Old Mother Goose, when

She wanted to wander,

Would ride through the air

On a very fine gander.

Mother Goose had a house,

'T was built in a wood,

Where an owl at the door

For sentinel stood.

She had a son Jack,

A plain-looking lad;

He was not very good,

Nor yet very bad.

She sent him to market,

A live goose he bought:

"Here! mother," says he,

"It will not go for nought."

Jack's goose and her gander

Grew very fond;

They'd both eat together,

Or swim in one pond.

Jack found one morning,

As I have been told,

His goose had laid him

An egg of pure gold.

Jack rode to his mother,

The news for to tell.

She called him a good boy,

And said it was well.

Goosey, goosey, gander,

Where shall I wander?

Upstairs, downstairs,

And in my lady's chamber.

There I met an old man

Who would not say his prayers;

I took him by the left leg,

And threw him downstairs.

I'll tell you a story

About Mary Morey,

And now my story's begun,

I'll tell you another

About her brother,

And now my story's done.

Three wise men of Gotham,

Went to sea in a bowl;

If the bowl had been stronger,

My song had been longer.

There was a crooked man,

And he went a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence

Upon a crooked stile:

He bought a crooked cat,

That caught a crooked mouse—

And they all lived together

In a little crooked house.

Hey! diddle diddle,

The cat and the fiddle,

The cow jumped over the moon;

The little dog laughed

To see such sport,

While the dish ran away with the spoon.

Hickory, dickory, dock,

The mouse ran up the clock;

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down,

Hickory, dickory, dock.

If all the seas were one sea,

What a great sea that would be!

And if all the trees were one tree,

What a great tree that would be!

And if all the axes were one axe,

What a great axe that would be!

And if all the men were one man,

What a great man he would be!

And if the great man took the great axe,

And cut down the great tree,

And let it fall into the great sea,

What a splish splash that would be!

There was an old man,

And he had a calf,

And that's half;

He took him out of the stall,

And tied him to the wall,

And that's all.

The man in the wilderness asked me,

How many strawberries grew in the sea?

I answered him as I thought good,

As many as red herrings grew in the wood

If all the world were apple-pie,

And all the sea were ink,

And all the trees were bread and cheese,

What should we have for drink?

My dear, do you know,

How a long time ago,

Two poor little children,

Whose names I don't know,

Were stolen away on a fine summer's day,

And left in a wood, as I've heard people say.

And when it was night,

So sad was their plight!

The sun it went down,

And the moon gave no light!

They sobbed and they sighed, and they bitterly cried

And the poor little things, they lay down and died.

And when they were dead,

The robins so red,

Brought strawberry-leaves

And over them spread;

And all the day long,

They sung them this song:

"Poor babes in the wood! Poor babes in the wood!

Oh don't you remember the babes in the wood?"

The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts

All on a summer's day;

The Knave of Hearts, he stole the tarts,

And took them clean away.

The King of Hearts called for the tarts,

And beat the Knave full sore;

The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts,

And vowed he'd steal no more.

I had a little husband,

No bigger than my thumb;

I put him in a pint-pot,

And there I bade him drum.

I bought a little horse,

That galloped up and down;

I bridled him, and saddled

And sent him out of town.

I gave him little garters,

To garter up his hose,

And a little handkerchief,

To wipe his little nose.

Little Bo-peep, she lost her sheep,

And can't 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 dreamed she heard them bleating;

When she awoke she found it a joke,

For they still were all fleeting.

Then up she took her little crook,

Determined for to find them;

She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,

For they'd left their tails behind them!

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.

She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye,

And over the hillocks she raced;

And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should,

That each tail should be properly placed.

What are little boys made of, made of?

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails;

And 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 that's nice;

And that's what little girls are made of, made of.

A farmer went trotting

Upon his gray mare;

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

With his daughter behind him,

So rosy and fair;

Lumpety, lumpety, lump!

A raven cried "Croak";

And they all tumbled down;

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

The mare broke her knees,

And the farmer his crown;

Lumpety, lumpety, lump.

The mischievous raven

Flew laughing away;

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

And vowed he would serve them

The same the next day;

Bumpety, bumpety, bump!

What does little birdie say,

In her nest at peep of day?

"Let me fly," says little birdie,

"Mother, let me fly away."

Birdie, rest a little longer,

Till the little wings are stronger.

So she rests a little longer,

Then she flies away.

What does little baby say,

In her bed at peep of day?

Baby says, like little birdie,

"Let me rise and fly away."

Baby, sleep a little longer,

Till the little limbs are stronger.

If she sleeps a little longer,

Baby, too, shall fly away.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Which is the way to Baby-Land?

Any one can tell;

Up one flight,

To your right;

Please to ring the bell.

What can you see in Baby-Land?

Little folks in white,

Downy heads,

Cradle-beds,

Faces pure and bright.

What do they do in Baby-Land?

Dream and wake and play,

Laugh and crow,

Shout and grow,

Jolly times have they.

What do they say in Baby-Land?

Why, the oddest things;

Might as well

Try to tell

What a birdie sings.

Who is the Queen of Baby-Land?

Mother kind and sweet;

And her love,

Born above,

Guides the little feet.

George Cooper

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 going to St. Ives?

Baby mustn't frown,

When she tumbles down;

If the wind should change—Ah me,

What a face her face would be!

Rub away the dirt,

Say she wasn't hurt;

What a world 'twould be—O my,

If all who fell began to cry!

Laurence Alma Tadema

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree,

Up went pussy-cat, and down went he;

Down came pussy-cat, and away Robin ran;

Said little Robin Redbreast, "Catch me if you can."

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall,

Pussy-cat jumped after him, and almost got a fall;

Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did pussy say?

Pussy-cat said naught but "Mew," and Robin flew away.

Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,

Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;

The woods and the glens from the tower which we see,

They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.

Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,

It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;

Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,

Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.

Oh, hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come,

When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;

Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,

For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.

Sir Walter Scott

Where do all the daisies go?

I know, I know!

Underneath the snow they creep,

Nod their little heads and sleep,

In the springtime out they peep;

That is where they go!

Where do all the birdies go?

I know, I know!

Far away from winter snow

To the fair, warm South they go;

There they stay till daisies blow,

That is where they go!

Where do all the babies go?

I know, I know!

In the glancing firelight warm,

Safely sheltered from all harm,

Soft they lie on mother's arm,

That is where they go!

Unknown

Cock crows 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.

Do you know what's in my pottet?

Such a lot of treasures in it!

Listen now while I bedin it:

Such a lot of sings it holds,

And everysin dats in my pottet,

And when, and where, and how I dot it.

First of all, here's in my pottet

A beauty shell, I pit'd it up:

And here's the handle of a tup

That somebody has broked at tea;

The shell's a hole in it, you see:

Nobody knows dat I dot it,

I teep it safe here in my pottet.

And here's my ball too in my pottet,

And here's my pennies, one, two, free,

That Aunty Mary dave to me,

To-morrow day I'll buy a spade,

When I'm out walking with the maid;

I tant put that in here my pottet!

But I can use it when I've dot it.

Here's some more sings in my pottet,

Here's my lead, and here's my string;

And once I had an iron ring,

But through a hole it lost one day,

And this is what I always say—

A hole's the worst sing in a pottet,

Be sure and mend it when you've dot it.

Unknown