National Rhymes of the Nursery - LightNovelsOnl.com
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I do not like thee, Doctor Fell, The reason why I cannot tell;
But this I know, and know full well, I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.
_My mammy's maid_
Dingty, diddledy, my mammy's maid, She stole oranges, I'm afraid; Some in her pockets, some in her sleeve, She stole oranges, I do believe.
_I had a little castle_
I had a little castle upon the sea-sh.o.r.e, One half was water, the other was land; I opened the castle door, and guess what I found, I found a fair lady with a cup in her hand.
The cup was all gold, filled with wine, "Drink, fair lady, and thou shalt be mine."
My diddle d.i.n.kety poppety pet, The merchants of London they wear scarlet, Silken the collar and velvet the hem, Merrily march the merchant men.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "SOME IN HER POCKETS, SOME IN HER SLEEVE."]
_Little Betty Blue_
Little Betty Blue Lost her holiday shoe.
What shall little Betty do?
Buy her another To match the other, And then she'll walk in two.
_A nick and a nock_
A nick and a nock, A hen and c.o.c.k, And a penny for my master.
_Great A, little A_
Great A, little A, This pancake day; Toss the ball high, Throw the ball low, Those that come after May sing heigh-ho!
_Upon St. Paul's steeple_
Upon St. Paul's steeple stands a tree.
As full of apples as may be, The little boys of London town, They run with hooks and pull them down; And then they run from hedge to hedge Until they come to London Bridge.
[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY RUN WITH HOOKS AND PULL THEM DOWN."]
_Cherries are ripe_
Cherries are ripe, cherries are ripe, Give the baby some; Cherries are ripe, cherries are ripe, Baby must have none.
Cherries are too sour to use, Babies are too young to choose; By-and-by, baked in a pie, Baby shall have some.
_Old Rhyme on Cutting Nails_
Cut them on Monday, you cut them for health; Cut them on Tuesday, you cut them for wealth; Cut them on Wednesday, you cut them for news; Cut them on Thursday, a pair of new shoes; Cut them on Friday, you cut them for sorrow; Cut them on Sat.u.r.day, you'll see your true-love to-morrow; Cut them on Sunday, and you'll have ill-fortune all through the week.
_Here a little child I stand_
Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand; Gold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, For a benison to fall On our meat and on us all!
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE END]
