Punch and Judy,

Fought for a pie,

Punch gave Judy

A sad blow on the eye.

There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile:

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

Solomon Grundy,

Born on a Monday,

Christened on Tuesday,

Married on Wednesday,

Took ill on Thursday,

Worse on Friday,

Died on Saturday,

Buried on Sunday:

This is the end

Of Solomon Grundy.

Robin the Bobbin, the big-bellied Ben,

He eat more meat than fourscore men;

He eat a cow, he eat a calf,

He eat a butcher and a half;

He eat a church, he eat a steeple,

He eat the priest and all the people!

A cow and a calf,

An ox and a half,

A church and a steeple,

And all the good people,

And yet he complain'd that his stomach wasn't full.

There was a fat man of Bombay,

Who was smoking one sunshiny day,

When a bird, called a snipe,

Flew away with his pipe,

Which vex'd the fat man of Bombay.

My dear, do you know,

How a long time ago,

Two poor little children,

Whose names I don't know,

Were stolen away on a fine summer's day,

And left in a wood, as I've heard people say.

And when it was night,

So sad was their plight,

The sun it went down,

And the moon gave no light!

They sobb'd and they sigh'd, and they bitterly cried,

And the poor little things, they lay down and died.

And when they were dead,

The Robins so red

Brought strawberry leaves,

And over them spread;

And all the day long,

They sung them this song,

"Poor babes in the wood! poor babes in the wood!

And don't you remember the babes in the wood?"

There was a man, and he had naught,

And robbers came to rob him;

He crept up to the chimney pot,

And then they thought they had him.

But he got down on t'other side,

And then they could not find him;

He ran fourteen miles in fifteen days,

And never look'd behind him.

There was a little man,

And he had a little gun,

And he went to the brook,

And he shot a little rook;

And he took it home

To his old wife Joan,

And told her to make up a fire,

While he went back,

To fetch the little drake;

But when he got there,

The drake was fled for fear,

And like an old novice,

He turn'd back again.

Little Tommy Tittlemouse

Lived in a little house;

He caught fishes

In other men's ditches.

Little King Boggen he built a fine hall.

Pye-crust, and pastry-crust, that was the wall;

The windows were made of black-puddings and white,

And slated with pancakes—you ne'er saw the like.

The lion and the unicorn

Were fighting for the crown;

The lion beat the unicorn

All round about the town.

Some gave them white bread,

And some gave them brown;

Some gave them plum-cake,

And sent them out of town.

There was a jolly miller

Lived on the river Dee,

He look'd upon his pillow,

And there he saw a flee.

Oh! Mr. Flea,

You have been biting me,

And you must die:

So he crack'd his bones

Upon the stones,

And there he let him lie.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son,

Stole a pig, and away he run!

The pig was eat, and Tom was beat,

And Tom went roaring down the street.

In Arthur's court Tom Thumb* did live,

A man of mickle might;

The best of all the table round,

And eke a doughty knight.

His stature but an inch in height,

Or quarter of a span;

Then think you not this little knight

Was proved a valiant man?

His father was a ploughman plain,

His mother milk'd the cow,

Yet how that they might have a son

They knew not what to do:

Until such time this good old man

To learned Merlin goes,

And there to him his deep desires

In secret manner shows.

How in his heart he wish'd to have

A child, in time to come,

To be his heir, though it might be

No bigger than his thumb.

Of which old Merlin thus foretold,

That he his wish should have,

And so this son of stature small

The charmer to him gave.

No blood nor bones in him should be,

In shape, and being such

That men should hear him speak, but not

His wandering shadow touch.

But so unseen to go or come,—

Whereas it pleas'd him still;

Begot and born in half an hour,

To fit his father's will.

And in four minutes grew so fast

That he became so tall

As was the ploughman's thumb in height,

And so they did him call—

Tom Thumb, the which the fairy queen

There gave him to his name,

Who, with her train of goblins grim,

Unto his christening came.

Whereas she cloth'd him richly brave,

In garments fine and fair,

Which lasted him for many years

In seemly sort to wear.

His hat made of an oaken leaf,

His shirt a spider's web,

Both light and soft for those his limbs

That were so smally bred.

His hose and doublet thistle-down,

Together weaved full fine;

His stockings of an apple green,

Made of the outward rind;

His garters were two little hairs

Pull'd from his mother's eye;

His boots and shoes, a mouse's skin,

Were tann'd most curiously

Thus like a lusty gallant, he

Adventured forth to go,

With other children in the streets,

His pretty tricks to show.

Where he for counters, pins, and points,

And cherry-stones did play,

Till he amongst those gamesters young

Had lost his stock away.

Yet could he soon renew the same,

Whereas most nimbly he

Would dive into their cherry-bags,

And their partaker be,

Unseen or felt by any one,

Until this scholar shut

This nimble youth into a box,

Wherein his pins he put.

Of whom to be reveng'd, he took,

In mirth and pleasant game,

Black pots and glasses, which he hung

Upon a bright sun-beam.

The other boys to do the like,

In pieces broke them quite;

For which they were most soundly whipt;

Whereat he laughed outright.

And so Tom Thumb restrained was,

From these his sports and play;

And by his mother after that,

Compell'd at home to stay.

Until such time his mother went

A-milking of her kine;

Where Tom unto a thistle fast

She linked with a twine.

A thread that held him to the same,

For fear the blustering wind

Should blow him hence,—that so she might

Her son in safety find.

But mark the hap! a cow came by,

And up the thistle eat;

Poor Tom withal, that, as a dock,

Was made the red cow's meat.

Who, being miss'd, his mother went

Him calling everywhere;

Where art thou, Tom? Where art thou, Tom?

Quoth he, here, mother, here!

Within the red cow's stomach here,

Your son is swallowed up:

The which into her fearful heart,

Most careful dolours put.

Meanwhile the cow was troubled much,

And soon releas'd Tom Thumb;

No rest she had till out her mouth,

In bad plight he did come.

Now after this, in sowing time,

His father would him have

Into the field to drive his plough,

And thereupon him gave—

A whip made of a barley-straw,

To drive the cattle on;

Where, in a furrow'd land new sown,

Poor Tom was lost and gone.

Now by a raven of great strength,

Away he thence was borne,

And carried in the carrion's beak,

Even like a grain of corn,

Unto a giant's castle top,

In which he let him fall;

Where soon the giant swallowed up

His body, clothes, and all.

But soon the giant spat him out,

Three miles into the sea;

Whereas a fish soon took him up,

And bore him thence away.

Which lusty fish was after caught,

And to king Arthur sent;

Where Tom was found, and made his dwarf,

Whereas his days he spent.

Long time in lively jollity,

Belov'd of all the court;

And none like Tom was then esteem'd,

Among the noble sort.

Amongst his deeds of courtship done,

His highness did command,

That he should dance a galliard brave

Upon his queen's left hand.

The which he did, and for the same

The king his signet gave,

Which Tom about his middle wore,

Long time a girdle brave.

How, after this, the king would not

Abroad for pleasure go

But still Tom Thumb must ride with him,

Placed on his saddle-bow.

Whereon a time when, as it rain'd,

Tom Thumb most nimbly crept

In at a button-hole, where he

Within his bosom slept.

And being near his highness' heart,

He crav'd a wealthy boon,

A liberal gift, the which the king

Commanded to be done.

For to relieve his father's wants,

And mother's, being old;

Which was, so much of silver coin

As well his arms could hold.

And so away goes lusty Tom,

With threepence on his back,

A heavy burthen, which might make

His wearied limbs to crack.

So travelling two days and nights,

With labour and great pain,

He came into the house whereat

His parents did remain;

Which was but half a mile in space

From good king Arthur's court,

The which, in eight and forty hours,

He went in weary sort.

But coming to his father's door,

He there such entrance had

As made his parents both rejoice,

And he thereat was glad.

His mother in her apron took

Her gentle son in haste,

And by the fire-side, within

A walnut-shell him placed;

Whereas they feasted him three days

Upon a hazel-nut,

Whereon he rioted so long,

He them to charges put;

And thereupon grew wond'rous sick,

Through eating too much meat,

Which was sufficient for a month

For this great man to eat.

But now his business call'd him forth

King Arthur's court to see,

Whereas no longer from the same

He could a stranger be.

But yet a few small April drops

Which settled in the way,

His long and weary journey forth

Did hinder and so stay.

Until his careful father took

A birding trunk in sport,

And with one blast, blew this his son

Into king Arthur's court.

Now he with tilts and tournaments

Was entertained so,

That all the best of Arthur's knights

Did him much pleasure show:

As good Sir Lancelot du Lake,

Sir Tristain, and Sir Guy;

Yet none compar'd with brave Tom Thumb

For knightly chivalry.

In honour of which noble day,

And for his lady's sake,

A challenge in king Arthur's court

Tom Thumb did bravely make.

'Gainst whom these noble knights did run,

Sir Chinon and the rest,

Yet still Tom Thumb, with matchless might,

Did bear away the best.

At last Sir Lancelot du Lake

In manly sort came in,

And with this stout and hardy knight

A battle did begin.

Which made the courtiers all aghast,

For there that valiant man,

Through Lancelot's steed, before them all,

In nimble manner ran.

Yea, horse and all, with spear and shield,

As hardy he was seen,

But only by king Arthur's self

And his admired queen;

Who from her finger took a ring,

Through which Tom Thumb made way,

Not touching it, in nimble sort,

As it was done in play.

He likewise cleft the smallest hair

From his fair lady's head,

Not hurting her whose even hand

Him lasting honours bred.

Such were his deeds and noble acts

In Arthur's court there shone,

As like in all the world beside

Was hardly seen or known.

Now at these sports he toil'd himself,

That he a sickness took,

Through which all manly exercise

He carelessly forsook.

When lying on his bed sore sick,

King Arthur's doctor came,

With cunning skill, by physic's art,

To ease and cure the same.

His body being so slender small,

This cunning doctor took

A fine perspective glass, with which

He did in secret look—

Into his sickened body down,

And therein saw that Death

Stood ready in his wasted frame

To cease his vital breath.

His arms and legs consum'd as small

As was a spider's web,

Through which his dying hour grew on,

For all his limbs grew dead.

His face no bigger than an ant's,

Which hardly could be seen;

The loss of which renowned knight

Much grieved the king and queen.

And so with peace and quietness

He left this earth below;

And up into the fairy-land

His ghost did fading go,

Whereas the fairy-queen receiv'd,

With heavy mourning cheer,

The body of this valiant knight,

Whom she esteem'd so dear.

For with her dancing nymphs in green,

She fetch'd him from his bed,

With music and sweet melody,

So soon as life was fled;

For whom king Arthur and his knights

Full forty days did mourn;

And, in remembrance of his name,

That was so strangely born—

He built a tomb of marble gray,

And year by year did come

To celebrate ye mournful death

And burial of Tom Thumb.

Whose fame still lives in England here,

Amongst the country sort;

Of whom our wives and children small

Tell tales of pleasant sport.

Bryan O'Lin, and his wife, and wife's mother,

They all went over a bridge together:

The bridge was broken, and they all fell in,

The deuce go with all! quoth Bryan O'Lin.

Old Mother Goose, when

She wanted to wander,

Would ride through the air

On a very fine gander.

Mother Goose had a house,

'Twas built in a wood,

Where an owl at the door

For sentinel stood.

This is her son Jack,

A plain-looking lad,

He is not very good,

Nor yet very bad.

She sent him to market,

A live goose he bought,

Here, mother, says he,

It will not go for nought.

Jack's goose and her gander,

Grew very fond;

They'd both eat together,

Or swim in one pond.

Jack found one morning,

As I have been told,

His goose had laid him

An egg of pure gold.

Jack rode to his mother,

The news for to tell,

She call'd him a good boy,

And said it was well.

Jack sold his gold egg

To a rogue of a Jew,

Who cheated him out of

The half of his due.

Then Jack went a courting,

A lady so gay,

As fair as the lily,

And sweet as the May.

The Jew and the Squire

Came behind his back,

And began to belabour

The sides of poor Jack.

The old Mother Goose,

That instant came in,

And turned her son Jack

Into fam'd Harlequin.

She then with her wand,

Touch'd the lady so fine,

And turn'd her at once

Into sweet Columbine.

The gold egg into the sea

Was thrown then,—

When Jack jump'd in,

And got the egg back again.

The Jew got the goose,

Which he vow'd he would kill,

Resolving at once

His pockets to fill.

Jack's mother came in,

And caught the goose soon,

And mounting its back,

Flew up to the moon.

I'll tell you a story

About Jack a Nory,—

And now my story's begun:

I'll tell you another

About Jack his brother,—

And now my story's done.

Three wise men of Gotham

Went to sea in a bowl:

And if the bowl had been stronger,

My song would have been longer.

Robin and Richard were two pretty men;

They laid in bed till the clock struck ten;

Then up starts Robin, and looks at the sky,

Oh! brother Richard, the sun's very high:

The bull's in the barn threshing the corn,

The cock's on the dunghill blowing his horn,

The cat's at the fire frying of fish,

The dog's in the pantry breading his dish.

My lady Wind, my lady Wind,

Went round about the house to find

A chink to get her foot in:

She tried the key-hole in the door,

She tried the crevice in the floor,

And drove the chimney soot in.

And then one night when it was dark,

She blew up such a tiny spark,

That all the house was pothered:

From it she raised up such a flame,

As flamed away to Belting Lane,

And White Cross folks were smothered.

And thus when once, my little dears,

A whisper reaches itching ears,

The same will come, you'll find:

Take my advice, restrain the tongue,

Remember what old nurse has sung

Of busy lady Wind!

Old Abram Brown is dead and gone,

You'll never see him more;

He used to wear a long brown coat,

That button'd down before.

A dog and a cock,

A journey once took,

They travell'd along till 'twas late;

The dog he made free

In the hollow of a tree,

And the cock on the boughs of it sate.

The cock nothing knowing,

In the morn fell a crowing,

Upon which comes a fox to the tree;

Says he, I declare,

Your voice is above,

All the creatures I ever did see.

Oh! would you come down

I the fav'rite might own,

Said the cock, there's a porter below;

If you will go in,

I promise I'll come down.

So he went—and was worried for it too.

Little Tom Tittlemouse,

Lived in a bell-house;

The bell-house broke,

And Tom Tittlemouse woke.

Tommy kept a chandler's shop,

Richard went to buy a mop,

Tommy gave him such a knock,

That sent him out of his chandler's shop,

When I was a little girl, about seven years old,

I hadn't got a petticoat, to cover me from the cold;

Pemmy was a pretty girl,

But Fanny was a better;

Pemmy looked like any churl,

When little Fanny let her.

Pemmy had a pretty nose,

But Fanny had a better;

Pemmy oft would come to blows,

But Fanny would not let her.

Pemmy had a pretty doll,

But Fanny had a better;

Pemmy chatter'd like a poll,

When little Fanny let her.

Pemmy had a pretty song,

But Fanny had a better;

Pemmy would sing all day long,

But Fanny would not let her.

Pemmy lov'd a pretty lad,

And Fanny lov'd a better;

And Pemmy wanted for to wed,

But Fanny would not let her.

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief;

Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef:

I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home;

Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone.

I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not in;

Taffy came to my house and stole a silver pin:

I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed,

I took up a poker and flung it at his head.

Little Jack Horner sat in the corner,

Eating a Christmas pie;

He put in his thumb, and he took out a plum,

And said, "What a good boy am I!"

There was a king and he had three daughter,

And they all lived in a basin of water;

The basin bended,

My story's ended.

If the basin had been stronger,

My story would have been longer.

The man in the moon,

Came tumbling down,

And ask'd his way to Norwich,

He went by the south,

And burnt his mouth

With supping cold pease-porridge.

Our saucy boy Dick,

Had a nice little stick

Cut from a hawthorn tree;

And with this pretty stick,

He thought he could beat

A boy much bigger than he.

But the boy turned round,

And hit him a rebound,

Which did so frighten poor Dick,

That, without more delay,

He ran quite away,

And over a hedge he jumped quick.

Moss was a little man, and a little mare did buy,

For kicking and for sprawling none her could come nigh;

Moss got up next morning to catch her fast asleep,

And round about the frosty fields so nimbly he did creep.

Dead in a ditch he found her, and glad to find her there,

So I'll tell you by and bye, how Moss caught his mare.

Rise! stupid, rise! he thus to her did say;

Arise, you beast, you drowsy beast, get up without delay,

For I must ride you to the town, so don't lie sleeping there;

He put the halter round her neck—so Moss caught his mare.