A SHROPSHIRE BALLAD
It hails, it rains, in Merry-Cock land,
It hails, it rains, both great and small,
And all the little children in Merry-Cock land,
They have need to play at ball.
They toss’d the ball so high,
They toss’d the ball so low,
Amongst all the Jews’ cattle,
And amongst the Jews below.
Out came one of the Jew’s daughters,
Dressed all in green,
“Come my sweet Saluter,
And fetch the ball again.”
“I durst not come, I must not come,
Unless all my little playfellows come along,
For if my mother sees me at the gate,
She’ll cause my blood to fall.”
She show’d me an apple as green as grass,
She show’d me a gay gold ring,
She show’d me a cherry as red as blood,
And so she entic’d me in.
She took me in the parlour,
She laid me down to sleep,
With a Bible at my head,
And a Testament at my feet.
And if my playfellows quere for me,
Tell them I am asleep.
I had a true love over the sea,
Parla me dixi dominee!
He sent me love tokens one, two, three,
With a rotrum potrum trumpitrorum,
Parla me dixi dominee!
He sent me a book that none could read,
He sent me a web without a thread.
He sent me a cherry without a stone,
He sent me a bird without a bone.
How can there be a book that none can read?
How can there be a web without a thread?
How can there be a cherry without a stone?
How can there be a bird without a bone?
When the book’s unwritten none can read;
When the web’s in the fleece it has no thread.
When the cherry’s in the bloom it has no stone;
When the bird’s in the egg it has no bone.
With a rotrum potrum trumpitrorum,
Parla me dixi dominee!
DREAM OF A GIRL WHO LIVED AT SEVENOAKS
Seven sweet singing birds up in a tree,
Seven swift sailing ships white upon the sea;
Seven bright weather-cocks shining in the sun;
Seven slim race-horses ready for a run;
Seven golden butterflies flitting overhead;
Seven red roses blowing in a garden bed;
Seven white lilies, with honey bees inside them;
Seven round rainbows, with clouds to divide them;
Seven pretty little girls, with sugar on their lips;
Seven witty little boys, whom everybody tips;
Seven nice fathers, to call little maids joys;
Seven nice mothers, to kiss the little boys;
Seven nights running I dreamt it all plain;
With bread and jam for supper I could dream it all again.
There was an old woman, and she liv’d in a shoe,
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do.
She crumm’d ’em some porridge without any bread;
And she borrow’d a beetle, and she knock’d ’em all o’ th’ head.
Then out went the old woman to bespeak ’em a coffin,
And when she came back she found ’em all a-loffeing.
There was an old woman drawn up in a basket,
Three or four times as high as the moon,
And where she was going I never did ask it,
But in her hand she carried a broom.
A broom! a broom! a broom! a broom!
That grows on yonder hill,
And blows with a yellow bloom,
Just like lemon peel.
Just like lemon peel, my boys,
To mix with our English beer,
And you shall drink it all up
While we do say Goliere!
Goliere! Goliere! Goliere! Goliere!
While we do say Goliere!
Dinty diddledy,
My mammy’s maid,
She stole oranges,
I am afraid;
Some in her pocket,
Some in her sleeve,
She stole oranges,
I do believe.
“Dinah, Dinah,
Go to China,
For oranges and tea;
Dolly is sick,
And wants them quick,
So skip across the sea!”
“Pudding and pie!”
Said Jane, “O my!”
“Which would you rather?”
Said her father,
“Both!” cried Jane,
Quite bold and plain.
Ding dong! ding dong!
There goes the gong;
Dick, come along,
It’s time for dinner.
Wash your face,
Take your place,
Where’s your grace?
You little sinner!
When little Claude was naughty wunst
At dinner-time, an’ said,
He wont say “Thank you!” to his Ma,
She maked him go to bed,
An’ stay two hours an’ not git up,
So when the clock struck Two,
Nen Claude says, “Thank you, Mr Clock,
I’m much obleeged to you!”
Tit-tat-toe!
My first go;
Three jolly butcher boys all in a row!
Stick one up,
Stick one down,
Stick one in the old man’s burying-ground.
FOR A WILLOW PATTERN PLATE
There’s two birds flying high,
Here’s a vessel sailing by;
Here’s the bridge that they pass over,
Three little men going to Dover!
Here the stately castle stands,
Where lives the ruler of these lands;
Here’s the tree with the apples on,
That’s the fence that ends my song!
What way does the wind come? What way does he go?
He rides over the water, and over the snow,
Through wood and through vale, and o’er rocky height,
Which goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight;
He tosses about in every bare tree,
As, if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There’s never a scholar in England knows.
TO BE WRITTEN IN A BOOK
Give your attention as you read,
And frequent pauses take;
Think seriously; and take good heed
That you no dog’s ears make.
Don’t wet the fingers as you turn
The pages one by one;
Never touch prints, observe: and learn
Each idle gait to shun.
TO BE WRITTEN IN A BOOK
Small is the wren,
Black is the rook,
Great is the sinner
That steals this book.
SOMERSETSHIRE
CHARM FOR TOOTHACHE,
TO BE WRITTEN AND WORN
Peter sat on a marble stone,
When by here Jesus came aloan.
“Peter what is it makes you for to quake?”
“Lord Jesus, it is the toothake.”
“Rise, Peter, and be heled.”
Come, butter, come!
Come, butter, come!
Peter is at the gate
Waiting the butter and loaf,
Come, butter, come!
Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water,
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
Up Jack got and home did trot,
As fast as he could caper,
Went to bed to mend his head,
With vinegar and brown paper.
Jill came in and she did grin,
To see his paper plaster,
Mother vexed, did whip her next,
For causing Jack’s disaster.
Little John Jig Jag,
Rode on a penny nag,
And went to Wigan to woo;
When he came to a beck
He fell and broke his neck,
Johnny, how dost thou now?
Little General Monk
Sat upon a trunk,
Eating a crust of bread;
There fell a hot coal,
And burnt in his clothes a hole,
Now little General Monk is dead.
SALISBURY CATHEDRAL
As many days as in one year there be,
So many windows in this church you see.
As many marble pillars here appear,
As there are hours through the fleeting year.
As many gates as moons one here does view,
Strange tale to tell, but not more strange than true.
KENT
God made man, and man made money.
God made the bees, and the bees made honey.
God made the cooks, and the cooks made pies.
God made a little boy, and he told lies.
God made the world, as round as a ball,
In jumps Satan, and spoils it all.
God made Satan, and Satan made sin,
God made a little hole to put Satan in.
Essex stiles,
Kentish miles,
Norfolk wiles,
Many men beguiles.
SOMERSET
My grandmother had a three-cornered country-cut handkerchief,
Cut in a three-cornered country-cut way,
If my grandmother had a three-cornered country-cut handkerchief,
Cut in a three-cornered country-cut way,
Why shouldn’t I have a three-cornered country-cut handkerchief,
Cut in a three-cornered country-cut way?
LEICESTER
My father died a month ago,
And left me all his riches;
A feather bed, a wooden leg,
And a pair of leather breeches.
A coffee pot without a spout,
A cup without a handle,
A ’bacco box without a lid,
And half a farthing candle.
ESSEX
Here’s good health
And a little wealth,
And a little house
And freedom,
And at the end
A little friend,
And little cause
To need ’im.
SUFFOLK
Get up at four, and you’ll have more.
Get up at five, and things’ll thrive.
Get up at six, and things’ll fix.
Get up at seven, and things’ll go even.
Get up at eight, and that’s too late.
Get up at nine, and that’s no time.
Get up at ten, and go to bed again.
At ten a child,
At twenty wild,
At thirty tame if ever;
At forty wise,
At fifty rich,
At sixty good, or never.
THE SETTING OF THE SUN
See where the sun sinks in the west,
His appointed race having run,
He says to man and beast: “Now rest,
Your toil and labour’s done.”
So should each little girl and boy,
Perform their daily task;
Then would their parents dear, with joy,
Grant all good things they’d ask.
THE EAGLE AND THE OAK
Irish
When you were an acorn on the tree top,
Then was I an eagle cock;
Now that you are a withered old block,
Still I am an eagle cock.
FLAX
There’s a garden that I ken,
Full of little gentlemen,
Little caps of blue they wear,
And green ribbons very fair.
Nettle out, dock in,
Dock remove the nettle sting.
In dock, out nettle,
Don’t let the blood settle.
A litel grounde well tilled,
A litel house well filled,
A litel wife well willed,
Would make him live that were halfe killed.
Born of a Monday,
Fair in face;
Born of a Tuesday,
Full of God’s grace;
Born of a Wednesday,
Merry and glad;
Born of a Thursday,
Sour and sad;
Born of a Friday,
Godly given;
Born of a Saturday,
Work for your living;
Born of a Sunday,
Never shall we want;
So there ends the week,
And there’s an end on’t.
Monday for health,
Tuesday for wealth,
Wednesday the best day of all;
Thursday for losses,
Friday for crosses,
Saturday no day at all.
Sunrise, breakfast; sun high, dinner;
Sundown, sup, makes a saint of a sinner.
Tom married a wife on Monday,
He got a stick on Tuesday,
He beat her well on Wednesday,
Sick was she on Thursday,
Dead was she on Friday,
Glad was Tom on Saturday,
To bury his wife on Sunday.
Little Goody Tidy
Was born on a Friday,
Was christened on a Saturday,
Ate roast beef on Sunday,
Was very well on Monday,
Was taken ill on Tuesday,
Sent for the doctor on Wednesday,
Died on Thursday.
So there’s an end to little Goody Tidy.
Bobby Shaft is gone to sea,
With silver buckles at his knee,
When he comes home he’ll marry me,
Pretty Bobby Shaft!
Bobby Shaft is fat and fair,
Combing down his yellow hair;
He’s my love for evermore,
Pretty Bobby Shaft!
A good child, a good child,
As I suppose you be,
Never laughed nor smiled
At the tickling of your knee.
Commodore Rogers was a brave man—exceedingly brave—particular;
He climbed up very high rocks—exceedingly high—perpendicular;
And what made this the more inexpressible,
These same rocks were quite inaccessible.
When I was a little boy,
I washed my mammie’s dishes,
I put my finger in my eye,
And pulled out golden fishes.
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.
A CHERRY
Galloway
Riddle me, riddle me, rot, tot, tot,
A wee, wee man in a red, red coat,
A staff in his hand, and a stane in his throat,
Riddle me, riddle me, rot, tot, tot.
PERTH
A penny for the chappin’ stick,[C]
Tuppence for the theevil,[D]
That’s the way the money goes,
Pop goes the weasel.
Cocky-bendy’s lying sick,
Guess ye what’ll mend him?
Twenty kisses in a clout,
Lassie will ye send ’em?
Cherries a ha’penny a stick!
Come and pick! Come and pick!
Cherries! big as plums!
Who comes? Who comes?
Nanty, Panty, Jack-a-Dandy,
Stole a piece of sugar-candy,
From the grocer’s shoppy-shop,
And away did hoppy-hop!
Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it,
Never a farthing was therein,
But little fishes drowned.
Riggity jig, riggity jig,
Who’ll go to market to ride in a gig?
A fair little maid, and a nice little man,
Shall ride off to market as fast as they can.
Polly, put the kettle on,
And let’s have tea!
Polly put the kettle on,
And we’ll all have tea.
Mr Mason bought a basin,
Mr Rice asked the price,
Mr Hicks fell in his tricks,
And bounced the basin on the bricks.
GRAVESEND
Hab can nab,
The two-pound crab,
The twopenny ha’penny lobster,
Trot over to France,
To see the cat dance,
And could not come back to his master.
DORSET
I’ve come a-shrovin’
Vor a little pankaik
A bit of bread o’ your baikin’,
Or a little truckle cheese o’ your maikin’,
If you’ll gie me a little I’ll ax no more,
If you don’t gie me nothin’ I’ll rottle your door.
As I was going along, long, long,
Singing a comical song, song, song,
The way that I went was so long, long, long,
And the song that I sang was as long, long, long,
And so I went singing along.
What’s in the cupboard?
Says Mr Hubbard.
A knuckle of veal,
Says Mr Beal.
Is that all?
Says Mr Ball.
And enough too,
Says Mr Glue;
And away they all flew.
Won’t be my father’s Jack,
Won’t be my mother’s Gill;
I will be the fiddler’s wife,
And have music when I will.
T’other little tune,
T’other little tune;
Pr’ythee, love, play me
T’other little tune.
Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say:
“If ever I lived upon dry land,
The spot I should hit on would be little Britain,”
Says Freedom: “Why, that’s my own island!
Oh, it’s a snug little island,
A right little, tight little island,
Search all the globe round, there’s none can be found
So happy as this little island!”
Did you ever see the Devil,
With his little spade and shovel,
Digging ’taties by the dozen
With his tail cocked up?
The man in the moon as hard as your hat,
He stole some bushes out of a gap,
If he’d went by, and let ’em alie,
He’d never been man in the moon so high.
One to make ready,
Two to prepare,
Three to be off,
And four to be there.
Rum-ti-tum-tum,
The soldiers are come,
With a great piece of beef,
And a bottle of rum.
If wishes were horses,
Beggars would ride,
And all the world
Be drowned in pride.
First take an old woman and toast her,
And then rub her over with cheese,
Then lay her out on a frosty night,
And ten to one but she’ll freeze;
Next, bring her in in the morning,
And rub her all over with straw,
Then lay her down by a good coal fire,
And ten to one but she’ll thaw.
“Fire! fire!” says the Crier,
“Where? where?” says Lord Mayor.
“In the town,” says Billy Brown.
“Has it done much damage?” says Billy Cabbage.
“Only burnt a few fellows,” says Billy Bellows,
“Is that all?” says Billy Ball.
“Yes, and plenty, too,” says Billy Blue.
To market ride the gentlemen,
So do we, so do we;
Then comes the country clown,
Hobbledy gee! hobbledy gee!
First go to the ladies, nim, nim, nim!
Next comes the gentlemen, trim, trim, trim!
Then come the country clowns, gallop-a-trot!
LEICESTERSHIRE RIME
If all the waters was wan sea,
And all the trees was wan tree,
And this here tree should fall into that there sea,
Moy, sirs! what a splish-splash there’d be!
He that will fish for a Lancashire lad,
At any time or tide,
Must bait his hook with a good egg py,
Or an apple with a red side.
ESSEX
Gaffer Grey one summer day,
Was digging in the garden,
Beneath a stone he found a bone,
And in the bone a farden.
ESSEX
Pink and white’s the lad’s delight,
Blue and white they follow,
Green and white’s forsaken quite,
The devil take the yellow!
Julius CÆsar made a law,
Augustus CÆsar signed it,
That every one that made a sneeze
Should run away and find it.
There was a man and his name was Cob;
He had a wife and her name was Mob;
He had a dog and his name was Bob;
She had a cat and her name was Chitterbob;
“Bob,” says Cob,
“Chitterbob,” says Mob,
Cob’s dog was Bob,
Mob’s cat was Chitterbob,
Cob, Mob, Bob, and Chitterbob.
DRIVING MAXIMS
Up the hill urge him not;
Down the hill drive him not;
Cross the flat spare him not;
To the hostler trust him not.
IRISH SONG
My Land
She is a rich and rare land!
Oh! she’s a fresh and fair land!
She is a dear and rare land,
This native land of mine.
No men than her’s are braver,
Her women’s hearts ne’er waver;
I’d freely die to save her,
And think my lot divine.
She’s not a dull or cold land,
No! she’s a warm and bold land,
Oh! she’s a true and old land,
This native land of mine.
Oh! she’s a fresh and fair land,
Oh! she’s a true and rare land,
Yes! she’s a rare and fair land,
This native land of mine.
