The Merry Christmas of the Old Woman who Lived in a Shoe. Baker George Melville

      There was an old woman who lived in a shoe;

      Of children she had a score:

      So many had she, to know what to do

      Was a question which puzzled her sore.

      To some she gave broth without any bread;

      But never contented were they,

      Till she whipped them all soundly, and put them to bed,

      And then very happy were they,

      And then very happy were they.

      "Now, mother, dear mother," the young ones would cry,

      As they dropped off with a nod,

      "To train up a child in the way to go,

      O mother, dear, ne'er spare the rod.

      For broth without bread is a watery waste;

      And never contented are we,

      Till with your good stick it is thickened to taste;

      And then, oh, how happy are we!

      And then, oh, how happy are we!"

      Good gracious! can't I leave the house a minute,

      But what a head's at every window in it?

      Don't let me see the tip of a single nose;

      For, if you do, we'll surely come to blows.

      Poor dears! they want the air. Well, that is cheap

      And strengthening; for they live on air and sleep.

      Food is so high, and work is so unstiddy,

      Life's really wearing on this poor old widdy.

      Ah me! here's good old Christmas come again.

      How can I join in the triumphant strain

      Which moves all hearts? I am so old and poor,

      With none to aid me from their generous store.

      Poor dears! if with the will I had the power,

      The choicest Christmas gifts should on them shower.

      If a widdy's with her biddies,

      Living in a shoe,

      If a widdy's work unstiddies,

      What'll widdy do?

      Every mother loves her biddies;

      Many a one have I;

      But where get gifts to fill their fists,

      When I've no gold to buy?

      There is a sprite oft comes this night,

      Whom children love full well;

      But what's his name, and where's his hame,

      He does not always tell.

      Lads and lassies know good Santa,

      With presents not a few;

      Would he were here, my chicks to cheer,

      Living in a shoe!

      Well, I'll get in, and make the children warm.

      Tucked in their beds, they're always safe from harm.