Cock Robin
Who killed Cock Robin? I, said the Sparrow, With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin.
Who saw him die? I, said the Fly, With my little eye, I saw him die.
Who caught his blood? I, said the Fish, With my little dish, I caught his blood.
Who’ll make his shroud? I, said the Beetle, With my thread and needle, I’ll make his shroud.
Who’ll carry him to his grave? I, said the Kite, If it’s not in the night, I’ll carry him to his grave.
Who’ll dig his grave? I, said the Owl, With my spade and shovel, I’ll dig his grave.
Who’ll carry the link? I, said the Linnet, I’ll fetch it in a minute, I’ll carry the link.
Who’ll be chief mourner? I, said the Dove, I’ll mourn for my love, I’ll be chief mourner.
Who’ll sing the psalm? I, said the Thrush, As he sat on a bush, I’ll sing the psalm.
Who’ll be the parson? I, said the Rook, With my little book, I’ll be the parson.
Who’ll be the clerk? I, said the Lark, If it’s not in the dark, I’ll be the clerk.
Who’ll toll the bell? I, said the Bull, Because I can pull, I’ll toll the bell.
And all the little birds Fell a-sighing and a-sobbing, When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin.
And of Cock Robin again, no less captivating has been the ballad celebrating his wedding with little Jenny Wren. Though why with a lady of the Wren family, must always strike naturalists as an absurdity; and, I suppose, we may not ask how it was the banns were not forbidden, since the Messrs. Wren, with the children, and the whole creation of birds—with the single exception of a blackguard cuckoo—have jubilantly acquiesced in the nuptials.