NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN.
XIII.—Ladywell.
The Lady sat On the brink of the Well; She lost her balance And in she fell! They fished her up With a crooked pin; She came out wetter Than she went in. "Well, Lady, well?" "Sir, very ill! If you sit by the Well You are certain to spill."
XIV.—Shepherdess Walk.
Walk, Shepherdess, walk, And I'll walk too, To find the ram with the ebony horn And the gold-footed ewe;
The lamb with the fleece of silver Like Summer sea-foam, And the wether with the crystal bell That leads them all home.
Walk, Shepherdess, walk, And I'll walk too, And if we never find them I shan't mind—shall you?
"Wanted, cast-off clothing for pen of profitable pedigree bantams."—The Lady.
Moulting already?