Little Ditties
I
WINIFRED waters sat and sighed
Under a weeping willow;
When she went to bed she cried,
Wetting all the pillow;
Kept on crying night and day,
Till her friends lost patience;
“What shall we do to stop her, pray?”
So said her relations.
Send her to the sandy plains,
In the zone called torrid:
Send her where it never rains,
Where the heat is horrid!
MIND that she has only flour
For her daily feeding;
Let her have a page an hour
Of the driest reading,—
Navigation, logarithm,
All that kind of knowledge,—
Ancient pedigrees go with ’em,
From the Heralds’ College.
When the poor girl has endured
Six months of this drying,
Winifred will come back cured,
Let us hope, of crying.
Then she will not day by day
Make those mournful faces,
And we shall not have to say,
“Wring her pillow-cases.”
II
There was a Little Boy, with two little eyes,
And he had a little head that was just the proper size,
And two little arms, and two little hands;
On two little legs this Little Boy he stands.
Now, this Little Boy would now and then be cross
Because that he could only be the very thing he was;
He wanted to be this, and then he wanted to be that;
His head was full of wishes underneath his little hat!
“I wish I was a drummer to beat a kettledrum,
I wish I was a giant to say Fee-fo-fi-faw-fum;
I wish I was a captain to go sailing in a ship;
I wish I was a huntsman to crack a nice whip.
I wish I was a horse to go sixty miles an hour;
I wish I was the man that lives up in the lighthouse tower;
I wish I was a sea-gull with two long wings;
I wish I was a traveller to see all sorts of things.
I wish I was a carpenter; I wish I was a lord;
I wish I was a soldier, with a pistol and a sword;
I wish I was the man that goes up high in a balloon;
I wish, I wish, I wish I could be something else, and soon!”
But all the wishing in the world is not a bit of use;
That Little Boy this very day he stands in his own shoes;
That Little Boy is still but little Master What-do-you-call,
As much as if that Little Boy had never wished at all!
He eats his bread and butter, and he likes it very much;
He grubs about, and bumps his head, and bowls his hoop, and such;
And his father and his mother they say, “Thank the gracious powers,
Those wishes cannot wish away that Little Boy of ours!”
III
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore—
No doubt you have heard the name before—
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!”
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don’t you think to shut the door?”
They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!”
“You will?” said his parents; “then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”
IV
Timothy Tight, Timothy Tight,
Says he will neither have sup nor bite,
Nor comb to his hair, nor sleep in his bed,
Till he has done what he thinks in his head.
What is it poor little Timothy thinks
To do before he eats, or drinks,
Or combs, or sleeps? Why, Timothy Tight
Thinks in his head to turn black into white!
He caught a crow, and he tried with that,
He tried again with a great black cat,
He tried again with dyes and inks;
He keeps on trying to do what he thinks!
He tried with lumps of coals a score,
He tried with jet, and a blackamoor,
He tried with these till he got vext—
He means to try the Black Sea next.
V
Baby, baby, bless her;
How shall mammy dress her?
The summer cloud
Is not too proud
To find soft wool to dress her.
The bluebell
Is a true bell,
And will find the blue to dress her.
The cherry-tree
Is a merry tree,
And will find the pink to dress her.
The lily bright
Will find the white,
The beautiful white to dress her.
The leaves in the wood
Are sweet and good,
And will find the green to dress her.
The honeysuckle,
With buds for a buckle,
Will make a girdle to dress her.
The heavens hold
Both silver and gold
In the stars, and they will dress her.
VI
There was a man so very tall,
That when you spoke you had to bawl
Through both your hands, put like a cup,
His head was such a long way up!
But there was something even sadder,—
His wife had to go up a ladder
Whenever she desired a kiss—
And he, alas, was proud of this!
Said he, “I am the tallest man
That ever grew since time began,”
As down on a house-top he sat;
Well, he was tall; but what of that?
THIS monstrous man, as we shall see,
Was punished for his vanity:
He grew and grew,—the people placed
A telescope to see his waist!
He grew and grew—you could not see
Without a telescope his knee;
He grew till he was over-grown,
And seen by over-sight alone!
Little Ditt
MY man John
To sea is gone
All in a wicker cradle;
The cradle creaks,
The cradle leaks,
But John has got a ladle.
VIII
There is a curious boy, whose name
Is Lumpy Loggerhead;
His greatest joy is—oh, for shame!—
To spend his time in bed.
They fit with gongs alarum clocks
That make your blood run chill;
And they encourage crowing cocks
Beneath his window-sill.
In vain the gongs,—his eyes are shut—
In vain the cocks do crow;
Empty on him a water-butt,
And he will say, “Hallo!”
But only in a drowsy style,
And in a second more
He sleeps—and, oh! to see him smile!
And, oh! to hear him snore!
He seems to carry, all day long,
Sleep in his very shape;
And, though you may be brisk and strong,
You often want to gape
When Lumpy Loggerhead comes near,
Whose bed is all his joy.
How glad I am he is not here,
That very sleepy boy!
IX
There was a giant walked out one day,
To eat whatever came in his way;
This giant was greedy, this giant was grim,
And the people were all afraid of him.
He crossed the field and came into the street,
And a dainty damsel he there did meet;
“What is your name?” says he to her,
And she says, “Lucy Locket, sir.”
“A very nice name is Lucy Locket,
And you will just fit my waistcoat-pocket;”
So said the giant, and popped her in,
And the pocket was more than up to her chin.
The giant says, “Oh, this is the street;
Your father and mother I mean to eat.”
But Lucy, she thought, “You wicked man!”
And then to tickle him she began.
Her hand was light, her hand was small,
He scarcely felt it at first at all;
She tickled and tickled, and by degrees
He felt as if he should like to sneeze!
This giant could growl, and shout, and roar,
But he never had laughed in his life before,
And now he began to look less grim
As Lucy kept on tickling him.
The people heard and the people saw,—
“He, hee!” says the giant, “ha hah! haw haw!”
Oh, they were puzzled, but Lucy Locket
Made signs to them out of his doublet-pocket.
His mad guffaws for a mile they hear,
His mouth is stretched from ear to ear;
Thinks he, “To laugh is a pleasant plan,
So now I will laugh as long as I can.”
He laughed till he ached and his eyes grew dim,
As Lucy kept on tickling him;
He laughed till the tears ran down his face,
And he fell down, flop, in the market-place!
Then out of his pocket Lucy leapt,
And close behind him the people crept;
With twisted cables and iron bands
And things of that sort they tied his hands.
They tied his hands and they tied his feet,
They said, “Pray, what would you like to eat?”
And Lucy got into his pocket again,
And made him laugh like a thousand men!
He laughed all day, he laughed all night,
He laughed when they woke in the morning light,
He laughed that week and the fortnight after,—
Travellers came to hear his laughter!
They let him laugh on to his heart’s content
In a show as high as the Monument;
They gave to Lucy a penny clear
For every person who came to hear,
So now the girl is as rich as a prince,
For he has been laughing ever since.
X
Baby, baby bowling,
Set the hoop a-rolling;
The hoop will wait
At the turnpike gate,
And the man will take the toll in.
XI
Diddy Doddy Dumpling,
Muslin all a-crumpling;
Cap like an arch,
Stiff with starch—
Diddy Doddy Dumpling!
Niddy Noddy Nursey,
How shall we make her see?
Bobs and blinks,
Wobbles and winks—
Niddy Noddy Nursey!
XII
What do you think?
Why, pen and ink,
And a rosewood desk, or better;
The old black hen,
She mended the pen,
And the little pig wrote a letter.
XIII
Johnny drew a picture, but Johnny couldn’t spell;
What he wrote under it I’m ashamed to tell;
All in large capitals Johnny wrote PECTURE,
Stuck it up upon the wall, and said that he would lecture;
What a funny lecture, though, Johnny will deliver;
While, with aches at his mistakes, all the people shiver!
XIV
Mind the cat,
Find the cat,
Who will be first behind the cat?
The cat’s on the mat
In a billycock hat,
And that’s the way to find the cat.
XV
Large eyes, little eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes,
My doll has had an accident and wants a pair of new eyes;
Strong legs, long legs, one leg and two legs,
My doll has had an accident and wants a pair of new legs;
Dribble dribble, trickle trickle, what a lot of raw dust!
Dolly had an accident, and out came the sawdust!
XVI
One, two, three,
Put the cups for tea;
Two, three, one,
Toast a Sally-Lunn.
Fanny sat down
In a new gown;
Emma spilt the milk
Over the satin and silk,
One, two, three,
“Never wear silk at tea,”
(Two, three, one),
So said Dimity Dunn;
Ever so many slices,
Bread and butter, and niceys;
One, two, three,
White sugar for me!
Two, three, one,
Now the tea’s done.
XVII
Baby has just been feeding;
See, he has emptied the cup!
And now he sits a-reading,
But the book is wrong-side up;
Will he make out what the book is about
Before it is time to sup?
His fist he doubles;
He blows little bubbles;
He splutters and stutters,
And tells you his troubles,
Reading the book that is wrong-side up!
XVIII
“Daughter, daughter,
Mind the water!”
She said she never should,
So she went in
Right up to her chin,
And did not find it good;
For the water was bitter,
And made her twitter,
As nobody thought she could!
She cried in haste,
“What a nasty taste!
I wish I had understood!”
Oh, send and save her!
A beautiful flavour
Is not to be found in the flood;
And wine or tea
Is the drink for me
At a picnic in the wood!
XIX
Hurly Burly
And Curly Wurly
Went to the fair together;
It rained in the night
For more delight,
And it was windy weather.
Hurly Burly jumped the stiles,
Laughed and in-and-outed;
Hurly Burly ran for miles,
Hurly Burly shouted.
Curly Wurly went off in smiles,
Except just when she pouted!
The Quakeress peeped from under the tiles,
Saying, “If I could smile as thou did!”
Hurly Buriy’s talk was mad,
Like Singlestick and Latin;
Curly Wurly a sweet tongue had,
And she was soft as satin.
Then Hurly Burly and Curly Wurly,
When they had their airing,
Came home betimes, like a poet’s rhymes,
Each of them with a fairing.
For he had a monstrous popgun got,
That went with a noise like thunder;
And she had a beautiful true-love knot,
That never would come in sunder.
XX
Nathan Nobb,
Oh, what a job!
Always walked on his head;
His mother would sob
To his brother Bob,
And his father took to his bed.
They made him a boot
His head to suit,
But a horrible thing must be said,—
His hair took root,
And began to shoot,
One day, in the garden bed!
So there he stands
With the help of his hands
And a little support from his nose:
The gardener man,
With the watering-can,
Says, “Gracious, how fast he grows!”
XXI
Blow, blow, east wind!
What does the east wind do?
Shine, shine, sunlight!
And what does the sunshine do?
The sunshine clear
Goes there and here,
And searches in every nook,
And, while it is going,
The wind is blowing
Farther than you can look;
The east wind blows,
It sweeps, it goes
The whole world through;
As the world grows green,
It sweeps it clean,
And the sky is a pale, cold blue:
Blow, blow, east wind,
Finish your blowing, do!
And the west wind, dear, will soon be here,
With skies of deep, warm blue.
I
DING, Dong, and Dell
Went and sat under the bell,
Saying, “Bell, bell, bell,
What have you got to tell?”
And the clapper rose and fell,
And the bell rang well
Over Ding, Dong, and Dell,
As they sat under the bell.
Here is pencil, and here is pen,
Walk up, ladies and gentlemen!
Here are their pictures, as you see,
Ding, and Dong, and Dell make three,
There they are, and here are we.
First there is Ding, a dot of a thing,
And, not to go wrong, her brother Dong,
A little older and ever so much bolder,
And both of them seem ready to sing,
And Dell will belong and take part in the song.
Now Dell—I am not so sure about Dell—
Dell wears a mask, and hides till you ask,
And peeps at you from over a screen;
But if you must know the truth of it,—well!—
I really am not so sure about Dell.
So Ding, Dong, and Dell
Went and sat under the bell,
Saying, “Bell, bell, bell,
What have you got to tell?”
And the clapper rose and fell,
And the bell rang well
Over Ding, Dong, and Dell,
As they sat under the bell.
II
Ding and Dong went out a-walking,
Ding and Dong were gaily talking:
“My eyes are strong,
You know,” says Dong,
“And once on a time I saw through a wall.”
“And so did I,” says little Ding,
“I also can do a wonderful thing.”
Thus they disputed, and by-and-bye
Poor little Ding began to cry.
“You didn’t,” says Dong; “it isn’t true——”
I did, you didn’t, no more did you,
You didn’t, I did, you didn’t, pooh!
So they came squabbling to Dell, who said,
“You both deserve to be put to bed.
When Ding saw through a wall, the wall
Was made of glass, and that is all!
When Dong saw through a wall, it had
A hole in it.” Then both were glad,
Ding and Dong, that they thought to ask
Dell of the screen, who wore the mask;
And Ding and Dong said, “Clever Dell;
Who would have thought that Dell could tell?
III
Ding and Dong, because they find
Dell so very clever.
Say they have made up their mind
To go in masks for ever.
Is there wisdom in a mask?
They are none the wittier yet;
Is there beauty? do not ask!
They are none the prettier yet!
IV
The girls and the boys
They made such a noise
At play, that they frightened away their toys.
Dolly, she fled,
And went to bed,
Because she had caught such a pain in her head!
The German bricks,
The candlesticks,
The elephant,
And the cormorant,
The ass and the horse,
And the rest in their course,
(But there was no shark,)
Of the Noah’s Ark,
The saucers and the cups,
And the little woolly pups,
(You heard them bark)
Belonging to the Ark,
Were frightened, like all the rest of the toys,
And hid themselves from the dreadful noise:
So, if I were you, next time I played,
I would not be so loud in the noise that I made!
V
Sparro, sparrow,
Swift as an arrow,
What are you doing there in the sun?
A hunter am I,
And the white butterfly
I am chasing to-day in the summer sun.
VI
Sit in the sun
Till the day is done,
Reading and working and making fun:
Then look at the moon,
And eat with a spoon
A basin of sop that is made from a bun.
VII
What makes the starling so merry?
The starling has had a cherry,
A cherry as soft as a baby’s cheek,
I can see the pulp hanging out of his beak.
This is the lass, this is the lad,
That like to see the starling glad!
VIII
Here is a rug
That looks very snug;
And here is a cat—
What shall we be at?
You take off your bonnet,
I take off my hat,
And let us sit upon it,
And talk to the cat—
Not upon the hat, you know,
But on the little rug—
The hat would not come pat, you know,
But, oh, the rug is snug!
Ding, Dong, Dell,
Said “Bell, bell, bell!
What have you got to tell?”—
And you hear what the bells say
From Greenwich up to Chelsea;
Ring, ring, ring,
About this, and the other thing,
These, and those, and that,
The cat, and the rug, and the mat,
The Noah’s Ark and the sparrow,
And the sop as soft as marrow!
And whether you live by Bow bells,
Or out in a place with no bells,
And neither at Greenwich nor at Chelsea,
You shall hear what the different bells say
From Ding, Dong, and Dell,
Who like to sit under the bell.
IX
Said Ding, Dong, and Dell,
“Listen to the bell!”
Now it was not bell, but bells,
For the bells that rang were many,—
Bells upon bells;
You shall have a silver penny,
Or almost anything else,
If you can count the bells
That are ringing. And what for?—
Ding, Dong, and Dell
Will explain every bell,
That is to say, the bells,
Neither less nor more
Than the meaning of the Bells.
X
“Who are you?”
Says One to Two;
Says Two to One “I’m plenty;”
“Think again!”
Says little Ten,
And, “Think again!” says Twenty.
XI
Lily white, Rose red,
Standing in the garden-bed;
Wind from the south, wind from the west,
Can you tell me which is best?
XII
Johnny has finished his lessons,
All in good time;
Then in his very resence,
The bells set up a chime;
All round the school-room
The bells began to ring,
All round the school-room,
“Johnny is a king!”
XIII
Now, then, let us tell a tale—
Six travellers in a dale,
Feeling weak about the knees,
Resting under six elm-trees;
Six robbers, after them,
Draw their swords and say, “Ahem!”
Then the travellers, who have not
Any weapons with them got,
Shake and shiver in their boots,
And they play upon their flutes
Then the robbers six remark
To the travellers, “It is dark.”
“No,” say they, “it is not quite.—
Every traveller strikes a light!
Will you see some conjuring tricks?”
“Yes,” say all the robbers six;
Then six tigers and six lions
Came along and roared defiance,
And the thieves and travellers too
Could not tell what next to do:
“This,” said they, “is very sad!”
Then there came an earthquake bad,
And the air was very hot,
And it swallowed up the lot.
XIV
When Ding and Dong,
Had finished a song,
One day, they went to Dell,
And to him or her
Said, “We should prefer
That you should do something as well,—
Something amusing
Of your own choosing.”—
“And so I will,” says Dell.
There goes a bell,
Ding, dong, dell,
A cracked old bell,
A shaky old bell,
A quavering old bell,—
Can anybody tell
What the cracked old bell is saying?
“Yes, I can tell,” says Dell,
“Without measuring or weighing,
And this is what it is saying;
Ding, dong, dell!
Goes the cracked old bell;
And this is what it is saying:
“There is an old woman whose name it is Gray,
Lives in an old town in an old-fashioned way;
You cross an old bridge, and go up an old road,
And down an old lane, to find out her abode.
“She wears an old cap that stands ever so high;
She looks through old goggles as round as the sky;
She keeps an old dog, and a very old cat;
She sits in an arm-chair much older than that.
“She crosses her old arms; she shakes her old pate;
She only hears half of the tale you relate;
She puts her old ear-trumpet up, and cries ‘What?’
And when you say ‘Freezing!’ she thinks you say ‘Hot!’
‘She thinks as she sits that she hears a bell ring,
As even and slow as a rook on the wing;
It booms in her old ear; she shakes her old head;
That old bell says, Put out the lights and to bed!”
XV
Ding, dong, dell,
Bell, bell, bell!
What have you got to tell?
What is it the bells say,
From Greenwich up to Chelsea,—
The bells of wandering fancies,
Up and down
By sea and town
Like knights in old romances?
What is it that the bells say?
What is it you hear Dell say?
Explaining what the bells say?
An August day: an August night;
A morning in September;
A lily red; a jasmine white;
What more do you remember?
A harvest-moon, a hunter’s moon;
A partridge on the moorland;
A stack of wheat; an afternoon
In a yacht out by the Foreland.
A foxglove faded, a brook to be waded,
Apples and pears grown redder;
And the ways of the birds, which, without any words,
Say, “Come let us consider!”
XVI
Then those bells stop,
The bells of wandering fancies
And Autumn and Summer chances;
And a bell rings with a flop,
A sort of heavy drop,
A distant blunt bark,
As if it was made in the dark,
And lived underground like a mole,
And the rope was as black as a coal.
O bell, what a comical voice!
What a stupid sort of noise!
Do you call it ringing or drumming?
And who is it that is coming?
It must be a bogie of some sort,
A blunt, black, stupid, dumb sort!
Hark! what do we hear this bell say?
And what do you hear Dell say?
“This is the King of the Blackaways,
And very black is he,
So black you cannot see his face,—
Not you! No more can we!
Black, black,
Breast and back;
Teeth and eyes,
Lips likewise;
Just like a blot
Tied in a knot!
And oh, the land of the Blackaways,
Where this King reigns, is a very black place.
The grass is black, and so are the trees,
The chalk is black, and so are the geese;
The milk, the eggs, the flour, and the cheese;
The sheets and the shirts; for it all agrees!”
Get you gone, Blackaway King, if you please!
And dine off black bread, and flesh of black geese,
Where the grass grows black on the Blackaway leas!
XVII
What sort of bell is this?
A wisdom bell,
Or a nonsense bell?
What sort of bell is this?
“Bell, bell, how high do you hang?”
I said to the bell as it rang, as it rang,
And “Never you mind!” a goblin sang,
One who did dwell
Within the bell!
Wibbling-wobbling
Went the bell,
And what had the goblin
Got to tell?
Why, ill said or well said,
This is what the bell said;
Wisdom bell
Or nonsense bell,
This is what the bell said:
Betsy Bounce—her taste was such—
Of her bonnet thought too much;
Strutting up and down she went,
(People wondered what she meant).
In the villages and towns
Folks said, “Look how Betsy Bounce
Takes her walks around the nation!”
She thought this was admiration.
“Oh, that all the world,” says she,
“Could my lovely bonnet see,
See my bonnet, but without
All this walking round about!”
For in truth the girl got tired,
Though her bonnet was admired,
Of this walking round the nation
After people’s admiration.
Now observe what came to pass—
One fine day this foolish lass
Found her bonnet growing, growing
On her head like flowers a-blowing!
Higher still, and higher piled
Grew the bonnet on the child,
Farther back and farther out,
Farther down and round about!
Rivers sprawling to the sea
Both the strings appeared to be,
Till the bow beneath her chin
Shut her up and shut her in.
Oh, how foreigners did stare
When her bonnet filled the air,
Russian, Turk, and Mexican,
Folks in India and Japan!
Betsy Bounce has her desire:
All the world can now admire!
Yet perhaps she will not pout
When the bonnet is worn out.
But her parents, being poor,
Cannot, for a time, procure
Betsy Bounce another hat,
So she must keep on with that.
XVIII
You cannot count the bluebells
That are upon the heath,—
The ferns stand tall and stately,
The bells hang underneath;
But I can count the tassels
As big as flowers of clover
That hang on baby’s curtain,
The curtain that hangs over;
And when I rock the cradle
The tassels swing and swing,
And they make fairy music,
And baby hears them ring;
Ding-dong in the morning,
And in the evening too,
Rhime, chime, in fairy time,
Baby, dear, for you!
XIX
When the moon was on the wane,
Ding was looking through the window-pane,
Dong was counting drops of rain,
And Dell was thinking with might and main;
But all of them listened to the bell again,
A wisdom bell,
Or a nonsense bell?
And the goblin said, “Let Dell explain,
She knows what the bells say
From Greenwich up to Chelsea,
She will explain what the bells say!”
XX
O have you heard of Reuben Rammer,
The little fellow that would stammer?
He talked at such a headlong rate
That at last he got through Stuttering Gate.
If fellows will talk madly fast,
They come to Stuttering Gate at last;
Some boys take warning and they pause,—
Not thus with Reuben Rammer ’twas.
He made a plunge, dashed past the bar.
He went on stuttering fast and far;
And what was the result? Why, now
He speaks no better than a cow!
He has been trying,—how absurd!—
For several months to speak a word;
His mouth works open like a door,
His arm goes like a semaphore!
He strives to say what he desires;
His jaws jolt up like jaws on wires;
But Reuben Rammer could not speak
When last I saw him this day week!
How awkward to be driven to use
A pencil to express your views,
Try to say, “Hallo, Johnny Brown!”
And yet be forced to write it down!
XXI
When the bell sounds
Over land and sea,
And the wind, in its rounds,
Blowing fresh and free,
Carries the ringing
Far out of sight,
There where the clinging
Sails are white,
White on the sea;
And over the hills.
How far does the sound
Of the sweet bell go?
Over the round
Where the waters flow,
And up to the bound
Where the winds can blow.
Is it lost, is it found,
Is it gone, do you know?