Dick Whittington.

N the village churchyard,
By the tombs so old,
Father John tells stories
Of rich London's gold.

Young men hear his story,
Long for gold to seek,
Asking many questions;
Dickie does not speak.

Yet Dick has no parents,
He is very poor,
He picks up a living,
But he longs for more.

Often he is hungry,
Often cold and sad,
Up to London town
Starts the little lad.

Walking all the way,
Tired he is and worn,
He sinks upon a step
Weary and forlorn.

He slept until the sun set,
Upon the step so white,
Belonging to a merchant
Who came in at night.

This merchant had a kind heart,
And helped the little boy,
And made him scullion in his house,
Where he had lived in joy

But for a cross old cook, who
Hated the little lad,

Worried him every moment,
And nearly drove him mad.

She made him sleep on hard bed
Among the mice and rats;
And boxed his ears most soundly
Whene'er he talked of cats.

But Dick once saw a kitten,
A pretty little thing;
He bought it for a penny,
And home with him did bring.

Puss ate the rats and mice,
And loved her master dear,
And played all sorts of antics
Poor Richard's heart to cheer.

Yet was he sad and sorry,
And once away did run,
And sat upon a wayside stone,
Just at the set of sun.

Bow Bells were ringing loudly,
And to him they did say―
Turn again, Dick Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London, stay."

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So back went patient Richard,
To work away again;
To bear the old cook's temper,
And strive her love to gain.

The merchant told his servants
That every one should try
A little venture in his ship,
At which poor Dick did sigh:

For he had neither money,
Nor goods; just think of that!
One thing only was his own;
His darling pussy cat!

With aching heart he sent her,

But she caught the rats and mice,
And cleared the ship of vermin,
Had kittens, and kept them nice.

When in the foreign country,
The captain plainly saw
How much was there required
Poor pussy's tooth and paw.

The mice ran out in daylight,
Into dishes ran the rats;
For never in that country
Had dwelt any pussy cats.