The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor Robin do then?
Poor thing!
He'll sit in a barn,
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing.
Poor thing!
There was a little boy went into a barn,
And lay down on some hay;
An owl came out and flew about,
And the little boy ran away.
There was a little guinea pig,
Who being little was not big;
He always walked upon his feet,
And never fasted when he ate.
When from a place he ran away,
He never at that place did stay;
And while he ran, as I am told,
He ne'er stood still for young or old.
He often squeak'd, and sometimes violent,
And when he squeak'd he ne'er was silent;
Though ne'er instructed by a cat,
He knew a mouse was not a rat.
One day, as I am certified,
He took a whim and fairly died,
And, as I'm told by men of sense,
He never has been living since.
There was a little man,
And he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead;
He went to the brook
And saw a little duck,
And he shot it through the head, head, head.
He carried it home
To his old wife Joan,
And bid her a fire for to make, make, make;
To roast the little duck,
He had shot in the brook,
And he'd go and fetch her the drake, drake, drake.
There was a man of our town,
And he was wondrous wise:
He jump'd into a bramble bush,
And scratched out both his eyes;
And when he saw his eyes were out,
With all his might and main,
He jumped into another bush,
And scratched them in again.