Читать книгу: «Cradle Songs», страница 4

TAB-BY’S LULL-A-BY

 
Wash-wash-you-cat,
Now this side, now that!
Wash-wash-you-cat,
Keep clean and grow fat!
 
 
Four lit-tle ears,
And eight lit-tle paws,
Two small nos-es,
And for-ty sharp claws,
 
 
Give moth-er’s tongue
A great deal to do.
So hush! keep still,
And I’ll sing to you:
 
 
Purr-r! purr-r!
In a sil-ver house,
Moth-er once saw
A lit-tle white mouse,
 
 
Soft white fur,
And lit-tle pink eyes,
So round and plump,
And so ver-y wise.
 
 
Wash-wash-you-cat,
Now hold up your chin.
Me-ow! don’t you scratch —
To scratch is a sin.
 
 
Me-ow! Me-ow!
You bad lit-tle cat,
You mustn’t bite;
Moth-er won’t stand that!
 
 
Purr-r! purr-r!
Now shut up your eyes;
Moth-er will make
You some cat-nip pies.
 
 
Purr-r! purr-r!
Lit-tle balls of fur,
Purr-r! purr-r!
Lie still, and don’t stir.
 
 
Wash-wash-you-cat,
Lit-tle balls of fur!
Wash-wash-you-cat,
Purr-r! purr-r!
 

SOME NAUGHTY I’S

 
“I, I, I,”
Some little people cry:
“I won’t, I can’t,
I shall, I shan’t – ”
Oh, what a naughty I;
 
 
“I, I, I,”
Now hear them passing by:
“I han’t, I be,
I are, I see – ”
Oh, what a naughty I.
 

AT BREAK-FAST

 
A gay lit-tle bird
That want-ed some fun
Flew in and light-ed
On the ba-by’s bun.
 
 
He pecked at a cur-rant,
He sipped from the cup,
Then hopped on the loaf,
And thus piped up:
 
 
“Peep-sy weeps! Ba-by, say,
What’ll you give if I will stay?
Peep-sy weeps! Ba-by, O,
What’ll you give if I will go?”
 
 
He splashed the milk,
He nib-bled the bread,
He spread both wings,
He stood on his head.
 
 
But still the ba-by
Said nev-er a word —
And out of the win-dow
Flashed the bird!
 
 
“Peep-sy weeps!” loud sang he,
“Such a stu-pid ba-by I nev-er did see!
Nev-er a smile, nev-er a word —
Peep-sy weeps! I’m glad I’m a bird!”
 

BA-BY DIM-PLE AT BREAK-FAST

 
She sits in the porch with her sau-cer;
Smeared are her fin-gers and thumbs;
While a-round with nois-y clat-ter
Old hen, with her chick-ens comes.
 
 
Ba-by shoos and shoos, and strikes them
With the spoon that spills the crumbs:
“Do ’way chick-ies! ’ou s’an’t hab em —
My nice bwead an’ las-ses tums!”
 
 
But the chick-ies sly will pick them
When Miss Dim-ple’s not on the watch;
And old moth-er hen comes bold-ly
With her mind made up for a snatch.
 
 
Take care, Mrs. Hen-ny-pen-ny!
One good rap is what you catch,
With Miss Dim-ple’s sharp ad-vise-ment:
“’Ou la-zy ol’ fing – go scwatch!”