Bump
BUMP, bump go away,
Do not let our mama see;
If she sees you on baby’s head,
She’ll give no money for nurse’s bread.
A Riddle
PLUM blossom foot,
And a pudding face sweet,
He’s taller when he’s sitting
Than when standing on his feet.
The Cake Seller
MY pretty little son,
I love him best of all,
Three years I have not seen him,
And he’s grown so very tall.
My horse he can ride,
My knife he can take,
Can shoulder up my kneading board
And help me sell my cake.