Old Mother Duck has hatched a brood
Of ducklings, small and callow:
Their little wings are short, their down
Is mottled grey and yellow.
There is a quiet little stream,
That runs into the moat,
Where tall green sedges spread their leaves,
And water-lilies float.
Close by the margin of the brook
The old Duck made her nest,
Of straw, and leaves, and withered grass,
And down from her own breast.
And there she sat for four long weeks,
In rainy days and fine,
Until the Ducklings all came out—
Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.
One peeped out from beneath her wing,
One scrambled on her back:
"That's very rude," said old Dame Duck,
"Get off! quack, quack, quack, quack!"
"'T is close," said Dame Duck, shoving out
The egg-shells with her bill,
"Besides, it never suits young ducks
To keep them sitting still."
So, rising from her nest, she said,
"Now, children, look at me:
A well-bred duck should waddle so,
From side to side—d'ye see?"
"Yes," said the little ones, and then
She went on to explain:
"A well-bred duck turns in its toes
As I do—try again."
"Yes," said the Ducklings, waddling on.
"That's better," said their mother;
"But well-bred ducks walk in a row,
Straight—one behind another."
"Yes," said the little Ducks again,
All waddling in a row:
"Now to the pond," said old Dame Duck—
Splash, splash! and in they go.
"Let me swim first," said old Dame Duck,
"To this side, now to that;
There, snap at those great brown-winged flies,
They make young ducklings fat.
"Now when you reach the poultry-yard,
The hen-wife, Molly Head,
Will feed you, with the other fowls,
On bran and mashed-up bread;
"The hens will peck and fight, but mind,
I hope that all of you
Will gobble up the food as fast
As well-bred ducks should do.
"You'd better get into the dish,
Unless it is too small;
In that case, I should use my foot,
And overturn it all."
The Ducklings did as they were bid,
And found the plan so good,
That, from that day, the other fowls
Got hardly any food.
Is John Smith within?
Yes, that he is.
Can he set a shoe?
Ay, marry, two.
Here a nail, there a nail,
Tick, tack, too.
John Cook he had a little grey mare,
hee, haw, hum;
Her legs were long and her back was bare,
hee, haw, hum.
John Cook was riding up Shooter's Bank,
hee, haw, hum;
The mare she began to kick and to prank,
hee, haw, hum.
John Cook was riding up Shooter's Hill,
hee, haw, hum;
His mare fell down and made her will,
hee, haw, hum.
The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf,
hee, haw, hum;
If you want any more, you may sing it yourself,
hee, haw, hum.
Old King Cole
Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
And he called for his pipe
And he called for his glass,
And he called for his fiddlers three!
A Apple Pie.
B bit it.
C cut it.
D dealt it.
E eat it.
F fought for it.
G got it.
H hid it.
J jumped for it.
K kept it.
L longed for it.
M mourned for it.
N nodded at it.
O opened it.
P peeped at it.
Q quartered it.
R ran for it.
S stole it.
T tried for it.
V viewed it.
X Y Z &
Amperse-and,
All wished for
A piece in hand.
Pussy sits beside the fire. How can she be fair?
In walks a little doggy,—Pussy, are you there?
Oh, the rusty, dusty, rusty miller,
I'll not change my wife for gold or siller.
There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile,
And 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.
High diddle doubt, my candle's out,
My little maid is not at home;
Saddle my hog and bridle my dog,
And fetch my little maid home.
Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full:
One for my master, one for my dame,
And one for the little boy that lives in our lane.
Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.
Barber, barber, shave a pig.
How many hairs will make a wig?
Four and twenty; that's enough.
Give the poor barber a pinch of snuff.
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, some gave them brown,
Some gave them plum-cake, and sent them out of town.
Thomas a Tattamus took two T's
To tie two tups to two tall trees,
To frighten the terrible Thomas a Tattamus.
Tell me how many T's there are in all THAT.
Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
They were two bonny lasses,
They built a house upon the lea,
And covered it o'er with rashes.
Bessy kept the garden gate,
And Mary kept the pantry;
Bessy always had to wait,
While Mary lived in plenty.
Little boy, pretty boy, where were you born?
In Lincolnshire, master; come, blow the cow's horn.
Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed to see such sport,
And the dish ran after the spoon.