There was a little man, And he woo'd a little maid, And he said, "Little maid, will you wed, wed, wed?

I have little more to say, Than will you, yea or nay, For least said is soonest mended-ded, ded."

The little maid replied, Some say a little sighed, "But what shall we have for to eat, eat, eat?

Will the love that you're so rich in Make a fire in the kitchen?

Or the little G.o.d of Love turn the spit, spit, spit?"

I had a little wife, the prettiest ever seen, She wash'd all the dishes and kept the house clean She went to the mill to fetch me some flour, She brought it home safe in less than an hour; She baked me my bread, she brew'd me my ale, She sat by the fire and told a fine tale.

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Did you not hear of Betty Pringle's pig?

It was not very little nor yet very big; The pig sat down upon a dunghill.

And there poor piggy he made his will.

Betty Pringle came to see this pretty pig, That was not very little nor yet very big; This little piggy it lay down and died, And Betty Pringle sat down and cried.

Then Johnny Pringle buried this very pretty pig, That was not very little nor yet very big.

So here's an end of the song of all three, Johnny Pringle, Betty Pringle, and little Piggy.

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The queen of hearts, She made some tarts, All on a summer's day; The knave of hearts He stole those tarts, And with them ran away: The king of hearts Call'd for those tarts, And beat the knave full sore; The knave of hearts Brought back those tarts, And said he'd ne'er steal more.

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The king of spades He kiss'd the maids, Which vex'd the queen full sore; The queen of spades She beat those maids And turn'd them out of door; The knave of spades Grieved for those jades, And did for them implore; The queen so gent, She did relent, And vow'd she'd ne'er strike more.

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The king of clubs He often drubs His loving queen and wife; The queen of clubs Returns him snubs, And all is noise and strife: The knave of clubs Gives winks and rubs, And swears he'll take her _part_; For when our kings Will do such things, They should be made to _smart_.

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The diamond king I fain would sing, And likewise his fair queen, But that the knave, A haughty slave, Must needs step in between.

"Good diamond king, With hempen string This haughty knave destroy, Then may your queen, With mind serene, Your royal love enjoy."

There was a little guinea-pig, Who, being little, was not big; He always walk'd upon his feet, And never fasted when he eat.

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, was 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.

The king of France, with twenty thousand men, March'd up the hill, and then--march'd back again.

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When good King Arthur ruled this land, He was a goodly king; He stole three pecks of barley-meal, To make a bag-pudding.

A bag-pudding the king did make, And stuff'd it well with plums: And in it put great lumps of fat, As big as my two thumbs.

The king and queen did eat thereof, And n.o.blemen beside; And what they could not eat at night, The queen next morning fried.

My dears, do you know That a long time ago, Two poor little children, Whose names I don't know, Were stolen away on a fine summer's day, And left in a wood, so I've heard people say.

And when it was night, How sad was their plight!

The sun it went down, And the moon gave no light!

They sobb'd and they sigh'd, and they bitterly cried, And the poor little things they lay down and died.

And when they were dead, The Robins so red Brought strawberry leaves, And over them spread; And all the day long, They sung them this song, "Poor babes in the wood! poor babes in the wood!

Ah! don't you remember the babes in the wood?"

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When I was a bachelor, I lived by myself, And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf.

But the rats and the mice They made such a strife, I was forced to go to London To get myself a wife: The roads were so bad, And the lanes were so narrow, I was forced to bring my wife home In a wheelbarrow.

The wheelbarrow broke, And my wife had a fall, Down came the wheelbarrow, My wife, and all.

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