Rowsty dowt, my fire's all out,
My little dame is not at home!
I'll saddle my cock, and bridle my hen,
And fetch my little dame home again!
Home she came, tritty trot,
She asked for the porridge she left in the pot;
Some she ate and some she shod,
And some she gave to the truckler's dog;
She took up the ladle and knocked its head,
And now poor Dapsy dog is dead!
Nursery Rhyme. DLXXXVIII. Natural History.
Unknown
Suggested Poems
Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.