Laura Richards - In My Nursery

Here are the baby's little pink ears.
What shall we give her to hear?
A bell that will ring, and a bird that will sing,
And a brook that goes tinkling clear.

Here is the baby's little wee nose.
What shall we give her to smell?
A hyacinth blue and a violet too,
And roses and lilies as well.

Here is the baby's pretty red mouth.
What shall we give her to eat?
A sugary heart and a raspberry tart,
And everything else that is sweet.

And here are the baby's little fat hands.
What shall we give her to hold?
A sunbeam? That's right! and a rainbow bright,
And plenty of silver and gold.

Present arms! There they are,
Both stretched out to me.
Strong and sturdy, smooth and white,
Fair as arms may be.

Ground arms! on the floor,
Picking up his toys:
Breaking all within his reach,
Busiest of boys.

Right wheel! off his cart,
Left wheel too is gone.
Horsey's head is broken off,
Horsey's tail is torn.

Quick step , forward march!
Crying, too, he comes.
Had a battle with the cat.
"Scratched off bofe my fums!"

Shoulder arms! Here at last,
Round my neck they close.
Poor little soldier boy
Off to quarters goes.

Fly away, fly away, Birdie oh!
Bring something home to my Baby Bo!
Bring him a feather and bring him a song,
And sing to him sweetly all the day long.

Hoppety, kickety, Grasshopper oh!
Bring something home to my Baby Bo!
Bring him a thistle and bring him a thorn,
Hop over his head and then be gone.

Howlibus, gowlibus, Doggibus oh!
Bring something home to my Baby Bo!
Bring him a snarl and bring him a snap,
And bring him a posy to put in his cap.

Twinkily, winkily, Firefly oh!
Bring something home to my Baby Bo!
Bring him a moonbeam and bring him a star,
Then twinkily, winkily, fly away far.

Eight fingers,
Ten toes,
Two eyes,
And one nose.
Baby said
When she smelt the rose,
"Oh! what a pity
I've only one nose!"

Ten teeth
In even rows,
Three dimples,
And one nose.
Baby said
When she smelt the snuff,
"Deary me!
One nose is enough."

Little John Bottlejohn lived on the hill,
And a blithe little man was he.
And he won the heart of a pretty mermaid
Who lived in the deep blue sea.
And every evening she used to sit
And sing on the rocks by the sea,
"Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Won't you come out to me?"

Little John Bottlejohn heard her song,
And he opened his little door.
And he hopped and he skipped, and he skipped and he hopped,
Until he came down to the shore.
And there on the rocks sat the little mermaid,
And still she was singing so free,
"Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Won't you come out to me?"

Little John Bottlejohn made a bow,
And the mermaid, she made one too,
And she said, "Oh! I never saw any one half
So perfectly sweet as you!
In my lovely home 'neath the ocean foam,
How happy we both might be!
Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Won't you come down with me?"

Little John Bottlejohn said, "Oh yes!
I'll willingly go with you.
And I never shall quail at the sight of your tail,
For perhaps I may grow one too."
So he took her hand, and he left the land,
And plunged in the foaming main.
And little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn,
Never was seen again.

Bring her here, my little Alice,
Poor Jemima Brown!
Make the little cradle ready!
Softly lay her down!
Once she lived in ease and comfort,
Slept on couch of down;
Now upon the floor she's lying,
Poor Jemima Brown!

Once she was a lovely dolly,
Rosy-cheeked and fair,
With her eyes of brightest azure
And her golden hair;
Now, alas! no hair's remaining
On her poor old crown;
And the crown itself is broken,
Poor Jemima Brown!

Once her legs were smooth and comely,
And her nose was straight;
And that arm, now hanging lonely,
Had, methinks, a mate.
And she was as finely dressed as
Any doll in town.
Now she's old, forlorn, and ragged,
Poor Jemima Brown!

Yet be kind to her, my Alice;
'Tis no fault of hers
If her wilful little mistress
Other dolls prefers.
Did she pull her pretty hair out?
Did she break her crown?
Did she pull her arms and legs off,
Poor Jemima Brown?

Little hands that did the mischief,
You must do your best
Now to give the poor old dolly
Comfortable rest.
So we'll make the cradle ready,
And we'll lay her down;
And we'll ask Papa to mend her,
Poor Jemima Brown!

Far down in the meadow the wheat grows green,
And the reapers are whetting their sickles so keen;
And this is the song that I hear them sing,
While cheery and loud their voices ring:
"'Tis the finest wheat that ever did grow!
And it is for Alice's supper, ho! ho!"

Far down in the valley the old mill stands,
And the miller is rubbing his dusty white hands;
And these are the words of the miller's lay,
As he watches the millstones a-grinding away:
"'Tis the finest flour that money can buy,
And it is for Alice's supper, hi! hi!"

Downstairs in the kitchen the fire doth glow,
And Maggie is kneading the soft white dough,
And this is the song that she's singing to-day,
While merry and busy she's working away:
"'Tis the finest dough, by near or by far,
And it is for Alice's supper, ha! ha!"

And now to the nursery comes Nannie at last,
And what in her hand is she bringing so fast?
'Tis a plate full of something all yellow and white,
And she sings as she comes with her smile so bright:
"'Tis the best bread-and-butter I ever did see!
And it is for Alice's supper, he! he!"

Butterfly,
Flutter by,
Through the summer air;
Roses bloom,
Sweet perfume
Shedding everywhere;
Robins sing,
Bluebells ring
Greeting to my dear,
When her sweet
Tiny feet
Bring her toddling here.

Pitapat!
Little fat
Funny baby toes!
Do not stumble,
Or she'll tumble
On her baby nose.
Closer cling,
Little thing,
To your mother's side,
Baby mine,
Fair and fine,
Mother's joy and pride.

Bobbily Boo, the king so free,
He used to drink the Mango tea.
Mango tea and coffee, too,
He drank them both till his nose turned blue.