MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB
Little Mary was given a woolly-nosed lamb,
And she fed it on ginger and gooseberry jam.
One day Mary was hungry, and longed for lamb chops,
So into the oven her lambkin she pops.
When the oven was opened, Mary opened her eyes,
For, what do you think? There was such a surprise;
In her hurry the oven she’d forgotten to heat,
So out jumped the lamb, and forgetting to bleat,
It said, “Mary, my dear, if there’s no gooseberry jam,
I can lunch very well on potatoes and ham.”
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
THE RAM OF DERBY
As I was going to Derby, sir,
All on a market day,
I met the finest ram, sir,
That ever was fed upon hay.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
This ram was fat behind, sir,
This ram was fat before,
This ram was ten yards high, sir,
Indeed he was no more.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The wool upon his back, sir,
Reached up unto the sky,
The eagles made their nests there, sir,
I heard the young ones cry.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The wool upon his belly, sir,
It dragged upon the ground,
It was sold in Derby town, sir,
For forty thousand pound.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The space between his horns, sir,
Was as far as a man could reach,
And there they built a pulpit, sir,
For the parson there to preach.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The teeth that were in his mouth, sir,
Were like a regiment of men,
And the tongue that hung between them, sir,
Would have dined them twice and again.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
This ram jumped o’er a wall, sir,
His tail caught on a briar,
It reached from Derby town, sir,
All into Leicestershire.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
And of this tail so long, sir,
’Twas ten miles and an ell,
They made a goodly rope, sir,
To toll the market bell.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
This ram had four legs to walk, sir,
This ram had four legs to stand,
And every leg he had, sir,
Stood on an acre of land.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The butcher that killed this ram, sir,
Was drowned in the blood,
And all the good people of Derby, sir,
Were carried away in the flood.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
All the maids in Derby, sir,
Came begging for his horns,
To take them to the cooper’s, sir,
To make them milking gawns.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The little boys of Derby, sir,
They came to beg his eyes,
To kick about the streets, sir,
For they were football size.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
The tanner that tanned his hide, sir,
Would never be poor any more,
For when he had tanned and stretched it, sir,
It covered all Sinfin Moor.
Daddle-i-day, etc.
Indeed, sir, this is true, sir,
I never was taught to lie,
And had you been to Derby, sir,
You’d have seen it, as well as I.
Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,
Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.
PUSSY
Jack Sprat had a cat,
It had but one ear;
That he cut off,
And made small beer.
PUSSY
Child
“Wherefore wash you, Pussy, say,
Every half-hour through the day?”
Pussy
“Why? Because ’twould look so bad
If a dirty coat I had;
Little face and little feet,
They too must be always neat.”
So says Pussy, and I’ve heard
All give her a handsome word,
In the parlour she may be,
People take her on the knee,
Why all love her I can tell,—
It is for washing herself so well.
Pussy sat upon a wall,
Taking a little fresh air,
A neighbour’s little dog came by—
“O Pussy! are you there?”
“Good morning, Mistress Pussy-cat,
Pray tell me how you do,”
“Quite well, I thank you,” Puss replied,
“And, Doggy, how are you?”
Pussy-cat Mole
Jumped over a coal,
And in her best petticoat
Burnt a great hole.
Poor pussy’s weeping,
She’ll get no more milk,
Until her best petticoat’s
Mended with silk.
“Leedle! leedle! leedle! our cat’s dead.”
“How did she die?” “Wi’ a sair head.”
All ye who ken’d her
When she was alive,
Come to her burying
At half-past five.
“Good day, Miss Cat, so brisk and gay,
How is it that alone you stay?
And what is it you cook to day?”
“Bread so white, and milk so sweet,
Will it please you sit and eat?”
Pussy-cat high, pussy-cat low,
Pussy-cat was a fine teazer of tow.
Pussy-cat she came into a barn,
With her bagpipes under her arm.
And then she told a tale to me,
How mousie had married a humble bee.
Then was I indeed ever so glad,
That mousie had married so clever a lad.
DERBY
“Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where have you been?”
“I’ve been to see grandmother over the green.”
“What did she give you?” “Milk in a can.”
“What did you say for it?” “Thank you, Grandam.”
KITTENS
Now we must name you little creatures,
After your several gifts and natures;
Velvet-skin, thou shalt be;
Softly-Sneaking, call I thee;
This I surname Catch-the-Mouse,
But that one is Thief-o’-th’-House.
They grew up handsome as could be;
Velvet-skin lay on the knee,
Catch-the-Mouse for mice went seeking;
In the barn went Softly-Sneaking;
Thief-o’-th’-House indulged his wishes
’Mid the kitchen plates and dishes.
“What is she doing, Miss Cat?
Is she sleeping, or waking, or what is she at?”
“I am not asleep, I am quite wide awake,
Perhaps you would know what I’m going to make;
I’m melting some butter, and warming some beer,
Will it please you sit down and partake of my cheer?”
Three cats sat at the fireside,
With a basketful of coal dust,
Coal dust! coal dust!
With a basketful of coal dust.
Said one little cat,
To the other little cat,
“If you don’t speak, I must;
I must,
If you don’t speak, I must.”
Here is puss in the study; how cunning she looks!
She likes rats and mice far better than books.
Ah! that poor little mouse, it is out of its pain,
And will never feel pussy’s sharp talons again.
I hope it has not left some young ones at home,
Who with hunger may die ere their mother shall come.
And yet ’twould be wrong to say puss is not good,
For the rats and the mice, you know, serve her for food;
And though we may pity the poor little mice,
Yet we don’t like to lose our cheese, butter, and rice.
THE COW
Most parts of the cow are useful and good,
For leather, for lanthorns, for candles, or food;
And before she is dead, we owe much to the cow,
Her uses are great—let us think of them now.
Every morning and evening how quiet she stands
When the farmer’s boy comes, stool and pail in his hands;
And when he returns with the milk fresh and sweet,
To most little children it proves a great treat.
Mama likes the cream to put into the tea,
And to make us nice puddings some milk there must be;
Then from milk we have butter and cheese too, you know,
So that all these good things we receive from the cow.
The cow has a horn, and the fish has a gill;
The horse has a hoof, and the duck has a bill;
The bird has a wing, that on high he may sail;
And the lion a mane, and the monkey a tail;
And they swim, or they fly, or they walk, or they eat,
With fin, or with wing, or with bill, or with feet.
And Charles has two hands, with five fingers to each,
On purpose to hold with, to work, and to reach;
No birds, beasts, or fishes, for work or for play,
Has anything half so convenient as they:
But if he don’t use them, and keep them in use,
He’d better have had but two legs like a goose.
There was a piper had a cow,
And he had nocht to give her,
He took his pipes and play’d a spring,
And bade the cow consider;
The cow consider’d with hersel’
That music wad ne’er fill her;
“Gie me a pickle clean ait-strae,
And sell your wind for siller.”
“Let us go to the wood,” says this pig;
“What to do there?” says that pig;
“To look for my mother,” says this pig;
“What to do with her?” says that pig;
“Kiss her to death,” says this pig.
CORNWALL
“Whose little pigs are these, these, these,
And whose little pigs are these?”
“They are Johnny Cook’s,
I know them by their looks,
And I found them among the peas.”
“Go pound them! go pound them!”
“I dare not for my life,
For though I don’t love Johnny Cook,
I dearly love his wife.”
I had a little hobby-horse,
His name was Neddy Grey,
His head was stuffed with pea-straw,
His tail was made of hay.
He could nibble, he could trot,
He could carry the mustard pot,
From the table to the shop.
Whoa! Neddy Grey.
THE NANNY-GOAT IN THE GARDEN
(From the French.)
“Ho! Johnnie!” cries the master, “Ho!
To chase that Nanny quickly go,
She eats my grapes with eager haste,
My garden soon will be a waste.”
Johnnie goes, but returns not,
Nor chases the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
“Ho! Dog!” says the master,
“Go bite that Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.”
The Dog goes, but returns not,
Nor bites the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
“Ho! Whip!” says the master,
“Go thrash that Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.”
The Whip goes, and returns not,
Nor thrashes the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
“Ho! Fire!” says the master,
“Go burn that Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.”
The Fire goes, and returns not,
Nor burns the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
“Ho! Water!” says the master,
“Go drown that Fire,
That burns not the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.”
The Water goes, and returns not,
Nor drowns the Fire,
That burns not the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
“Ho! Ass!” says the master,
“Go drink that Water,
That drowns not the Fire,
That burns not the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.”
The Ass goes, and returns not,
Nor drinks the Water,
That drowns not the Fire,
That burns not the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
“Ho! Sword!” says the master,
“Go kill that Ass there,
That drinks not the Water,
That drowns not the Fire,
That burns not the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.”
The Sword goes, and returns not,
Nor kills the Ass,
That drinks not the Water,
That drowns not the Fire,
That burns not the Whip,
That thrashes not the Doggie,
That bites not the Johnnie,
Who chases not the Nanny, that eats the grapes,
Down in the garden.
Says the master: “Then ’tis I
That thither to the chase must hie;”
He takes a bound across the grass,
And the Sword runs to kill the Ass,
The Ass to Water runs and drinks,
When Water runs the Fire shrinks,
The Fire to burn the Whip now hastens,
The Whip in haste the slow Dog chastens,
And Johnnie now he runs to bite,
Who quick on Nanny vents his spite,
Nanny who ate the grapes of late,
And master shuts the garden gate.
The fox looked out one moonlight night,
And called to the stars to give him light,
For he’d a long way to go, over the snow,
Before he could reach his den-oh!
Old Mother Prittle-Prattle jumped out of bed,
And out of the window she popped her head,
“John! John! John! the grey goose is gone,
And the fox is off to his den-oh!”
The fox he got quite safe to his den,
And to his little ones—eight—nine—ten,
The fox and his wife they ate the goose,
And the little ones picked the bones-oh!
Poor Dog Bright!
Ran off with all his might,
Because the cat was after him,
Poor Dog Bright!
Poor cat Fright!
Ran off with all her might,
Because the dog was after her,
Poor Cat Fright!
CHARM FOR AN INJURED HORSE
Our Lord forth raide,
His foal’s foot slade.
Our Lord down-lighted,
His foal’s foot righted.
Saying, “Flesh to flesh, blood to blood,
And bane to bane.”
In our Lord His name.
FROM POOR ROBIN'S ALMANAC (1733)
Observe which way the hedgehog builds her nest,
To front the north, or south, or east, or west;
For if ’tis true that common people say,
The wind will blow the quite contrary way.
If by some secret art the hedgehog know,
So long before, the way the wind will blow,
She has an art which many a person lacks,
That thinks himself fit to make our Almanacs.
Into woods where beasts can talk,
I went out to take a walk,
A rabbit sitting in a bush
Peeped at me, and then cried, “Hush!”
Presently to me it ran,
And its story thus began:—
“You have got a gun, I see,
Perhaps you’ll point it soon at me,
And when I am shot, alack!
Pop me in your little sack.
When upon my fate I think
I grow faint, my spirits sink.”
“Pretty rabbit, do not eat
Gardener’s greens or farmer’s wheat,
If such thieving you begin,
You must pay it with your skin;
Honestly your living get,
And you may be happy yet.”
See the little rabbits,
How they run and sweat;
Some shoot ’em with a gun,
Others catch ’em with a net.
THE HUNTING OF THE WREN
“Will ye go to the wood?” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“Will ye go to the wood?” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“Will ye go to the wood?” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“Will ye go to the wood?” quo’ brither and kin.
“What to do there?” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“What to do there?” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“What to do there?” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“What to do there?” quo’ brither and kin.
“To slay the wren,” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“To slay the wren,” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“To slay the wren,” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“To slay the wren,” quo’ brither and kin.
“What way will ye get her hame?” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“What way will ye get her hame?” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“What way will ye get her hame?” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“What way will ye get her hame?” quo’ brither and kin.
“We’ll hire cart and horse,” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“We’ll hire cart and horse,” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“We’ll hire cart and horse,” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“We’ll hire cart and horse,” quo’ brither and kin.
“What way will ye get her in?” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“What way will ye get her in?” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“What way will ye get her in?” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“What way will ye get her in?” quo’ brither and kin.
“We’ll drive down the door cheeks,” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“We’ll drive down the door cheeks,” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“We’ll drive down the door cheeks,” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“We’ll drive down the door cheeks,” quo’ brither and kin.
“I’ll hae a wing,” quo’ Fozie Mozie;
“I’ll hae anither,” quo’ Johnnie Rednosie;
“I’ll hae a leg,” quo’ Foslin ’ene;
“And I’ll hae anither,” quo’ brither and kin.
“Dicky bird, dicky bird, where are you going?”
“I’m going to the fields to see the men mowing.”
“Don’t you go there, or else you’ll be shot,
Baked in a pudding, and boiled in a pot.”
“Who’ll gu to th’ wood?” says Robin a Bobbin,
“Who’ll gu to th’ wood?” says Richard to Robbin,
“Who’ll gu to th’ wood?” says Johnny alone,
“Who’ll gu to th’ wood, lads, every one?”
“What muns do theer?” says Robbin a Bobbin,
“What muns do theer?” says Richard to Robbin,
“What muns do theer?” says Johnny alone,
“What muns do theer, lads, every one?”
“Gu a-shooting tum-tits,” says Robbin a Bobbin,
“Gu a-shooting tum-tits,” says Richard to Robbin,
“Gu a-shooting tum-tits,” says Johnny alone,
“Gu a-shooting tum-tits, lads, every one.”
ESSEX
The robin and the red-breast,
The robin and the wren;
If you take out o’ their nest,
You’ll never thrive agen!
The robin and the red-breast,
The martin and the swallow;
If you touch one o’ their eggs,
Bad luck will surely follow!
ESSEX
A robin and a titter-wren
Are God Almighty’s cock and hen;
A martin and a swallow
Are God Almighty’s shirt and collar.
The robin red-breast and the wran
Coost out about the parritch pan;
And ere the robin got a spune,
The wran she had the parritch dune.
Robin, robin red-breast,
Laverock, and the wren,
If you harry their nest
You’ll never thrive agen.
1600
What bird so sings, yet does so wail?
’Tis philomel, the nightingale;
“Jugg! jugg! terue!” she cries,
And hating earth to heaven she flies.
ESSEX
Eat birds, eat, and fear not,
Here lie I and care not,
But if my master should happen to come,
With his short whip, and his long gun,
You must fly and I must run.
I will sing you a song
Of the days that are long,
Of the woodcock and the sparrow,
Of the little dog that burnt his tail,
And shall be whipt to-morrow.
DORSET RIME
Vlee away, blackie cap!
Don’t ye hurt measter’s crap,
While I vill my tatie trap,
And lie down and teak a nap.
DEVONSHIRE CUCKOO RIME
March he sits upon his perch;
April he soundeth his bell;
May he sings both night and day;
June he altereth his tune;
And July—away to fly.
When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn,
Sell your cow and buy your corn;
But when she comes to the full bit,
Sell your corn and buy you sheep.
In April the coo-coo can sing her song by rote;
In June of time she cannot sing a note;
At first koo-koo! koo-koo! sings still—
At last koo-ke! koo-ke! koo-ke!—six koo-kees to one koo.
NORFOLK
When the weirling shrieks at night,
Sow the seed with the morning light;
But when the cuckoo swells its throat,
Harvest flies from the mooncall’s[A] note.
