up he jump’d to reach the string, and open flew the door;

And in he walk’d, and fasten’d it, just as it was before.

Alas! alas!—as you or I on bread and milk would sup,

The greedy wolf this poor old dame he gobbled fairly up.

But now, ashamed of what he’d done, he jump’d into her bed;

And put her gown upon his back, her cap upon his head.

Who long’d to tell her Granny of the kind wolf she had met.

And gently tapping at the door, she whisper’d soft and still;

And the false wolf spake huskily, as he were very ill:

Who knocks at Martha’s door, he cried, and poor old Martha wakes?

It is her little pet, said she, who brings her nice sweet cakes.

God help you, dearest, cried the wolf, so pull the string you know;

And up the latch will go, my love, and you may enter so.

Then up she jump’d to reach the string, and open flew the door;

And in she stepp’d, and fasten’d it, just as it was before.

Now take off your red riding-hood, and come to me in bed:

The little damsel, as he spoke, just saw his hairy nose:

Yet now she did as she was bid, and so pull’d off her clothes.

Oh! Granny, what rough arms you’ve got! I’m not afraid, cried she:

Rough arms? my dearest child, he said; better for hugging thee.

Oh! Granny, what sharp eyes you’ve got! I’m half afraid, cried she:

Sharp eyes? my dearest child, he said; better for seeing thee.

Oh! Granny, what long ears you’ve got! I’m quite afraid, cried she:

Long ears? my dearest child, he said; better for hearing thee.

Oh! Granny, what wide lips you’ve got! I think you’ll swallow me:

Wide lips? my dearest child, he said; better for kissing thee.

And then—he would have eat her up, but he could eat no more.

So little people all take heed, and do as you are bid;

Lest you some day should meet a wolf, as this poor maiden did.