Old Mother Hubbard 49 That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cock that crowed in the morn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the farmer sowing his corn That kept the cock that crowed in the morn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. OLD MOTHER HUBBARD OLD Mother Hubbard To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there She went to the baker's To buy him some bread, The poor dog was dead. She went to the joiner's To buy him a coffin, But when she came back The poor dog was laughing. She took a clean dish To get him some tripe, She went to the fishmonger's She went to the ale-house She went to the tavern For white wine and red, But when she came back The dog stood on his head. She went to the hatter's To buy him a hat, But when she came back She went to the barber's He was dancing a jig. She went to the fruiterer's She went to the tailor's He was riding a goat. Who'll make his shroud? "I," said the Beetle, "With my thread and needle, I'll make his shroud." Who'll dig his grave? "I," said the Owl, "With my spade and trowel, I'll dig his grave." Who'll be the parson? "I," said the Rook, "With my little book. I'll be the parson." Who'll be the clerk? "I," said the Lark, "I'll say Amen in the dark; I'll be the clerk." Who'll be chief mourner? "I," said the Dove, "I mourn for my love; I'll be chief mourner." Who'll bear the torch? Who'll sing his dirge? "I," said the thrush, "As I sing in the bush I'll sing his dirge." Who'll bear the pall? "We," said the Wren, Both the Cock and the Hen; "We'll bear the pall." Who'll carry his coffin? "I," said the Kite, "If it be in the night, I'll carry his coffin." Baby-land Who'll toll the bell? "I," said the Bull, All the birds of the air Fell to sighing and sobbing BABY-LAND "How many miles to Baby-land?" "Any one can tell; Up one flight, To the right; Please to ring the bell." "What can you see in Baby-land?” "Little folks in white Downy heads, Cradle-beds, Faces pure and bright!" "What do they do in Baby-land?" "Dream and wake and play, Laugh and crow, Shout and grow; Jolly times have they!" "What do they say in Baby-land?" "Why, the oddest things; Might as well Try to tell What a birdie sings!" "Who is the Queen of Baby-land?" "Mother, kind and sweet; And her love, Born above, Guides the little feet." 53 George Cooper [1840 |