SONGS.
"WILL THE LOVE THAT YOU'RE SO RICH IN."
"There was a little man and he woo'd a little maid,
And he said, 'Little maid, will you wed—wed—wed?
I have little more to say than will you—Yea or Nay?
For the least said is soonest mended—ded—ded—ded.'
"The little maid replied, some say a little sighed,
'But what shall we have for to eat—eat—eat?
Will the love that you're so rich in
Make a fire in the kitchen,
Or the little God of Love turn the spit, spit, spit?'"
"Cock-a-doodle doo, my dame has lost her shoe;
My master's lost his fiddling stick and doesn't know what to do.
Cock-a-doodle doo, what is my dame to do?
Till master finds his fiddling stick she'll dance without her shoe.
"Cock-a-doodle doo, my dame has found her shoe, and master's found his fiddling stick.
Sing doodle, doodle doo—Cock-a-doodle doo,
My dame will dance with you,
While master fiddles his fiddling stick
For dame and doodle doo."
The third-century monarch, King Cole, is seriously libelled in the nursery jingle of—
"Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
A merry old soul was he,
He called for his glass, he called for his pipe,
He called for his fiddlers three."
"Rowsty dowt, my fire's all out,
My little Dame Trot is not at home! Oh my!
But I'll saddle my cock and bridle my hen,
And fetch my little dame home again! Home again!
Home she came, tritty-ti-trot,
She asked for some dinner she left in the pot;
Some she ate and some she shod,
And the rest she gave to the truckler's dog.
She took up the ladle and knocked its head,
And now poor dapsy dog is dead!"
"There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And his bullets they were made of lead,
He went to the brook and shot a little duck
Right through its head, head, head.
"He took it home to his wife Joan
And bade her a good fire to make,
While he went to the brook where he shot the little duck
To see if he could shoot the little drake.
"The drake was a-swimming
With its curly tail,
The little man made it his mark,
He let off his gun
But fired too soon,
And the drake flew away with a quack, quack, quack."
The Creole's slave-song to her infant is built on the same lines, and runs—
"If you were a little bird
And myself a gun,
I would shoot you.
Bum! Bum! Bum!
"Oh! my precious little jewel
Of mahogany,
I love you
As a hog loves mud."
"Some say the devil's dead,
And buried in cold harbour;
Some say he's alive again,
And 'prenticed to a barber."
"I had a little pony, his name was Dapple Grey;
I lent him to a lady, to ride a mile away.
She whipped him and she lashed him,
She rode him through the mire;
I would not lend my pony now
For all that lady's hire."
"Little Blue Betty, she lived in a den,
She sold good ale to gentlemen.
Gentlemen came every day,
And little Blue Betty she skipped away.
She hopped upstairs to make her bed,
But tumbled down and broke her head."
TOM, TOM, THE PIPER'S SON.
"Tom, he was a piper's son,
He learned to play when he was young;
But the only tune that he could play
Was 'Over the hills and far away.'
Over the hills and a great way off,
And the wind will blow my top-knot off.
"Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise
That he pleased both the girls and boys,
And they stopped to hear him play
'Over the hills and far away.'
"Tom on his pipe did play with such skill
That those who heard him could never keep still;
Whenever they heard him they began to dance,
Even pigs on their hind legs would after him prance.
"As Dolly was milking the cows one day
Tom took out his pipe and began to play;
So Doll and the cows danced the Cheshire cheese round,
Till the pail was broke and the milk spilt on the ground.
"He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs,
He used his pipe, she used her legs.
She danced, he piped, the eggs were all broke;
Dame Trot began to fret, Tom laughed at his joke.
"He saw a cross fellow beating an ass
Laden with pots, pans, dishes, and glass;
Tom took out his pipe and played a tune,
And the jackass's load was lightened full soon."
"OH DEAR, WHAT CAN THE MATTER BE?"
"Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Johnny's so long at the fair.
He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons
To tie up my bonny brown hair."
SIMPLE SIMON.
"Simple Simon went a-fishing
For to catch a whale,
All the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail.
"Simple Simon went to look
If plums grew on a thistle,
He pricked his fingers very much,
Which made poor Simon whistle.
"Simple Simon went to town
To buy a piece of meat,
He tied it to his horse's tail
To keep it clean and sweet."
"I SAW A SHIP A-SAILING."
"I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea,
And it was filled with pretty things
For baby and for me.
There were raisins in the cabin,
Sugar kisses in the hold;
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were made of gold.
Gold—gold—gold!
The masts were made of gold.
"There were four-and-twenty sailors
A-sitting on the deck,
And these were little white mice,
With rings around their neck.
The captain was a duck,
With a jacket on his back,
And when the ship began to sail
The captain cried 'Quack! quack!'
Quack!—quack!—quack!
The captain cried 'Quack! quack!'"
DAVID THE WELSHMAN.
"Taffy was a wicked Welshman,
Taffy was a wicked thief,
Taffy came to my house
And stole a piece of beef.
I went to Taffy's house,
Taffy was in bed,
I got the poker
And hit him on the head."
Sung in derision along the Welsh borders on St. David's Day. Formerly it was the custom of the London mob on this day to dress up a guy and carry him round the principal thoroughfares. The ragged urchins following sang the rhyme of "Taffy was a wicked Welshman."
"MY FATHER HE DIED."
The historical value of nursery rhymes is incapable of being better illustrated than in the following old English doggerel:—
"My father he died, I cannot tell how,
He left me six horses to drive out my plough,
With a wimmy lo! wommy lo!
Jack Straw, blazey boys.
Wimmy lo! wimmy lo! wob, wob, wob."
Mr. Halliwell dates it as of Richard II.'s time, and this much may be said for this opinion, that there is no greater authority than he on the subject of early English rhymes and carols. Mr. Halliwell also believes that of British nursery rhymes it is the earliest extant. There are those, however, who dissent from this view, holding that many of the child's songs sung to-day were known to our Saxon forefathers. In 1835 Mr. Gowler, who wrote extensively on the archæology of English phrases and nursery rhymes, ingeniously attempted to claim whole songs and tales, giving side by side the Saxon and the English versions. There certainly was a phonetic similarity between them, but the local value of the Saxon, when translated, reads in a strange way, being little more than a protest against the Church's teaching and influence.
"Who killed Cock Robin?" is given at length by Mr. Gowler, as well as many scraps of other nursery rhymes. Mr. Gowler seemed to claim that though the lettered language of each succeeding age fashions afresh, the Baby Kingdom knows no such vocal revolutions.