Nursery Rhyme. DLXVI. Natural History.

    I had a little hen, the prettiest ever seen,
    She washed me the dishes, and kept the house clean:
    She went to the mill to fetch me some flour;
    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.

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. CLI. Songs.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Onions

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Woman

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Misers

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Nursery Rhyme. DLXXIII. Natural History.

    See, saw, Margery Daw,
    The old hen flew over the malt house,
    She counted her chickens one by one,
    Still she missed the little white one,
    And this is it, this is it, this is it.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DXXV. Natural History.

    Hickety, pickety, my black hen,
    She lays eggs for gentlemen;
    Gentlemen come every day
    To see what my black hen doth lay.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DLXIX. Natural History.

    Higglepy Piggleby,
        My black hen,
    She lays eggs
        For gentlemen;
    Sometimes nine,
        And sometimes ten,
    Higglepy Piggleby,
        My black hen!

Unknown

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.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCXCVII. Natural History.

    I had a little dog, and his name was Blue Bell,
    I gave him some work, and he did it very well;
    I sent him up stairs to pick up a pin,
    He stepped in the coal-scuttle up to the chin;
    I sent him to the garden to pick some sage,
    He tumbled down and fell in a rage;
    I sent him to the cellar to draw a pot of beer,
    He came up again and said there was none there.

Unknown

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