Pinafore Palace - LightNovelsOnl.com
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This is the house that Jack built.
This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the c.o.c.k that crowed in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the c.o.c.k that crowed in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog, That worried the cat, That killed the rat, That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
This is the key of the kingdom.
In that kingdom there is a city.
In that city there is a town.
In that town there is a street.
In that street there is a lane.
In that lane there is a yard.
In that yard there is a house.
In that house there is a room.
In that room there is a bed.
In that bed there is a basket.
In that basket there are some flowers.
Flowers in the basket, basket in the bed, bed in the room, etc., etc.
_Tree on the Hill_
On yonder hill there stands a tree; Tree on the hill, and the hill stood still.
And on the tree there was a branch; Branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still.
And on the branch there was a nest; Nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still.
And in the nest there was an egg; Egg in the nest, nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still.
And in the egg there was a bird; Bird in the egg, egg in the nest, nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still.
And on the bird there was a feather; Feather on the bird, bird in the egg, egg in the nest, nest on the branch, branch on the tree, tree on the hill, and the hill stood still.
John Ball shot them all.
John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot; But John Ball shot them all.
John Brammer made the rammer, And John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot, But John Ball shot them all.
John Block made the stock, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot; But John Ball shot them all.
John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot; But John Ball shot them all.
John Puzzle made the muzzle, And John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot; But John Ball shot them all.
John Clint made the flint, And John Puzzle made the muzzle, And John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot; But John Ball shot them all.
John Patch made the match, And John Clint made the flint, And John Puzzle made the muzzle, And John Crowder made the powder, And John Block made the stock, And John Brammer made the rammer, And John Wiming made the priming, And John Scott made the shot; But John Ball shot them all.
VIII
GUESS-ME-QUICKS
Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me ree, Perhaps you can tell me what this may be.
In marble walls as white as milk, Lined with a skin as soft as silk; Within a fountain crystal clear, A golden apple doth appear.
No doors there are to this stronghold, Yet thieves break in and steal the gold.
Thirty white horses upon a red hill, Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.
Black within and red without; Four corners round about.
Little Nan Etticoat, In a white petticoat, And a red nose; The longer she stands, The shorter she grows.
As round as an apple, as deep as a cup, And all the King's horses can't pull it up.
Long legs, crooked thighs, Little head, and no eyes.
Higher than a house, higher than a tree, Oh, whatever can that be?
