Traditional Nursery Songs of England.

by Various.

PREFACE.

So my dear Madam, you think Nursery Songs mere trash, not worth utterance or remembrance, and beneath the dignity of the "march of mind"

of our days! I would bow to your judgment, but you always talk so loud in the midst of a song; look grave at a joke--and the leaves of that copy of Wordsworth's Poems, presented to you on your birthday--I will not say how many years ago, still remain uncut. Facts like these, and others constantly occurring, prove that your ear cannot relish melody; and that poetry does not touch your feelings. Besides, you are still unmarried, and you say, I record it with regret, "you hate children."

Doubtless you were never born a child yourself.

It is to mothers, sisters, kind-hearted aunts, and even fathers, who are summoned to become unwilling vocalists at break of day by young gentlemen and ladies of two years old; and to all having the charge of children, who are alive to the importance of cultivating their natural keenness for rhyme, rhythm, melody, and instinctive love for fun, that I offer this first part of a collection of Traditional Nursery Songs. This Collection has been in progress for more than ten years, and it is now published, after a revision, with all the editions by Ritson, and others, that I have been able to meet with.

The Pictures, though made especially for the benefit of my young audience, will not, I feel pretty sure, be uninteresting to more advanced connoisseurs. I am not at liberty to mention the names of the artists who in their kind sympathies for children have obliged me with them. It is a mystery to be unravelled by the little people themselves, who, as they advance in a knowledge and love of beauty, will not fail to recognize in the works of some of the best of our painters of familiar life, the pencils of those who gave them early lessons in genuine art.

TRADITIONAL NURSERY SONGS.

A diller, a dollar, A ten o'clock scholar, What makes you come so soon?

You used to come at ten o'clock, And now you come at noon.

A long tailed pig, or a short tailed pig, Or a pig without a tail, A sow pig, or a boar pig, Or a pig with a curly tail.

As I was going up Pippen hill, Pippen hill was dirty; There I met a pretty Miss, And she dropt me a curtsey.

Little Miss, pretty Miss, Blessings light upon you, If I had half a crown a day, I'd spend it all upon you.

Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?

Yes, marry, have I, three bags full; One for my master, and one for my dame, And one for the little boy that lives in the lane.

Bless you, bless you, bonnie bee: Say, when will your wedding be?

If it be to-morrow day, Take your wings and fly away.

Bonnie la.s.s! bonnie la.s.s! wilt thou be mine?

Thou shalt neither wash dishes nor serve the swine, But sit on a cushion and sow up a seam, And thou shalt have strawberries, sugar, and cream.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BYE. O MY BABY.]

Bye baby bunting, Father's gone a hunting, To get a little rabbit-skin, To lap his little baby in.

Bye, O my baby, When I was a lady, Oh then my poor babe didn't cry; But my baby is weeping, For want of good keeping, Oh! I fear my poor baby will die.

c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!

My dame has lost her shoe, Master's broke his fiddle-stick, And don't know what to do.

Cold and raw the north wind doth blow, Bleak in the morning early; All the hills are covered with snow, And winter's now come fairly.

"Come, let's to bed," says Sleepy-head, "Let's stay awhile," says Slow, "Put on the pot," says Greedy-gut, "We'll sup before we go."

Cross Patch, draw the latch, Sit by the fire and spin; Take a cup, and drink it up, And call your neighbours in.

Cushy Cow bonny, let down thy milk, And I will give thee a gown of silk!

A gown of silk and a silver tee, If thou will let down thy milk to me.

Daffy-down-dilly has come up to town, In a yellow petticoat, and a green gown.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "COME, LET'S GO TO BED," SAYS SLEEPY-HEAD, "LET'S STAY AWHILE," SAYS SLOW, "PUT ON THE POT," SAYS GREEDY-GUT, "WE'LL SUP BEFORE WE GO."]

Danty baby diddy, What can mammy do wid'e?

Sit in a lap And give ye some pap, Danty baby diddy.

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.

Ding, dong, bell, p.u.s.s.y-cat's in the well.

Who put her in?

Little Johnny Green.

Who pull'd her out?

Little Johnny Stout.

What a naughty boy was that, To drown his poor grand-mammy's cat; Which never did him any harm, But killed the mice in his father's barn.

Dingty, diddledy, my mammy's maid, She stole oranges, I am afraid, Some in her pocket, some in her sleeve, She stole oranges, I do believe.