Peacock Pie, a Book of Rhymes

Tired Tim

Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him. He lags the long bright morning through, Ever so tired of nothing to do; He moons and mopes the livelong day, Nothing to think about, nothing to say; Up to bed with his candle to creep, Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep: Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.

Mima

Jemima is my name, But oh, I have another; My father always calls me Meg, And so do Bob and mother; Only my sister, jealous of The strands of my bright hair, 'Jemima - Mima - Mima!' Calls, mocking, up the stair.

The Bandog

Has anybody seen my Mopser? -- A comely dog is he, With hair of the colour of a Charles the Fifth, And teeth like ships at sea, His tail it curls straight upwards, His ears stand two abreast, And he answers to the simple name of Mopser When civilly addressed.

I Can't Abear

I can't abear a Butcher, I can't abide his meat, The ugliest shop of all is his, The ugliest in the street; Bakers' are warm, cobblers' dark, Chemists' burn watery lights; But oh, the sawdust butcher's shop, That ugliest of sights!

The Dunce

Why does he still keep ticking? Why does his round white face Stare at me over the books and ink, And mock at my disgrace? Why does that thrush call, 'Dunce, dunce, dunce!'? Why does that bluebottle buzz? Why does the sun so silent shine? -- And what do I care if it does?

Chicken

Clapping her platter stood plump Bess, And all across the green Came scampering in, on wing and claw, Chicken fat and lean: Dorking, Spaniard, Cochin China, Bantams sleek and small, Like feathers blown in a great wind, They came at Bessie's call.

Some One

Some one came knocking At my wee, small door; Some one came knocking, I'm sure - sure - sure; I listened, I opened, I looked to left and right, But naught there was a-stirring In the still dark night; Only the busy beetle Tap-tapping in the wall, Only from the forest The screech-owl's call, Only the cricket whistling While the dewdrops fall, So I know not who came knocking, At all, at all, at all.

Bread and Cherries

'Cherries, ripe cherries!' The old woman cried, In her snowy white apron, And basket beside; And the little boys came, Eyes shining, cheeks red, To buy a bag of cherries, To eat with their bread.

Old Shellover

'Come!' said Old Shellover. 'What?' says Creep. 'The horny old Gardener's fast asleep; The fat cock Thrush To his nest has gone; And the dew shines bright In the rising Moon; Old Sallie Worm from her hole doth peep: Come!' said Old Shellover. 'Aye!' said Creep.

Hapless

Hapless, hapless, I must be All the hours of life I see, Since my foolish nurse did once Bed me on her leggen bones; Since my mother did not weel To snip my nails with blades of steel. Had they laid me on a pillow In a cot of water willow, Had they bitten finger and thumb, Not to such ill hap I had come.

The Little Bird

My dear Daddie bought a mansion For to bring my Mammie to, In a hat with a long feather, And a trailing gown of blue; And a company of fiddlers And a rout of maids and men Danced the clock round to the morning, In a gay house-warming then. And when all the guests were gone, and All was still as still can be, In from the dark ivy hopped a Wee small bird: and that was Me.

Cake and Sack

Old King Caraway Supped on cake, And a cup of sack His thirst to slake; Bird in arras And hound in hall Watched very softly Or not at all; Fire in the middle, Stone all round Changed not, heeded not, Made no sound; All by himself At the Table High He'd nibble and sip While his dreams slipped by; And when he had finished, He'd nod and say, 'Cake and sack For King Caraway!'

The Ship of Rio

There was a ship of Rio Sailed out into the blue, And nine and ninety monkeys Were all her jovial crew. From bo'sun to the cabin boy, From quarter to caboose, There weren't a stitch of calico To breech 'em - tight or loose; From spar to deck, from deck to keel, From barnacle to shroud, There weren't one pair of reach-me-downs To all that jabbering crowd. But wasn't it a gladsome sight, When roared the deep sea gales, To see them reef her fore and aft A-swinging by their tails! Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight, When glassy calm did come, To see them squatting tailor-wise Around a keg of rum! Oh, wasn't it a gladsome sight, When in she sailed to land, To see them all a-scampering skip For nuts across the sand!

Tillie

Old Tillie Turveycombe Sat to sew, Just where a patch of fern did grow; There, as she yawned, And yawn wide did she, Floated some seed Down her gull-e-t; And look you once, And look you twice, Poor old Tillie Was gone in a trice. But oh, when the wind Do a-moaning come, 'Tis poor old Tillie Sick for home; And oh, when a voice In the mist do sigh, Old Tillie Turveycombe's Floating by.

Jim Jay

Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay Got stuck fast In Yesterday. Squinting he was, On Cross-legs bent, Never heeding The wind was spent. Round veered the weathercock, The sun drew in - And stuck was Jim Like a rusty pin... We pulled and we pulled From seven till twelve, Jim, too frightened To help himself. But all in vain. The clock struck one, And there was Jim A little bit gone. At half-past five You scarce could see A glimpse of his flapping Handkerchee. And when came noon, And we climbed sky-high, Jim was a speck Slip - slipping by. Come to-morrow, The neighbours say, He'll be past crying for; Poor Jim Jay.

MISS T.

It's a very odd thing ----- As odd as can be --- That whatever Miss T. eats Turns into Miss T.; Porridge and apples, Mince, muffins and mutton, Jam, junket, jumbles ---- Not a rap, not a button It matters; the moment They're out of her plate, Though shared by Miss Butcher And sour Mr. Bate; Tiny and cheerful, And neat as can be, Whatever Miss T. eats Turns into Miss T.

The Barber's

Gold locks, and black locks, Red locks and brown, Topknot to love-curl The hair wisps down; Straight above the clear eyes, Rounded round the ears, Snip-snap and snick-a-snick, Clash the Barber's shears; Us, in the looking-glass, Footsteps in the street, Over, under, to and fro, The lean blades meet; Bay Rum or Bear's Grease, A silver groat to pay - Then out a-shin-shan-shining In the bright, blue day.

Hide and Seek

Hide and seek, says the Wind, In the shade of the woods; Hide and seek, says the Moon, To the hazel buds; Hide and seek, says the Cloud, Star on to star; Hide and seek, says the Wave, At the harbour bar; Hide and seek, say I, To myself, and step Out of the dream of Wake Into the dream of Sleep.

Then

Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty A hundred years ago, All through the night with lantern bright The Watch trudged to and fro, And little boys tucked snug abed Would wake from dreams to hear - 'Two o' the morning by the clock, And the stars a-shining clear!' Or, when across the chimney-tops Screamed shrill a North-East gale, A faint and shaken voice would shout, 'Three! And a storm of hail!'

They cannot see my little room, All yellowed with the shaded sun; They do not even know I'm here; Nor'll guess when I am gone.

Poor Henry

Thick in its glass The physic stands, Poor Henry lifts Distracted hands; His round cheek wans In the candlelight, To smell that smell! To see that sight!

Finger and thumb Clinch his small nose, A gurgle, a gasp, And down it goes; Scowls Henry now; But mark that cheek, Sleek with the bloom Of health next week!

Full Moon

One night as Dick lay half asleep, Into his drowsy eyes A great still light begins to creep From out the silent skies. It was lovely moon's, for when He raised his dreamy head, Her surge of silver filled the pane And streamed across his bed. So, for a while, each gazed at each - Dick and the solemn moon - Till, climbing slowly on her way, She vanished, and was gone.

The Bookworm

'I'm tired - Oh, tired of books,' said Jack, 'I long for meadows green, And woods, where shadowy violets Nod their cool leaves between; I long to see the ploughman stride His darkening acres o'er, To hear the hoarse sea-waters drive Their billows 'gainst the shore; I long to watch the sea-mew wheel Back to her rock-perched mate; Or, where the breathing cows are housed, Lean dreaming o'er the gate. Something has gone, and ink and print Will never bring it back; I long for the green fields again, I'm tired of books,' said Jack.

The Quartette

Tom sang for joy and Ned sang for joy and old Sam sang for joy; All we four boys piped up loud, just like one boy; And the ladies that sate with the Squire - their cheeks were all wet, For the noise of the voice of us boys, when we sang our Quartette.

Tom he piped low and Ned he piped low and old Sam he piped low; Into a sorrowful fall did our music flow; And the ladies that sate with the Squire vowed they'd never forget How the eyes of them cried for delight, when we sang our Quartette.

Mistletoe

Sitting under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), One last candle burning low, All the sleepy dancers gone, Just one candle burning on, Shadows lurking everywhere: Some one came, and kissed me there.

Tired I was; my head would go Nodding under the mistletoe (Pale-green, fairy mistletoe), No footsteps came, no voice, but only, Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely, Stooped in the still and shadowy air Lips unseen - and kissed me there.

The Lost Shoe

Poor little Lucy By some mischance, Lost her shoe As she did dance - 'Twas not on the stairs, Not in the hall; Not where they sat At supper at all. She looked in the garden, But there it was not; Henhouse, or kennel, Or high dovecote. Dairy and meadow, And wild woods through Showed not a trace Of Lucy's shoe. Bird nor bunny Nor glimmering moon Breathed a whisper Of where 'twas gone. It was cried and cried, Oyez and Oyez! In French, Dutch, Latin, And Portuguese. Ships the dark seas Went plunging through, But none brought news Of Lucy's shoe; And still she patters In silk and leather, O'er snow, sand, shingle, In every weather; Spain, and Africa, Hindustan, Java, China, And lamped Japan; Plain and desert, She hops-hops through, Pernambuco To gold Peru; Mountain and forest, And river too, All the world over For her lost shoe.

The Truants

Ere my heart beats too coldly and faintly To remember sad things, yet be gay, I would sing a brief song of the world's little children Magic hath stolen away.

The primroses scattered by April, The stars of the wide Milky Way, Cannot outnumber the hosts of the children Magic hath stolen away.

The buttercup green of the meadows, The snow of the blossoming may, Lovelier are not than the legions of children Magic hath stolen away.

The waves tossing surf in the moonbeam, The albatross lone on the spray, Alone know the tears wept in vain for the children Magic hath stolen away.

In vain: for at hush of the evening, When the stars twinkle into the grey, Seems to echo the far-away calling of children Magic hath stolen away.