National Rhymes of the Nursery Part 26

Three wise men of Gotham Went to sea in a bowl: And if the bowl had been stronger, My song would have been longer.

_Jenny Wren fell sick_

Jenny Wren fell sick, Upon a merry time; In came Robin Redbreast And brought her sops and wine.

"Eat well of the sop, Jenny, Drink well of the wine."

"Thank you, Robin, kindly, You shall be mine."

Jenny she got well, And stood upon her feet, And told Robin plainly She loved him not a bit.

Robin being angry, Hopped upon a twig, Saying, "Out upon you! Fie upon you, Bold-faced jig!"

_Sukey, you shall be my wife_

"Sukey, you shall be my wife, And I will tell you why: I have got a little pig, And you have got a sty;

"I have got a dun cow, And you can make good cheese, Sukey, will you have me?

Say yes, if you please."

Sukey she made answer, "For your cow and pig, I tell you, Jacky Jingle, I do not care a fig.

"I have got a puppy-dog, And a p.u.s.s.y-cat, And I have got another thing That's better far than that.

"For I have got a velvet purse That holds a hundred pound, 'Twas left me by my grand-dad Who now lies underground.

"So if your cow and pig Is all you have in store, You may go home and mind 'em, For now your wooing's o'er."

Says Jacky, "You're too hasty, I've got a horse and cart; And I have got a better thing,-- I've got a constant heart.

"If that won't do, then you may lay Your money on the shelf, I soon shall get another girl That's better than yourself."

Then says little Sue, "If your heart is true, This trouble we'll get through, If things are rightly carried."

There's nothing more to do, 'Twixt Jacky and his Sue; "None so happy as us two, For now we'll both be married!"

Now after they were married Some good things to produce, Sukey's purse and hundred pounds Were quickly put in use;

Sukey milked the cow, And to make good cheese did try, Jack drove his horse and cart, And minded pig and sty.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BLOW WIND BLOW AND GO MILL GO]

Blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go!

That the miller may grind his corn; That the baker may take it, And into rolls make it, And send us some hot in the morn.

_This is the death of little Jenny Wren_

This is the death of Little Jenny Wren, And what the doctors All said then.

Jenny Wren was sick again, And Jenny Wren did die; The doctors vowed they'd cure her, Or know the reason why.

Doctor Hawk felt her pulse, And, shaking his head, Said, "I fear I can't save her, Because she's quite dead."

Doctor Hawk's a clever fellow, He pinched her wrist enough to kill her.

"She'll do very well yet,"

Then said Doctor Fox, "If she takes but one pill From out of this box."

Ah! Doctor Fox, You are very cunning, For if she's dead, You will not get one in.

With hartshorn in hand, Came Doctor Tom-t.i.t, Saying, "Really, good sirs, It's only a fit."

You're right, Doctor t.i.t, You need make no doubt on, But death is a fit Folk seldom get out on.

Doctor Cat says, "Indeed, I don't think she's dead, I believe if I try, She yet might be bled."

You need not a lancet, Miss p.u.s.s.y, indeed, Your claws are enough A poor Wren to bleed.

"I think, Puss, you're foolish,"

Then says Doctor Goose, "For to bleed a dead Wren Can be of no use."

Why, Doctor Goose, You're very wise, Your wisdom profound Might Ganders surprise.

Doctor Jack a.s.s then said, "See this balsam, I make it; She yet may survive If you get her to take it."

What you say, Doctor a.s.s, Perhaps may be true; I ne'er saw the dead drink, though Pray, Doctor, did you?

Doctor Owl then declared That the cause of her death He really believed, was---- The want of more breath.

Indeed, Doctor Owl, You are much in the right; You as well might have said That day was not night.

Says Robin, "Get out, You're a parcel of quacks, Or I'll lay this good whip On each of your backs."

Then Robin began For to bang them about, They stayed for no fees, They were glad to get out.

Poor Robin long for Jenny grieves, At last he covered her with leaves; Yet near the place, a mournful lay, For Jenny Wren sings every day.

_Here comes a poor widow from Babylon_

Here comes a poor widow from Babylon, With six poor children all alone, One can bake, and one can brew, One can shape, and one can sew, One can bake a cake for the king.

Come choose you east, come choose you west, Come choose you the one that you love best.

_Dame Trot and her cat_

Dame Trot and her cat Sat down for to chat, The Dame sat on this side, And Puss sat on that.