The Big Book of Nursery Rhymes Part 9

The robin and the red-breast, The robin and the wren; If ye take from their nest, Ye'll never thrive again!

The robin and the red-breast, The martin and the swallow; If ye touch one of their eggs, Bad luck will surely follow.

FINGERS AND TOES

Every lady in this land Has twenty nails upon each hand Five and twenty on hands and feet.

All this is true, without deceit.

c.o.c.k-CROW

c.o.c.ks crow in the morn To tell us to rise, And he who lies late Will never be wise;

For early to bed And early to rise, Is the way to be healthy And wealthy and wise.

MY MAID MARY

My maid Mary she minds the dairy, While I go a-hoeing and mowing each morn; Gaily run the reel and the little spinning-wheel, Whilst I am singing and mowing my corn.

ROBIN AND WREN

The Robin and the Wren Fought about the parritch-pan; And ere the Robin got a spoon, The Wren had ate the parritch down.

BUY ME A MILKING-PAIL

"Buy me a milking-pail, Mother, mother."

"Betsy's gone a-milking, Beautiful daughter."

"Sell my father's feather-bed, Mother, mother."

"Where will your father lie, Beautiful daughter?"

"Put him in the boys' bed, Mother, mother."

"Where will the boys lie, Beautiful daughter?"

"Put them in the pigs' stye, Mother, mother."

"Where will the pigs lie, Beautiful daughter?"

"Put them in the salting-tub, Mother, mother.

Put them in the salting-tub, Mother, mother."

HUMPTY-DUMPTY

Humpty-Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty-Dumpty had a great fall;

Threescore men, and threescore more, Cannot place Humpty-Dumpty as he was before.

WHAT ARE LITTLE BOYS MADE OF?

What are little boys made of, made of?

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails; That's what little boys are made of, made of.

What are little girls made of, made of?

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice, and all things nice, That's what little girls are made of, made of.

THERE WAS A LITTLE MAN

There was a little man, and he had a little gun, And his bullets they were made of lead, lead, lead.

He shot Johnny Sprig through the middle of his wig, And knocked it right off his head, head, head.

A MEDLEY

On Christmas Eve I turned the spit, I burnt my fingers, I feel it yet; The c.o.c.k sparrow flew over the table, The pot began to play with the ladle; The ladle stood up like a naked man, And vowed he'd fight the frying-pan; The frying-pan behind the door Said he never saw the like before; And the kitchen clock I was going to wind Said he never saw the like behind.