THE BURIAL OF COCK ROBIN.

Here lies Cock Robin, Dead and cold; This book his end Will soon unfold.

Who kill'd Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, With my bow and arrow, And I kill'd Cock Robin.

This is the Sparrow, With his bow and arrow.

Who saw him die? I, said the fly, With my little eye, And I saw him die.

This is the Fly, With his little eye.

Who caught his blood? I, said the Fish, With my little dish, And I caught his blood.

This is the Fish, That held the dish.

Who'll make his shroud? I, said the Beetle, With my thread and needle, And I'll make his shroud.

This is the Beetle, With his thread and needle.

Who'll dig his grave? I, said the Owl, With my spade and showl, And I'll dig his grave.

This is the Owl so brave, That dug Cock Robin's grave.

Who'll be the Parson? I, said the Rook, With my little book, And I'll be the Parson.

Here's Parson Rook, Reading his book.

Who'll be the Clerk? I, said the Lark, If 'tis not in the dark, And I'll be the Clerk.

Behold the little Lark, Says Amen like a Clerk.

Who'll carry him to his grave? I, said the Kite, If 'tis not in the night, I'll carry him to his grave.

Behold the noble Kite, About to take his flight.

Who'll carry the link? I, said the Linnet, Will fetch it in a minute, And I'll carry the link.

Here's the Linnet with the light, Although it is not night.

Who'll be chief mourner? I, said the Dove; For I mourn for my love; And I'll be chief mourner.

Here's the pretty Dove, That mourns for her love.

Who'll bear the pall? We, say the Wrens, Both the cock and the hen, And we'll bear the pall.

Here are the Wrens so small, Who bore Cock Robin's pall.

Who'll sing a psalm? I, said the Thrush, As he sat in the bush; And I'll sing a psalm.

Here's a fine Thrush, Singing psalms in a bush.

Who'll toll the bell? I, said the Bull, Because I can pull; So Cock Robin, farewell.

Here is the Bull, Who said he could pull.

All the birds in the air Fell to sighing and sobbing, When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin.