Mother Goose. Good-evenin’, good people. I’m sartinly pleased To see such a company out. I’m an old-fashioned critter, as old as the hills, And so are my children, no doubt. For “Auld lang syne’s” sake, you’ve invited us here Jest to see ef we be jest the same As when you were young, and fast friends with us all. Well, here I be, and glad that I came. I hope that my children won’t show off too much, But there is no telling! You see, They are lively young critters, brimful of their pranks, And they’re troublesome comforts to me. When shet up in a book, they behave fairly well, But once let ’em loose, and—— Dear me What a racket! What can they be up to out there? Perhaps I had better go see.
(She starts, but the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe entering, she turns back.)
Was it your young ones making that terrible noise?
Old Woman. No, it wasn’t. ’Twas some of your own girls and boys. My babies helped, crying a little, you see, But the poor things are hungry as hungry can be. I just wish I had that old dog by the ears, I’d pull ’em, I wager, until I fetched tears! I’d made a big kettle of broth, rich and good, When I spied Willie Winkie a-stealing my wood; And while I was chasing the mischievous tike, (Such a chase as he led me! You ne’er saw the like! He was sassy, and called names, too, over and over!) Well, while I was chasing o’ him, old dog Rover Come snooping along; and he spied out the kettle Where I’d sot it a minute, to cool and to settle, And he stuck in his nose, that’s so long and so lean, And jest gobbled away till the kettle was clean. My babies all yelled to see their bill of fare Going down that dog’s neck, but not much did he care Till I caught him, and gin him a trouncing. You bet That the greedy old critter’s hide smarts on him yet. Then I gin Mother Hubbard a piece of my mind Till she went away, snuffling. Said I was “unkind”!
Mother Goose. There, do stop your jawing! Just give them some bread. I often have told you you should. A good slice of bread, spread with butter and jam, Is sure to do any child good.
Old Woman. I never give bread to my babies, you know! It isn’t good for them, at all. ’Twould give them the colic; and only just think If they all at once started to squall!
Mother Goose. Then they must wait till milking time, it won’t be very long: One’s crying now!
Old Woman. I’ll spank it.
Mother Goose. No, soothe it with a song.
(Old Woman takes up one baby, and sings to it. Tune: No. 1.)