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Read Ebook: The Nursery Rhymes of England by Halliwell Phillipps J O James Orchard Compiler Scott William Bell Illustrator
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Ebook has 1783 lines and 79083 words, and 36 pages
Then she flew from the ball-room, and put On her Catskin robe again; And slipt in unseen by the cook, Who little thought where she had been.
The young lord, the very next day, To his mother his passion betrayed; He declared he never would rest, Till he'd found out this beautiful maid.
There's another grand ball to be, Where ladies their beauties show; "Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me, How much I should like to go!"
"You go with your Catskin robe, You dirty impudent slut! Among the fine ladies and lords, A very fine figure you'd cut."
In a rage the ladle she took, And broke poor Catskin's head; But off she went shaking her ears, And swift to her forest she fled.
She washed every blood-stain off In some crystal waterfall; Put on a more beautiful dress, And hasted away to the ball.
My lord, at the ball-room door, Was waiting with pleasure and pain; He longed to see nothing so much As the beautiful Catskin again.
When he asked her to dance, she again Said "Yes!" with her first smiling glance; And again, all the night, my young lord With none but fair Catskin did dance.
"Pray tell me," said he, "where you live?" For now 'twas the parting-time; But she no other answer would give, Than this distich of mystical rhyme,--
Then she flew from the ball, and put on Her Catskin robe again; And slipt in unseen by the cook, Who little thought where she had been.
My lord did again, the next day, Declare to his mother his mind, That he never more happy should be, Unless he his charmer should find.
Now another grand ball is to be, Where ladies their beauties show; "Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me, How much I should like to go!"
"You go with your Catskin robe, You impudent, dirty slut! Among the fine ladies and lords, A very fine figure you'd cut."
In a fury she took the skimmer, And broke poor Catskin's head; But heart-whole and lively as ever, Away to her forest she fled.
She washed the stains of blood In some crystal waterfall; Then put on her most beautiful dress, And hasted away to the ball.
My lord, at the ball-room door, Was waiting with pleasure and pain; He longed to see nothing so much As the beautiful Catskin again.
When he asked her to dance, she again Said "Yes!" with her first smiling glance; And all the night long, my young lord With none but fair Catskin would dance.
"Pray tell me, fair maid, where you live?" For now was the parting-time; But she no other answer would give, Than this distich of mystical rhyme,--
Then she flew from the ball, and threw on Her Catskin cloak again; And slipt in unseen by the cook, Who little thought where she had been.
But not by my lord unseen, For this time he followed too fast; And, hid in the forest green, Saw the strange things that past.
Next day he took to his bed, And sent for the doctor to come; And begg'd him no other than Catskin, Might come into his room.
He told him how dearly he lov'd her, Not to have her his heart would break: Then the doctor kindly promised To the proud old lady to speak.
There's a struggle of pride and love, For she fear'd her son would die; But pride at the last did yield, And love had the mastery.
Then my lord got quickly well, When he was his charmer to wed; And Catskin, before a twelvemonth, Of a young lord was brought to bed.
To a wayfaring woman and child, Lady Catskin one day sent an alms; The nurse did the errand, and carried The sweet little lord in her arms.
The child gave the alms to the child, This was seen by the old lady-mother; "Only see," said that wicked old woman, "How the beggars' brats take to each other!"
This throw went to Catskin's heart, She flung herself down on her knees, And pray'd her young master and lord To seek out her parents would please.
They set out in my lord's own coach; They travelled, but nought befel Till they reach'd the town hard by, Where Catskin's father did dwell.
They put up at the head inn, Where Catskin was left alone; But my lord went to try if her father His natural child would own.
When folks are away, in short time What great alterations appear; For the cold touch of death had all chill'd The hearts of her sisters dear.
Her father repented too late, And the loss of his youngest bemoan'd; In his old and childless state, He his pride and cruelty own'd.
The old gentleman sat by the fire, And hardly looked up at my lord; He had no hopes of comfort A stranger could afford.
But my lord drew a chair close by, And said, in a feeling tone, "Have you not, sir, a daughter, I pray, You never would see or own?"
The old man alarm'd, cried aloud, "A hardened sinner am I! I would give all my worldly goods, To see her before I die."
Then my lord brought his wife and child To their home and parent's face, Who fell down and thanks returned To God, for his mercy and grace.
The bells, ringing up in the tower, Are sending a sound to the heart; There's a charm in the old church-bells, Which nothing in life can impart!
Simple Simon met a pieman Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me taste your ware."
Says the pieman to Simple Simon, "Show me first your penny." Says Simple Simon to the pieman, "Indeed I have not any."
Simple Simon went a fishing For to catch a whale: All the water he had got Was in his mother's pail.
Punch and Judy, Fought for a pie, Punch gave Judy A sad blow on the eye.
There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile, He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile: He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse, And they all lived together in a little crooked house.
Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday: This is the end Of Solomon Grundy.
Robin the Bobbin, the big-bellied Ben, He eat more meat than fourscore men; He eat a cow, he eat a calf, He eat a butcher and a half; He eat a church, he eat a steeple, He eat the priest and all the people!
A cow and a calf, An ox and a half, A church and a steeple, And all the good people, And yet he complain'd that his stomach wasn't full.
There was a fat man of Bombay, Who was smoking one sunshiny day, When a bird, called a snipe, Flew away with his pipe, Which vex'd the fat man of Bombay.
My dear, do you know, How 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, as I've heard people say.
And when it was night, So 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! And don't you remember the babes in the wood?"
There was a man, and he had naught, And robbers came to rob him; He crept up to the chimney pot, And then they thought they had him.
But he got down on t'other side, And then they could not find him; He ran fourteen miles in fifteen days, And never look'd behind him.
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