The Plough Boy In Luck

1.
My daddy is dead, but I can't tell you how;
He left me six horses to follow the plough;
With my whim wham waddle ho!
Strim stram straddle ho!
Bubble ho! pretty boy, over the brow.

2.
I sold my six horses to buy me a cow;
And wasn't that a pretty thing to follow the plough?
With my, &c.

3.
I sold my cow to buy me a calf,
For I never made a bargain but I lost the best half.
With my, &c.

4.
I sold my calf to buy me a cat,
To sit down before the fire to warm her little back.
With my, &c.

5.
I sold my cat to buy me a mouse,
But she took fire in her tail and so burnt up my house.
With my, &c.

Walter Crane

Walter Crane was an English artist and book illustrator, considered to be one of the most prolific and influential children's book creators of his generation. Born on August 15, 1845, and passing away on March 14, 1915, he was part of the Arts and Crafts movement and is known for his innovative contributions to children's literature. His work often combined art and poetry, aiming to educate and delight young readers.

Walter Crane

King Arthur

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Mrs. Bond

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

Oranges & Lemons

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

The Cock, The Ass & The Lion

Walter Crane, Simple Poetry

English

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Nursery Rhyme. CXLII. Songs.

    My father he died, but I can't tell you how,
    He left me six horses to drive in my plough:
                With my wing wang waddle oh,
                Jack sing saddle oh,
                Blowsey boys bubble oh,
                Under the broom.

    I sold my six horses and I bought me a cow;
    I'd fain have made a fortune but did not know how:
            With my, &c.

    I sold my cow, and I bought me a calf;
    I'd fain have made a fortune, but lost the best half:
            With my, &c.

    I sold my calf, and I bought me a cat;
    A pretty thing she was, in my chimney corner sat:
            With my, &c.

    I sold my cat, and bought me a mouse;
    He carried fire in his tail, and burnt down my house:
...

Unknown

Bedfordshire Ballad. - III.

    FRED AND BILL.


    Two twins were once born in a Bedfordshire home;
    Such events in the best managed households may come;
    Tho', as Tomkins remarked in a voice rather gruff,
    "One child at a time for poor folks is enough."

    But it couldn't be helped, so his wife did her best;
    The children were always respectably drest;
    Went early to school; were put early to bed;
    And had plenty of taters and bacon and bread.

    Now we all should suppose that the two, being twins,
    Resembled each other as much as two pins:
    But no - they as little resembled each other
    As the man in the moon is "a man and a brother."

    Fred's eyes were dark brown, and his hair was jet black;
    He was supple in body, and straight in t...

Edward Woodley Bowling

The Little Disaster

Once there lived a little man,
Where a little river ran,
And he had a little farm and little dairy O!
And he had a little plough,
And a little dappled cow,
Which he often called his pretty little Fairy O!

2

And his dog he called Fidelle,
For he loved his master well;
And he had a little pony for his pleasure O!
In a sty not very big
He'd a frisky little pig,
Which he often called his little piggy treasure O!

3

Once his little maiden, Ann,
With her pretty little can,
Went a-milking when the morning sun was beaming O!
When she fell, I don't know how,
But she stumbled o'er the plough,
And the cow was quite astonished at her screaming O!

4

Little maid cried out in vain,
While the milk ran o'er the p...

Walter Crane

An Alphabet Of Old Friends.

A

A carrion crow sat on an oak,
Watching a tailor shape his cloak.
"Wife, bring me my old bent bow,
That I may shoot yon carrion crow."
The tailor he shot and missed his mark,
And shot his own sow quite through the heart.
"Wife, wife, bring brandy in a spoon,
For our old sow is in a swoon."

B

Ba, ba, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, marry, have I,
Three bags full.

One for my master,
One for my dame,
But none for the little boy
That cries in the lane.

C

Hen.    Cock, cock, I have la-a-ayed!
Cock. Hen, hen, that's well sa-a-ayed!
Hen.    Although I have to go bare-footed every day-a-ay!
Cock. (Con spirito.) Sell your eggs and buy shoes!
                 ...

Walter Crane

The Horkey. A Provincial Ballad.

In the descriptive ballad which follows, it will be evident that I have endeavoured to preserve the style of a gossip, and to transmit the memorial of a custom, the extent or antiquity of which I am not acquainted with, and pretend not to enquire.

In Suffolk husbandry the man who, (whether by merit or by sufferance I know not) goes foremost through the harvest with the scythe or the sickle, is honoured with the title of "Lord," and at the Horkey, or harvest-home feast, collects what he can, for himself and brethren, from the farmers and visitors, to make a "frolick" afterwards, called "the largess spending." By way of returning thanks, though perhaps formerly of much more, or of different signification, they immediately leave the seat of festivity, and with a very long and repeated shout of "a largess," the number of sho...

Robert Bloomfield

An Alphabet Of Old Friends

A

A carrion crow sat on an oak,
Watching a tailor shape his cloak.
"Wife, bring me my old bent bow,
That I may shoot yon carrion crow."
The tailor he shot and missed his mark,
And shot his own sow quite through the heart.
"Wife, wife, bring brandy in a spoon,
For our old sow is in a swoon."


B

Ba, ba, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, marry, have I,
Three bags full.
One for my master,
One for my dame,
But none for the little boy
That cries in the lane.


C

Hen.    Cock, cock, I have la-a-ayed!
Cock. Hen, hen, that's well sa-a-ayed!
Hen.    Although I have to go bare-footed every day-a-ay!
Cock. (Con spirito.) Sell your eggs and buy shoes!
Sell your e...

Walter Crane