LITTLE DITTIES

WINIFRED waters sat and sighed Under a weeping willow; When she went to bed she cried, Wetting all the pillow; Kept on crying night and day, Till her friends lost patience; “What shall we do to stop her, pray?” So said her relations. Send her to the sandy plains, In the zone called torrid: Send her where it never rains, Where the heat is horrid!

MIND that she has only flour For her daily feeding; Let her have a page an hour Of the driest reading,— Navigation, logarithm, All that kind of knowledge,— Ancient pedigrees go with ’em, From the Heralds’ College. When the poor girl has endured Six months of this drying, Winifred will come back cured, Let us hope, of crying. Then she will not day by day Make those mournful faces, And we shall not have to say, “Wring her pillow-cases.”

There was a Little Boy, with two little eyes, And he had a little head that was just the proper size, And two little arms, and two little hands; On two little legs this Little Boy he stands. Now, this Little Boy would now and then be cross Because that he could only be the very thing he was; He wanted to be this, and then he wanted to be that; His head was full of wishes underneath his little hat! “I wish I was a drummer to beat a kettledrum, I wish I was a giant to say Fee-fo-fi-faw-fum; I wish I was a captain to go sailing in a ship; I wish I was a huntsman to crack a nice whip. I wish I was a horse to go sixty miles an hour; I wish I was the man that lives up in the lighthouse tower; I wish I was a sea-gull with two long wings; I wish I was a traveller to see all sorts of things. I wish I was a carpenter; I wish I was a lord; I wish I was a soldier, with a pistol and a sword; I wish I was the man that goes up high in a balloon; I wish, I wish, I wish I could be something else, and soon!” But all the wishing in the world is not a bit of use; That Little Boy this very day he stands in his own shoes; That Little Boy is still but little Master What-do-you-call, As much as if that Little Boy had never wished at all! He eats his bread and butter, and he likes it very much; He grubs about, and bumps his head, and bowls his hoop, and such; And his father and his mother they say, “Thank the gracious powers, Those wishes cannot wish away that Little Boy of ours!”

Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore— No doubt you have heard the name before— Was a boy who never would shut a door! The wind might whistle, the wind might roar, And teeth be aching and throats be sore, But still he never would shut the door. His father would beg, his mother implore, “Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore, We really do wish you would shut the door!” Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore; But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore. When he walked forth the folks would roar, “Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore, Why don’t you think to shut the door?” They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar, And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore On a voyage of penance to Singapore. But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more! Pray do not send me to Singapore On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!” “You will?” said his parents; “then keep on shore! But mind you do! For the plague is sore Of a fellow that never will shut the door, Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”

Timothy Tight, Timothy Tight, Says he will neither have sup nor bite, Nor comb to his hair, nor sleep in his bed, Till he has done what he thinks in his head. What is it poor little Timothy thinks To do before he eats, or drinks, Or combs, or sleeps? Why, Timothy Tight Thinks in his head to turn black into white! He caught a crow, and he tried with that, He tried again with a great black cat, He tried again with dyes and inks; He keeps on trying to do what he thinks! He tried with lumps of coals a score, He tried with jet, and a blackamoor, He tried with these till he got vext— He means to try the Black Sea next.

Baby, baby, bless her; How shall mammy dress her? The summer cloud Is not too proud To find soft wool to dress her. The bluebell Is a true bell, And will find the blue to dress her. The cherry-tree Is a merry tree, And will find the pink to dress her. The lily bright Will find the white, The beautiful white to dress her. The leaves in the wood Are sweet and good, And will find the green to dress her. The honeysuckle, With buds for a buckle, Will make a girdle to dress her. The heavens hold Both silver and gold In the stars, and they will dress her.

There was a man so very tall, That when you spoke you had to bawl Through both your hands, put like a cup, His head was such a long way up! But there was something even sadder,— His wife had to go up a ladder Whenever she desired a kiss— And he, alas, was proud of this! Said he, “I am the tallest man That ever grew since time began,” As down on a house-top he sat; Well, he was tall; but what of that?

THIS monstrous man, as we shall see, Was punished for his vanity: He grew and grew,—the people placed A telescope to see his waist! He grew and grew—you could not see Without a telescope his knee; He grew till he was over-grown, And seen by over-sight alone!

MY man John To sea is gone All in a wicker cradle; The cradle creaks, The cradle leaks, But John has got a ladle.

There is a curious boy, whose name Is Lumpy Loggerhead; His greatest joy is—oh, for shame!— To spend his time in bed. They fit with gongs alarum clocks That make your blood run chill; And they encourage crowing cocks Beneath his window-sill. In vain the gongs,—his eyes are shut— In vain the cocks do crow; Empty on him a water-butt, And he will say, “Hallo!” But only in a drowsy style, And in a second more He sleeps—and, oh! to see him smile! And, oh! to hear him snore! He seems to carry, all day long, Sleep in his very shape; And, though you may be brisk and strong, You often want to gape When Lumpy Loggerhead comes near, Whose bed is all his joy. How glad I am he is not here, That very sleepy boy!

There was a giant walked out one day, To eat whatever came in his way; This giant was greedy, this giant was grim, And the people were all afraid of him. He crossed the field and came into the street, And a dainty damsel he there did meet; “What is your name?” says he to her, And she says, “Lucy Locket, sir.” “A very nice name is Lucy Locket, And you will just fit my waistcoat-pocket;” So said the giant, and popped her in, And the pocket was more than up to her chin. The giant says, “Oh, this is the street; Your father and mother I mean to eat.” But Lucy, she thought, “You wicked man!” And then to tickle him she began. Her hand was light, her hand was small, He scarcely felt it at first at all; She tickled and tickled, and by degrees He felt as if he should like to sneeze! This giant could growl, and shout, and roar, But he never had laughed in his life before, And now he began to look less grim As Lucy kept on tickling him. The people heard and the people saw,— “He, hee!” says the giant, “ha hah! haw haw!” Oh, they were puzzled, but Lucy Locket Made signs to them out of his doublet-pocket. His mad guffaws for a mile they hear, His mouth is stretched from ear to ear; Thinks he, “To laugh is a pleasant plan, So now I will laugh as long as I can.” He laughed till he ached and his eyes grew dim, As Lucy kept on tickling him; He laughed till the tears ran down his face, And he fell down, flop, in the market-place! Then out of his pocket Lucy leapt, And close behind him the people crept; With twisted cables and iron bands And things of that sort they tied his hands. They tied his hands and they tied his feet, They said, “Pray, what would you like to eat?” And Lucy got into his pocket again, And made him laugh like a thousand men! He laughed all day, he laughed all night, He laughed when they woke in the morning light, He laughed that week and the fortnight after,— Travellers came to hear his laughter! They let him laugh on to his heart’s content In a show as high as the Monument; They gave to Lucy a penny clear For every person who came to hear, So now the girl is as rich as a prince, For he has been laughing ever since.

Baby, baby bowling, Set the hoop a-rolling; The hoop will wait At the turnpike gate, And the man will take the toll in.

Diddy Doddy Dumpling, Muslin all a-crumpling; Cap like an arch, Stiff with starch— Diddy Doddy Dumpling! Niddy Noddy Nursey, How shall we make her see? Bobs and blinks, Wobbles and winks— Niddy Noddy Nursey!

What do you think? Why, pen and ink, And a rosewood desk, or better; The old black hen, She mended the pen, And the little pig wrote a letter.

Johnny drew a picture, but Johnny couldn’t spell; What he wrote under it I’m ashamed to tell; All in large capitals Johnny wrote PECTURE, Stuck it up upon the wall, and said that he would lecture; What a funny lecture, though, Johnny will deliver; While, with aches at his mistakes, all the people shiver!

Mind the cat, Find the cat, Who will be first behind the cat? The cat’s on the mat In a billycock hat, And that’s the way to find the cat.

Large eyes, little eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes, My doll has had an accident and wants a pair of new eyes; Strong legs, long legs, one leg and two legs, My doll has had an accident and wants a pair of new legs; Dribble dribble, trickle trickle, what a lot of raw dust! Dolly had an accident, and out came the sawdust!

One, two, three, Put the cups for tea; Two, three, one, Toast a Sally-Lunn. Fanny sat down In a new gown; Emma spilt the milk Over the satin and silk, One, two, three, “Never wear silk at tea,” (Two, three, one), So said Dimity Dunn; Ever so many slices, Bread and butter, and niceys; One, two, three, White sugar for me! Two, three, one, Now the tea’s done.

Baby has just been feeding; See, he has emptied the cup! And now he sits a-reading, But the book is wrong-side up; Will he make out what the book is about Before it is time to sup? His fist he doubles; He blows little bubbles; He splutters and stutters, And tells you his troubles, Reading the book that is wrong-side up!

“Daughter, daughter, Mind the water!” She said she never should, So she went in Right up to her chin, And did not find it good; For the water was bitter, And made her twitter, As nobody thought she could! She cried in haste, “What a nasty taste! I wish I had understood!” Oh, send and save her! A beautiful flavour Is not to be found in the flood; And wine or tea Is the drink for me At a picnic in the wood!

Hurly Burly And Curly Wurly Went to the fair together; It rained in the night For more delight, And it was windy weather. Hurly Burly jumped the stiles, Laughed and in-and-outed; Hurly Burly ran for miles, Hurly Burly shouted. Curly Wurly went off in smiles, Except just when she pouted! The Quakeress peeped from under the tiles, Saying, “If I could smile as thou did!” Hurly Buriy’s talk was mad, Like Singlestick and Latin; Curly Wurly a sweet tongue had, And she was soft as satin. Then Hurly Burly and Curly Wurly, When they had their airing, Came home betimes, like a poet’s rhymes, Each of them with a fairing. For he had a monstrous popgun got, That went with a noise like thunder; And she had a beautiful true-love knot, That never would come in sunder.

Nathan Nobb, Oh, what a job! Always walked on his head; His mother would sob To his brother Bob, And his father took to his bed. They made him a boot His head to suit, But a horrible thing must be said,— His hair took root, And began to shoot, One day, in the garden bed! So there he stands With the help of his hands And a little support from his nose: The gardener man, With the watering-can, Says, “Gracious, how fast he grows!”

Blow, blow, east wind! What does the east wind do? Shine, shine, sunlight! And what does the sunshine do? The sunshine clear Goes there and here, And searches in every nook, And, while it is going, The wind is blowing Farther than you can look; The east wind blows, It sweeps, it goes The whole world through; As the world grows green, It sweeps it clean, And the sky is a pale, cold blue: Blow, blow, east wind, Finish your blowing, do! And the west wind, dear, will soon be here, With skies of deep, warm blue.