She shall have music wherever she goes.

This is the way the ladies ride; Tri, tre, tre, tree, Tri, tre, tre, tree!

This is the way the ladies ride, Tri, tre, tre, tre, tri-tre-tre-tree!

This is the way the gentlemen ride; Gallop-a-trot, Gallop-a-trot!

This is the way the gentlemen ride, Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot!

This is the way the farmers ride; Hobbledy-hoy, Hobbledy-hoy!

This is the way the farmers ride, Hobbledy, hobbledy-hoy!

Ride, baby, ride, Pretty baby shall ride, And have a little puppy-dog tied to her side, And a little p.u.s.s.y-cat tied to the other, And away she shall ride To see her grandmother, To see her grandmother, To see her grandmother in London town.

See-saw sacradown, Which is the way to London town?

One foot up, the other foot down, That is the way to London town.

To market, to market, To buy a plum bun; Home again, home again, Market is done.

Dance, little baby, dance up high, Never mind, baby, mother is by; Crow and caper, caper and crow, There, little baby, there you go;

Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Backwards and forwards, round and round; Dance, little baby, and mother will sing, With the merry chorus, ding, ding, ding!

A farmer went trotting Upon his gray mare; b.u.mpety, b.u.mpety, b.u.mp!

With his daughter behind him, So rosy and fair; Lumpety, lumpety, lump!

A raven cried "Croak"; And they all tumbled down; b.u.mpety, b.u.mpety, b.u.mp!

The mare broke her knees, And the farmer his crown; Lumpety, lumpety, lump.

The mischievous raven Flew laughing away; b.u.mpety, b.u.mpety, b.u.mp!

And vowed he would serve them The same the next day; b.u.mpety, b.u.mpety, b.u.mp!

Hey, my kitten, my kitten, And hey, my kitten, my deary!

Such a sweet pet as this Was neither far nor neary.

Here we go up, up, up, And here we go down, down, downy; And here we go backwards and forwards, And here we go round, round, roundy.

Hey diddle, d.i.n.kety, poppety, pet, The merchants of London they wear scarlet; Silk in the collar and gold in the hem, So merrily march the merchantmen.

_Rhymes About a Little Woman_

This is the way the ladies ride-- Saddle-a-side, saddle-a-side!

This is the way the gentlemen ride-- Sitting astride, sitting astride!

This is the way the grandmothers ride-- Bundled and tied, bundled and tied!

This is the way the babykins ride-- Snuggled inside, snuggled inside!

This is the way when they are late, They _all_ fly over a five-barred gate.

William Canton.

Every evening Baby goes Trot, trot, to town-- Across the river, through the fields, Up hill and down.

Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Up hill and down, To buy a feather for her hat, To buy a woolen gown.

Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The birds fly down, alack!

"You cannot have our feathers, dear,"

They say; "so please trot back."

Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The lambs come bleating near.

"You cannot have our wool," they say; "But we are sorry, dear."

Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Trot, trot, to town.

She buys a red rose for her hat, She buys a cotton gown.

Mary F. b.u.t.ts.

IV

BABY'S FRIENDS

Mary had a pretty bird, Feathers bright and yellow, Slender legs; upon my word, He was a pretty fellow.

The sweetest notes he always sang, Which much delighted Mary; And near the cage she'd often sit, To hear her own Canary.

Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home, Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone: All but one whose name is Ann, And she crept under the pudding-pan.

There was a little n.o.bby colt, His name was n.o.bby Gray; His head was made of pouce straw, His tail was made of hay.

He could ramble, he could trot, He could carry a mustard-pot Round the town of Woodstock, Hey, Jenny, hey!

The north wind doth blow, And we shall have snow, And what will the robin do then, Poor thing?

He'll sit in a barn, And keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, Poor thing!