Jenny shall have a new bonnet,
And Jenny shall go to the fair,
And Jenny shall have a blue ribbon
To tie up her bonny brown hair.
And why may not I love Jenny?
And why may not Jenny love me?
And why may not I love Jenny,
As well as another body?
And here's a leg for a stocking,
And here is a leg for a shoe,
And she has a kiss for her daddy,
And two for her mammy, I trow.
And why may not I love Jenny?
And why may not Jenny love me?
And why may not I love Jenny,
As well as another body?
Nievie, nievie, nicknack,
Which hand will ye tak'?
Tak' the right, or tak' the wrang,
I'll beguile ye, if I can.
Oh, mother, I'm to be married to Mr. Punchinello;
To Mr. Pun, to Mr. Chin, to Mr. Nel, to Mr. Lo,
Mr. Pun, Mr. Chin, Mr. Nel, Mr. Lo, to Mr. Punchinello.
Rain, rain, go to Spain,
And never come back again.
Up hill spare me,
Down hill 'ware me,
On level ground spare me not,
And in the stable forget me not.
When little Fred went to bed,
He always said his prayers;
He kissed mamma, and then papa,
And straightway went upstairs.
Bless you, bless you, bonny bee:
Say, when will your wedding be?
If it be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.
Jack Sprat's pig,
He was not very little,
Nor yet very big;
He was not very lean,
He was not very fat,
He'll do well for a grunt,
Says little Jack Sprat.
Rain, rain,
Go away,
Come again
April day;
Little Johnny
Wants to play.
A little cock sparrow sat on a tree,
Looking as happy as happy could be,
Till a boy came by with his bow and arrow,
Says he, I will shoot the little cock sparrow.
His body will make me a nice little stew,
And his giblets will make me a little pie, too.
Says the little cock sparrow, I'll be shot if I stay,
So he clapped his wings, and flew away.
The rose is red, the violet's blue;
The pink is sweet, and so are you.
"We'll go a-shooting," says Robin to Bobbin,
"We'll go a-shooting," says Richard to John;
"We'll go a-shooting," says John, all alone;
"We'll go a-shooting," says every one.
Valentine, oh, Valentine,
Curl your locks as I do mine;
Two before and two behind;
Good morrow to you, Valentine.
Mr. Isbister, and Betsy his sister,
Resolve upon giving a treat;
So letters they write,
Their friends to invite
To their house in Great Camomile Street.
Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,
And cannot tell where to find them;
Leave them alone, and they'll come home,
And bring their tails behind them.
Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep,
And dreamt she heard them bleating;
But when she awoke she found it a joke,
For still they all were fleeting.
Then up she took her little crook,
Determined for to find them;
She found 'em indeed, but it made her heart bleed,
For they'd left their tails behind 'em.
It happened one day, as Bo-peep did stray
Unto a meadow hard by,
There she espied their tails, side by side,
All hung on a tree to dry.
Then she heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye,
And ran o'er hill and dale-o,
And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should,
To tack to each sheep its tail-o.
As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were there going to St. Ives?
Go to bed first, a golden purse;
Go to bed second, a golden pheasant;
Go to bed third, a golden bird.
There was an old woman, and what do you think?
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink;
Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet,
Yet the plaguey old woman would never be quiet.
She went to the baker's to buy some bread;
And when she came home her husband was dead.
She went to the clerk, to toll the great bell;
And when she came back, her husband was well.
Some little mice sat in a barn to spin,
Pussy came by, and she popped her head in.
"Shall I come in and cut your threads off?"
"Oh, no, kind sir, you will snap our heads off."