The Early Naval Ballads of England, 第 2 号

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Percy Society, 1841 - 144 ページ

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74 ページ - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
50 ページ - OLD Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none.
122 ページ - One, two, Buckle my shoe; Three, four, Shut the door; Five, six, Pick up sticks; Seven, eight, Lay them straight; Nine, ten, A good fat hen; Eleven, twelve, Who will delve?
29 ページ - There was an old woman who lived In a shoe, She had so many children, she didn't know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread, She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
153 ページ - JACK and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after.
153 ページ - THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT This is the farmer sowing his corn, That kept the cock that crowed in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tattered and torn, That kissed the maiden all forlorn, That milked the cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built.
85 ページ - As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives, Every wife had seven sacks, Every sack had seven cats, Every cat had seven kits— Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, How many were going to St. Ives?
vii ページ - Pussy cat, pussy cat. Where have you been? I've been to London To look at the queen. Pussy cat, pussy cat. What did you there? I frightened a little mouse Under her chair.
36 ページ - Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four and twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie. When the pie was opened, The birds began to sing; Wasn't that a dainty dish To set before the king?
107 ページ - Had been better far than dying Of a griev'd and broken heart. Unrepining at thy glory, Thy successful arms we hail ; But remember our sad story, And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. Sent in this foul clime to languish, Think what thousands fell in vain, Wasted with disease and anguish, Not in glorious battle slain. Hence with all my train attending From their oozy tombs below, Thro...

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