The Nursery Rhyme Book

AROUND the green gravel the grass grows green,
And all the pretty maids are plain to be seen;
Wash them with milk, and clothe them with silk,
And write their names with a pen and ink.

AS I was going to sell my eggs,
I met a man with bandy legs,
Bandy legs and crooked toes;
I tripped up his heels, and he fell on his nose.

MY little old man and I fell out;
I'll tell you what 'twas all about:
I had money, and he had none,
And that's the way the row begun.

DAFFY-Down-Dilly has come up to town
In a yellow petticoat and a green gown.

DARBY and Joan were dress'd in black,
Sword and buckle behind their back;
Foot for foot, and knee for knee,
Turn about Darby's company.

IF all the seas were one sea,
What a great sea that would be!
And if all the trees were one tree,
What a great tree that would be!
And if all the axes were one axe,
What a great axe that would be!
And if all the men were one man,
What a great man he would be!
And if the great man took the great axe,
And cut down the great tree,
And let it fall into the great sea,
What a splish splash that would be!

RAIN, rain, go away;
Come again another day;
Little Arthur wants to play.

BARBER, barber, shave a pig;
How many hairs will make a wig?
"Four-and-twenty, that's enough:"
Give the barber a pinch of snuff.

LITTLE Tom Tucker
Sings for his supper;
What shall he eat?
White bread and butter.
How shall he cut it,
Without e'er a knife?
How will he be married
Without e'er a wife?

WHO comes here?
"A grenadier."
"What do you want?"
"A pot of beer."
"Where is your money?"
"I've forgot."
"Get you gone,
You drunken sot!"

TO market, to market, to buy a plum-cake;
Back again, back again, baby is late;
To market, to market, to buy a plum-bun,
Back again, back again, market is done.

BLOW, wind, blow! and go, mill, go!
That the miller may grind his corn;
That the baker may take it,
And into rolls make it,
And send us some hot in the morn.

A MAN went a hunting at Reigate,
And wished to leap over a high gate;
Says the owner, "Go round,
With your gun and your hound,
For you never shall leap over my gate."

THERE was a little nobby colt,
His name was Nobby Gray;
His head was made of pouce straw,
His tail was made of hay.
He could ramble, he could trot,
He could carry a mustard-pot,
Round the town of Woodstock,
Hey, Jenny, hey!

WE'RE all in the dumps,
For diamonds are trumps;
The kittens are gone to St. Paul's!
The babies are bit,
The moon's in a fit,
And the houses are built without walls.

Notes

THE origin of the right nursery rhymes is, of course, popular, like the origin of ballads, tales (Märchen), riddles, proverbs, and, indeed, of literature in general. They are probably, in England, of no great antiquity, except in certain cases, where they supply the words to some child's ballet, some dance game. A game may be of prehistoric antiquity, as appears in the rudimentary forms of backgammon, Pachin and Patullo, common to Asia, and to the Aztecs, as Dr. Tylor has demonstrated. The child's game —