Very high in the pine-tree,
The little Turtle-dove
Made a pretty little nursery,
To please her little love.
She was gentle, she was soft,
And her large dark eye
Often turned to her mate,
Who was sitting close by.
"Coo," said the Turtle-dove,
"Coo," said she;
"Oh, I love thee," said the Turtle-dove.
"And I love THEE."
In the long shady branches
Of the dark pine-tree,
How happy were the Doves
In their little nursery!
The young Turtle-doves
Never quarrelled in the nest;
For they dearly loved each other,
Though they loved their mother best.
"Coo," said the little Doves.
"Coo," said she.
And they played together kindly
In the dark pine-tree.
In this nursery of yours,
Little sister, little brother,
Like the Turtle-dove's nest—
Do you love one another?
Are you kind, are you gentle,
As children ought to be?
Then the happiest of nests
Is your own nursery.
Peter White
Will ne'er go right,
Would you know the reason why?
He follows his nose
Wherever he goes,
And that stands all awry.
He that would thrive,
Must rise at five;
He that hath thriven,
May lie till seven;
And he that by the plough would thrive,
Himself must either hold or drive.
Hush-a-bye, baby,
Daddy is near;
Mamma is a lady,
And that's very clear.
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn't know what to do
She gave them some broth, without any bread,
She whipped them all round, and sent them to bed.
One, two, three,
I love coffee,
And Billy loves tea,
How good you be.
One, two, three,
I love coffee,
And Billy loves tea.
There was an old woman called Nothing-at-all,
Who lived in a dwelling exceedingly small;
A man stretched his mouth to its utmost extent,
And down at one gulp house and old woman went.
I had a little hobby horse,
And it was dapple grey,
Its head was made of pea-straw,
Its tail was made of hay.
I sold it to an old woman
For a copper groat;
And I'll not sing my song again
Without a new coat.
Eggs, butter, cheese, bread,
Stick, stock, stone, dead,
Stick him up, stick him down,
Stick him in the old man's crown.