  I. Bring her here, my little Alice, Poor Jemima Brown! Make the little cradle ready! Softly lay her down! Once she lived in ease and comfort, Slept on couch of down; Now upon the floor she's lying, Poor Jemima Brown! II. Once she was a lovely dolly, Rosy-cheeked and fair, With her eyes of brightest azure And her golden hair; Now, alas! no hair's remaining On her poor old crown; And the crown itself is broken, Poor Jemima Brown! III. Once her legs were smooth and comely, And her nose was straight; And that arm, now hanging lonely, And she was as finely dressed as Any doll in town. Now she's old, forlorn, and ragged, Poor Jemima Brown! IV. Yet be kind to her, my Alice; 'Tis no fault of hers If her wilful little mistress Other dolls prefers. Did she pull her pretty hair out? Did she break her crown? Did she pull her arms and legs off, Poor Jemima Brown? V. Little hands that did the mischief, You must do your best Now to give the poor old dolly Comfortable rest. So we'll make the cradle ready, And we'll lay her down; And we'll ask Papa to mend her, Poor Jemima Brown! |
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