London Town

by Felix Leigh

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Prue has wandered high and wandered low Through Norman chapel and dungeon cell; The grand Crown Jewels that sparkle so, And the Traitor's Gate, she has seen as well. She has looked from the walls on the River, too, And spent in the Armouries nearly an hour: Ah! holiday folks like our Miss Prue Enjoy themselves when they come to the Tower! But the Tower was a prison, in days of old, And few who got into it ever came out, Though now we can visit the grim stronghold Any day of the week, without fear or doubt.

Prue has wandered high and wandered low Through Norman chapel and dungeon cell; The grand Crown Jewels that sparkle so, And the Traitor's Gate, she has seen as well. She has looked from the walls on the River, too, And spent in the Armouries nearly an hour: Ah! holiday folks like our Miss Prue Enjoy themselves when they come to the Tower! But the Tower was a prison, in days of old, And few who got into it ever came out, Though now we can visit the grim stronghold Any day of the week, without fear or doubt.

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Every day along the streets of mighty London Town Nine hundred omnibuses rumble up and down. When you're tired of walking, call "Hi! Conductor, stop!" And he'll give you such a jolly ride, for twopence, on the top. Sometimes by the 'bus's side small boys will run a mile, Turning round just like the wheels, and hungry all the while:— "We've not had any breakfast,—won't you toss us down a brown?"— That's what they call a penny in the streets of London Town.

Every day along the streets of mighty London Town Nine hundred omnibuses rumble up and down. When you're tired of walking, call "Hi! Conductor, stop!" And he'll give you such a jolly ride, for twopence, on the top. Sometimes by the 'bus's side small boys will run a mile, Turning round just like the wheels, and hungry all the while:— "We've not had any breakfast,—won't you toss us down a brown?"— That's what they call a penny in the streets of London Town.

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In summer when the sun is high, And children's lips are parched and dry, An ice is just the thing to try. So this young man who comes, 'tis plain, From Saffron Hill or Leather Lane, A store of pence will quickly gain. "A lemon ice for me," says Fred; Cries Sue, "No, have a cream instead." "A raspberry!" shouts Newsboy Ned. "What fun! Although we're now in June, It feels"—says Ned—"this afternoon, Like eating winter with a spoon!"

In summer when the sun is high, And children's lips are parched and dry, An ice is just the thing to try. So this young man who comes, 'tis plain, From Saffron Hill or Leather Lane, A store of pence will quickly gain. "A lemon ice for me," says Fred; Cries Sue, "No, have a cream instead." "A raspberry!" shouts Newsboy Ned. "What fun! Although we're now in June, It feels"—says Ned—"this afternoon, Like eating winter with a spoon!"

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This is Covent Garden, What a lively scene! Here are flowers so pretty, There are leaves so green. These are busy buyers, Busy sellers those, Selling, buying, selling, Everything that grows. Fruits and lovely blossoms Hither come each day, Fresh from other gardens Many miles away. Cabbages potatoes, Pears and apples too, Grapes, and pines, and peaches, All are here on view. So the air is scented With the pleasant fruits, With the bright-hued nosegays, And the springing roots. For the little street-boys, Walking up and down, It's almost like the country Brought to London Town.

This is Covent Garden, What a lively scene! Here are flowers so pretty, There are leaves so green. These are busy buyers, Busy sellers those, Selling, buying, selling, Everything that grows. Fruits and lovely blossoms Hither come each day, Fresh from other gardens Many miles away. Cabbages potatoes, Pears and apples too, Grapes, and pines, and peaches, All are here on view. So the air is scented With the pleasant fruits, With the bright-hued nosegays, And the springing roots. For the little street-boys, Walking up and down, It's almost like the country Brought to London Town.