Lays of Ancient Babyland to which are added Small Divers Histories not known to the Ancients. Richard Trott Fisher
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Richard Trott Fisher
Lays of Ancient Babyland to which are added Small Divers Histories not known to the Ancients
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066216238
Table of Contents
The Young Thrushes. A TRUE STORY.
The Pigeon and the Hen, OR, THE PRIDE OF STATION.
The Oyster and the Muscle, OR, THE USES OF ADVERSITY.
The True Hiſtory of
MAISTER WHITTINGTON
AND HIS CAT.
As it is ʃpoken or ʃung in the ʃtreets of the great city of London on the ninth day of November.
Whittington and his Cat.
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Whittington, | When our third Edward ruled the land,A king of glorious fame,An humble boy there lived also,Dick Whittington by name. |
an orphan boy, | His father and his mother tooWere laid beneath the sod:But he was left, and all aloneThe path of misery trod. |
destitute, | No woollen hose wore he, nor shoesUpon his shivering feet;A tatter’d cloak was all he hadTo ward the rain and sleet. |
Yet, though his breast was cold without,His heart was warm within;And he grumbled not, for well he wotThat envy is a sin. | |
but industrious, | And he would fight with all his mightTo earn his daily bread:Alas, to think how oft he wentAll supperless to bed! |
had heard great reports of London. | Now he had heard of London town,And what the folks did there:How aldermen did eat and drink,And plenty had to spare. |
And how the streets were full of shops,And shops were full of food;Of beef, and mutton, cheese and ham,And every thing that’s good. | |
And how the men and women allWere lords and ladies there;And little boys were rigg’d as smartAs monkeys at a fair. | |
But what most wonderful did seem,Of all he had heard told,Was how the streets of that great townWere paved with solid gold. | |
Resolved to get there, | Heyday! thought he, if only ICould get to that fine place!’Twould not be long ere I would changeMy miserable case. |
he makes his way on foot. | Now started off for London townBefore the break of day,He fared beside a waggonerWho drove his team that way. |
All day they trudged until the sunHad sunk behind the hill;And when he rose again next mornHe saw them trudging still. | |
His joy to behold that land of plenty. | At length a multitudinous smokeHid half th’ horizon round:And such a sight of chimney-pots!Dick gaped with joy and stound. |
He thought how often he had lainBeneath the cold damp air;While here was house-room sure for all,And fires i’faith to spare. | |
’Twere hard indeed if one should needA chimney-corner here:And from the drays that block’d the waysSmall lack could be of beer. | |
’Twas thus thought Dick, and so full quickThe waggoner he left;And was not long, ere thro’ the throngHis nimble way he cleft. | |
His subsequent disappointment; |
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