Nursery Rhyme. DCLIII. Relics.

        Old Sir Simon the king,
    And young Sir Simon the 'squire,
            And old Mrs. Hickabout
            Kicked Mrs. Kickabout
    Round about our coal fire!

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Recipe For A Suffragette:

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLVI. Love And Matrimony.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CLXXVI. Songs.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCVI. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Nursery Rhyme. DCLIV. Relics.

    A good child, a good child,
        As I suppose you be,
    Never laughed nor smiled
        At the tickling of your knee.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCL. Relics.

    High diddle doubt, my candle out,
        My little maid is not at home:
    Saddle my hog, and bridle my dog,
        And fetch my little maid home.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCLI. Relics.

    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.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCXII. Relics.

    Hink, minx! the old witch winks,
        The fat begins to fry:
    There's nobody at home but jumping Joan,
        Father, mother, and I.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCXLVI. Relics.

    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.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CXLVI. Songs.

        [From 'Histrio-mastix, or, the Player Whipt,' 4to, Lond. 1610. Mr. Rimbault tells me this is common in Yorkshire.]

            Some up, and some down,
            There's players in the town,
    You wot well who they be;
            The sun doth arise,
            To three companies,
    One, two, three, four, make wee!

            Besides we that travel,
            With pumps full of gravel,
    Made all of such running leather:
            That once in a week,
            New masters we seek,
    And never can hold together.

Unknown