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The Nursery Rhyme Book
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Merrily run the reel
And the little spinning-wheel
Whilst I am singing and mowing my corn.
UP at Piccadilly oh!
The coachman takes his stand,
And when he meets a pretty girl,
He takes her by the hand.
Whip away for ever oh!
Drive away so clever oh!
All the way to Bristol oh!
He drives her four-in-hand.
"JACKY, come give me thy fiddle,
If ever thou mean to thrive:"
"Nay; I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.
"If I should give my fiddle,
They'll think that I'm gone mad,
For many a joyful day
My fiddle and I have had."
I'LL sing you a song,
Though not very long,
Yet I think it as pretty as any.
Put your hand in your purse,
You'll never be worse,
And give the poor singer a penny.
LITTLE Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders,
Warming her pretty little toes.
Her mother came and caught her,
And whipped her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new clothes.
JOHN COOK had a little grey mare; he, haw, hum!
Her back stood up, and her bones they were bare; he, haw, hum!
John Cook was riding up Shuter's bank; he, haw, hum!
And there his nag did kick and prank; he, haw, hum!
John Cook was riding up Shuter's hill; he, haw, hum!
His mare fell down, and she made her will; he, haw, hum!
The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf; he, haw, hum!
If you want any more you may sing it yourself; he, haw, hum!
RIDE away, ride away, Johnny shall ride,
And he shall have pussy-cat tied to one side,
And he shall have little dog tied to the other,
And Johnny shall ride to see his grandmother.
THE Queen of Hearts,
She made some tarts,
All on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts,
He stole those tarts,
And took them clean away.
The King of Hearts
Called for the tarts,
And beat the Knave full sore;
The Knave of Hearts
Brought back the tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more.
THERE was a little woman, as I've been told,
Who was not very young, nor yet very old;
Now this little woman her living got,
By selling codlins, hot, hot, hot.
DAME, get up and bake your pies,
Bake your pies, bake your pies;
Dame, get up and bake your pies
On Christmas Day in the morning.
Dame, what makes your maidens lie,
Maidens lie, maidens lie;
Dame, what makes your maidens lie
On Christmas Day in the morning?
Dame, what makes your ducks to die,
Ducks to die, ducks to die;
Dame, what makes your ducks to die
On Christmas Day in the morning?
Their wings are cut and they cannot fly,
Cannot fly, cannot fly;
Their wings are cut and they cannot fly
On Christmas Day in the morning.
COLD and raw the north wind doth blow,
Bleak in a morning early;
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winter's now come fairly.
I saw three ships come sailing by,
Come sailing by, come sailing by;
And the little spinning-wheel
Whilst I am singing and mowing my corn.
UP at Piccadilly oh!
The coachman takes his stand,
And when he meets a pretty girl,
He takes her by the hand.
Whip away for ever oh!
Drive away so clever oh!
All the way to Bristol oh!
He drives her four-in-hand.
"JACKY, come give me thy fiddle,
If ever thou mean to thrive:"
"Nay; I'll not give my fiddle
To any man alive.
"If I should give my fiddle,
They'll think that I'm gone mad,
For many a joyful day
My fiddle and I have had."
I'LL sing you a song,
Though not very long,
Yet I think it as pretty as any.
Put your hand in your purse,
You'll never be worse,
And give the poor singer a penny.
LITTLE Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders,
Warming her pretty little toes.
Her mother came and caught her,
And whipped her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new clothes.
JOHN COOK had a little grey mare; he, haw, hum!
Her back stood up, and her bones they were bare; he, haw, hum!
John Cook was riding up Shuter's bank; he, haw, hum!
And there his nag did kick and prank; he, haw, hum!
John Cook was riding up Shuter's hill; he, haw, hum!
His mare fell down, and she made her will; he, haw, hum!
The bridle and saddle were laid on the shelf; he, haw, hum!
If you want any more you may sing it yourself; he, haw, hum!
RIDE away, ride away, Johnny shall ride,
And he shall have pussy-cat tied to one side,
And he shall have little dog tied to the other,
And Johnny shall ride to see his grandmother.
THE Queen of Hearts,
She made some tarts,
All on a summer's day;
The Knave of Hearts,
He stole those tarts,
And took them clean away.
The King of Hearts
Called for the tarts,
And beat the Knave full sore;
The Knave of Hearts
Brought back the tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more.
THERE was a little woman, as I've been told,
Who was not very young, nor yet very old;
Now this little woman her living got,
By selling codlins, hot, hot, hot.
DAME, get up and bake your pies,
Bake your pies, bake your pies;
Dame, get up and bake your pies
On Christmas Day in the morning.
Dame, what makes your maidens lie,
Maidens lie, maidens lie;
Dame, what makes your maidens lie
On Christmas Day in the morning?
Dame, what makes your ducks to die,
Ducks to die, ducks to die;
Dame, what makes your ducks to die
On Christmas Day in the morning?
Their wings are cut and they cannot fly,
Cannot fly, cannot fly;
Their wings are cut and they cannot fly
On Christmas Day in the morning.
COLD and raw the north wind doth blow,
Bleak in a morning early;
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winter's now come fairly.
I saw three ships come sailing by,
Come sailing by, come sailing by;
Другие электронные книги автора Andrew Lang
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее