Tag: Poetry
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Mother Goose: The Clever Hen
THE CLEVER HENI 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 brewed me my ale,She sat by the fire and told many a fine…
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Mother Goose: Robin and Richard
ROBIN AND RICHARDRobin and Richard were two pretty men,They lay in bed till the clock struck ten;Then up starts Robin and looks at the sky,“Oh, brother Richard, the sun’s very high!You go before, with the bottle and bag,And I will come after on little Jack Nag.” By Mother Goose
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Mother Goose: To Market
TO MARKET To market, to market, to buy a fat pig.Home again, home again, jiggety jig.To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,Home again, home again, jiggety jog.To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,Home again, home again, market is done. By Mother Goose
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Mother Goose: If Wishes were Horses
IF WISHES WERE HORSESIf wishes were horses, beggars would ride.If turnips were watches, I would wear one by my side. And if “ifs” and “ands” Were pots and pans,There’d be no work for tinkers! By Mother Goose
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Mother Goose: Bees
BEESA swarm of bees in MayIs worth a load of hay;A swarm of bees in JuneIs worth a silver spoon;A swarm of bees in JulyIs not worth a fly. By Mother Goose
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Baby Dolly- Mother Goose
BABY DOLLY Hush, baby, my dolly, I pray you don’t cry,And I’ll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-by;Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,Then to either you’re welcome, with all my heart. By Mother Goose
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Mother Goose: Jack
JACKJack be nimble, Jack be quick,Jack jump over the candlestick. By Mother Goose
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Pat-A-Cake
PAT-A-CAKEPat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Baker’s man!So I do, master, As fast as I can. Pat it, and prick it, And mark it with T,Put it in the oven For Tommy and me.
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Oh, Dear!
OH, DEAR!Dear, dear! what can the matter be?Two old women got up in an apple-tree;One came down, and the other stayed till Saturday. By Mother Goose
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The Old Woman Under a Hill
The Old Woman Under a Hill There was an old woman  Lived under a hill;And if she’s not gone,  She lives there still. By Mother Goose