CHAPTER XI.

SONGS.

"WILL THE LOVE THAT YOU'RE SO

“THERE

RICH IN."

HERE 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 the least said is soonest mended-ded-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 God of Love turn the spit, spit, spit ?'"

"Cock-a-doodle doo, my dame has lost her shoe; My master's lost his fiddling stick and doesn't know what to do.

Cock-a-doodle doo, what is my dame to do?

Till master finds his fiddling stick she'll dance without her shoe.

"Cock-a-doodle doo, my dame has found her shoe, and master's found his fiddling stick. Sing doodle, doodle doo-Cock-a-doodle doo, My dame will dance with you,

While master fiddles his fiddling stick
For dame and doodle doo."

The third-century monarch, King Cole, is seriously libelled in the nursery jingle of— "Old King Cole was a merry old soui, A merry old soul was he,

He called for his glass, he called for his pipe,
He called for his fiddlers three."

"Rowsty dowt, my fire's all out,

My little Dame Trot is not at home! Oh my! But I'll saddle my cock and bridle my hen,

And fetch my little dame home again! Home

again!

Home she came, tritty-ti-trot,

She asked for some dinner she left in the pot;
Some she ate and some she shod,

And the rest she gave to the truckler's dog.
She took up the ladle and knocked its head,
And now poor dapsy dog is dead!"

"There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And his bullets they were made of lead,
He went to the brook and shot a little duck
Right through its head, head, head.

"He took it home to his wife Joan

And bade her a good fire to make,

While he went to the brook where he shot the little duck

To see if he could shoot the little drake.

"The drake was a-swimming

With its curly tail,

The little man made it his mark,

He let off his gun

But fired too soon,

And the drake flew away with a quack, quack,

quack."

The Creole's slave-song to her infant is built on the same lines, and runs―

"If you were a little bird
And myself a gun,

I would shoot you.
Bum! Bum! Bum!

"Oh! my precious little jewel
Of mahogany,

I love you

As a hog loves mud."

"Some say the devil's dead,

And buried in cold harbour;

Some say he's alive again,

And 'prenticed to a barber."

"I had a little pony, his name was Dapple Grey;
I lent him to a lady, to ride a mile away.
She whipped him and she lashed him,
She rode him through the mire;

I would not lend my pony now
For all that lady's hire."

"Little Blue Betty, she lived in a den,
She sold good ale to gentleinen.
Gentlemen came every day,

And little Blue Betty she skipped away.
She hopped upstairs to make her bed,
But tumbled down and broke her head."

TOM, TOM, THE PIPER'S SON.

"Tom, he was a piper's son,

He learned to play when he was young;
But the only tune that he could play
Was 'Over the hills and far away.'
Over the hills and a great way off,

And the wind will blow my top-knot off.

"Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise
That he pleased both the girls and boys,
And they stopped to hear him play
'Over the hills and far away.'

"Tom on his pipe did play with such skill

That those who heard him could never keep

still;

Whenever they heard him they began to dance, Even pigs on their hind legs would after him

prance.