Their food, and fell upon their head,

And flapp'd their wings and dropp'd down dead. They couldn't fat the calves; they wouldn't thrive ; They couldn't save their lambs alive;

Their sheep all took the rot and gave no wool;

Their horses fell away to skin and bones,
And got so weak they couldn't pull
A half a peck of stones;

The dog got dead-alive and drowsy,
The cat fell sick and wouldn't mousey ;
And if the wretched souls went up to bed
The hag did come and ride them all half dead.
They used to keep her out o' the house 'tis true,
A-nailing up at door a horse's shoe;

And I've a-heard the farmer's wife did try

To drive a needle or a pin

In through her old hard wither'd skin
And draw her blood, a-coming by ;
But she could never fetch a drop,

She bent the pin and broke the needle's top
Against her skin, you know, and that, in course,
Did only make the hag bewitch them worse.

W. Barnes

CLXX

NURSERY RHYMES

I

Jenny Wren fell sick;

Upon a merry time,

In came Robin Redbreast,

And brought her sops of 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,

Hopp'd on a twig,
Saying, Out upon you,

Fye upon you, bold-faced jig!

2

There were three jovial Welshmen,
As I have heard them say,
And they would go a-hunting
Upon St. David's day.

All the day they hunted,

And nothing could they find,

But a ship a-sailing,

A-sailing with the wind.

One said it was a ship,

The other he said, nay;

The third said it was a house, With the chimney blown away.

Ꮓ

And all night they hunted,
And nothing could they find,
But the moon a-gliding,
A-gliding with the wind.

One said it was the moon,
The other he said, nay ;

The third said it was a cheese,
And half o't cut away.

3

There was an old woman, as I've heard tell,
She went to market her eggs for to sell ;
She went to market all on a market day;
And she fell asleep on the king's highway.

There came by a pedlar whose name was Stout,

He cut her petticoats all round about ;

He cut her petticoats up to the knees,

Which made the old woman to shiver and freeze.

When this little woman first did wake,

She began to shiver and she began to shake.
She began to wonder and she began to cry,
'Lauk-a-mercy on me, this is none of I:

'But if it be I, as I do hope it be,

I've a little dog at home, and he'll know me ;
If it be I, he'll wag his little tail,

And if it be not I, he'll loudly bark and wail !'

Home went the little woman all in the dark,
Up got the little dog, and he began to bark;
He began to bark, so she began to cry,
'Lauk-a-mercy on me, this is none of I!'

4

If all the world was apple-pie,

And all the sea was ink,

And all the trees were bread and cheese,
What should we have to drink?

5

There was a little boy and a little girl

Lived in an alley;

Says the little boy to the little girl,

'Shall I, oh! shall I ?'

Says the little girl to the little boy,'
'What shall we do?'

Says the little boy to the little girl,
'I will kiss you!'

CLXXI

THE AGE OF CHILDREN HAPPIEST

if they had still wit to understand it

Laid in my quiet bed in study as I were

I saw within my troubled head a heap of thoughts

appear,

And every thought did show so lively in mine eyes, That now I sigh'd, and then I smiled, as cause of thoughts did rise.

I saw the little boy, in thought how oft that he Did wish of God, to 'scape the rod, a tall young man to be,

The young man eke that feels his bones with pain

opprest,

How he would be a rich old man, to live and lie at

rest!

The rich old man that sees his end draw on so sore, How would he be a boy again to live so much the

more.

Whereat full oft I smiled, to see how all those three, From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop and change degree.

Earl of Surrey

CLXXII

THE NOBLE NATURE

It is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be;

Or standing long an oak three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;
A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night—

It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauty see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

B. Jonson