 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
178
MOTHER GOOSE FOR BIG FOLKS.
Not only the little toddlers,
Perched high on papa's toe,
Bound for a ride to London town,
On childish journeys go—
For we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.
Perched high on papa's toe,
Bound for a ride to London town,
On childish journeys go—
For we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.
Still do we reach for sunbeams,
And learn the rattle's trick.
The great big watch of Father Time—
We love to hear it tick!
To pat a cake for our Tommy,
And pat a cake for one's self—
For that alone we labor and strive,
And hoard up our golden pelf.
And learn the rattle's trick.
The great big watch of Father Time—
We love to hear it tick!
To pat a cake for our Tommy,
And pat a cake for one's self—
For that alone we labor and strive,
And hoard up our golden pelf.
179
This little pig goes to market;
This little pig stays at home;
And we all cry “Wee!” for our mammy,
Wherever we chance to roam.
We seek our bed with Sleepyhead;
We stay awhile with Slow;
And fill the pot with Greedy, glad
To sup before we go.
This little pig stays at home;
And we all cry “Wee!” for our mammy,
Wherever we chance to roam.
We seek our bed with Sleepyhead;
We stay awhile with Slow;
And fill the pot with Greedy, glad
To sup before we go.
When Jack and Jill go up the hill
To fetch their pail o' water,
As sure as Jack comes tumbling down
Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.
Mistress Marys are still contrary;
Marjorie Daws still sell;
And Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards
For bones for the ne'er-do-well.
To fetch their pail o' water,
As sure as Jack comes tumbling down
Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.
Mistress Marys are still contrary;
Marjorie Daws still sell;
And Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards
For bones for the ne'er-do-well.
Jack Horners in their corners still
Do ply the busy thumb,
And “What a big boy!” we always cry
Whenever we see the plum.
Our wise men into brambles yet
Do jump with might and main;
And those who go to sea in bowls
Rarely come back again.
Do ply the busy thumb,
And “What a big boy!” we always cry
Whenever we see the plum.
180
Do jump with might and main;
And those who go to sea in bowls
Rarely come back again.
“What do you want?” “A pot o' beer.”
Alack, the bitter wrong!
That grenadier an army hath
How many million strong!
And don't some hearts, deploring
The things that gnaw and harrow,
Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,
When lanes are rough and narrow?
Alack, the bitter wrong!
That grenadier an army hath
How many million strong!
And don't some hearts, deploring
The things that gnaw and harrow,
Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,
When lanes are rough and narrow?
Ah, yes! the old rhymes suit us
As well as ever they did;
For the gist of our lives, from first to last,
Is under their jingle hid—
As we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, roundy, round-y.
As well as ever they did;
For the gist of our lives, from first to last,
Is under their jingle hid—
As we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, roundy, round-y.
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |