Nursery Rhyme. DL. Natural History.

    The winds they did blow,
        The leaves they did wag;
    Along came a beggar boy,
        And put me in his bag.

    He took me up to London,
        A lady did me buy,
    Put me in a silver cage,
        And hung me up on high.

    With apples by the fire,
        And nuts for to crack,
    Besides a little feather bed
        To rest my little back.

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

Nursery Rhyme. DXXXIV. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DX. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DIX. Natural History.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXXXVIII. Jingles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Nursery Rhyme. DLXV. Natural History.

    Snail, snail, shut out your horns;
        Father and mother are dead:
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        Begging for barley bread.

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Nursery Rhyme. DLXVI. Natural History.

    I had a little hen, the prettiest ever seen,
    She washed me the dishes, and kept the house clean:
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    She brought it home in less than an hour;
    She baked me my bread, she brew'd me my ale,
    She sat by the fire and told many a fine tale.

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Nursery Rhyme. DLXII. Natural History.

    Lady bird, lady bird, fly away home,
    Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone,
    All but one, and her name is Ann,
    And she crept under the pudding-pan.

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Nursery Rhyme. DLXIV. Natural History.

    There was a little boy went into a barn,
        And lay down on some hay;
    An owl came out and flew about,
        And the little boy ran away.

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Nursery Rhyme. DLXXII. Natural History.

    On Christmas eve I turn'd the spit,
    I burnt my fingers, I feel it yet;
    The cock sparrow flew over the table;
    The pot began to play with the ladle.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DLIII. Natural History.

    Pussy sits behind the fire,
        How can she be fair?
    In comes the little dog,
        Pussy, are you there?
    So, so, Mistress Pussy,
        Pray how do you do?
    Thank you, thank you, little dog,
        I'm very well just now.

Unknown