The Nursery Rhymes of England Part 45

I saw two little blackbirds sitting on a tree: The one called me a rascal, The other called me a thief; I took up my little black stick, And knocked out all their teeth.

DIX.

Four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail, The best man among them durst not touch her tail; She put out her horns like a little Kyloe cow, Run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you all e'en now.

DX.

[A Dorsets.h.i.+re version.]

'Twas the twenty-ninth of May, 'twas a holiday, Four and twenty tailors set out to hunt a snail; The snail put forth his horns, and roared like a bull, Away ran the tailors, and catch the snail who wull.

DXI.

Croak! said the Toad, I'm hungry, I think, To-day I've had nothing to eat or to drink, I'll crawl to a garden and jump through the pales, And there I'll dine nicely on slugs and on snails; Ho, ho! quoth the Frog, is that what you mean?

Then I'll hop away to the next meadow stream, There I will drink, and eat worms and slugs too, And then I shall have a good dinner like you.

DXII.

Gray goose and gander, Waft your wings together, And carry the good king's daughter Over the one strand river.

DXIII.

p.u.s.s.y-cat, p.u.s.s.y-cat, where have you been?

I've been up to London to look at the queen.

p.u.s.s.y-cat, p.u.s.s.y-cat, what did you there?

I frighten'd a little mouse under the chair.

DXIV.

I had a little dog, and they called him Buff; I sent him to the shop for a hap'orth of snuff; But he lost the bag, and spill'd the snuff, So take that cuff, and that's enough.

DXV.

All of a row, Bend the bow, Shot at a pigeon, And killed a crow.

DXVI.

The c.o.c.k doth crow, To let you know, If you be wise, 'Tis time to rise.

DXVII.

There was an owl lived in an oak, Wisky, wasky, weedle; And every word he ever spoke Was fiddle, faddle, feedle.

A gunner chanced to come that way, Wisky, wasky, weedle; Says he, "I'll shoot you, silly bird."

Fiddle, faddle, feedle.

DXVIII.

When the snow is on the ground, Little Robin Red-breast grieves; For no berries can be found, And on the trees there are no leaves.

The air is cold, the worms are hid, For this poor bird what can be done?

We'll strew him here some crumbs of bread, And then he'll live till the snow is gone.

DXIX.

A pie sate on a pear-tree, A pie sate on a pear-tree, A pie sate on a pear-tree, Heigh O, heigh O, heigh O!

Once so merrily hopp'd she, Twice so merrily hopp'd she, Thrice so merrily hopp'd she, Heigh O, heigh O, heigh O!

DXX.

[An ancient Suffolk song for a bad singer.]

There was an old crow Sat upon a clod: There's an end of my song, That's odd!

DXXI.

Cuckoo, Cuckoo, What do you do?

In April I open my bill; In May I sing night and day; In June I change my tune; In July Away I fly; In August Away I must.

DXXII.

"Robert Barnes, fellow fine, Can you shoe this horse of mine?"

"Yes, good sir, that I can, As well as any other man: There's a nail, and there's a prod, And now, good sir, your horse is shod."

DXXIII.

Catch him, crow! carry him, kite!

Take him away till the apples are ripe; When they are ripe and ready to fall, Home comes [Johnny,] apples and all.

DXXIV.

d.i.c.kery, d.i.c.kery, dare, The pig flew up in the air; The man in brown soon brought him down, d.i.c.kery, d.i.c.kery, dare.