THANK you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk, to soak my bread,
Ev'ry day, and ev'ry night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.
Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslips eat,
They will make it very sweet.
Where the purple violet grows,
Where the bubbling water flows,
Where the grass is fresh and fine,
Pretty cow, go there and dine.
BABY, baby, lay your head
On your pretty cradle bed;
Shut your eye-peeps, now the day
And the light are gone away;
All the clothes are tuck'd in tight;
Little baby dear, good night.
Yes, my darling, well I know
How the bitter wind doth blow:
And the winter's snow and rain,
Patter on the window-pane;
But they cannot come in here,
To my little baby dear:
For the curtains warm are spread
Round about her cradle bed;
And her little nightcap hides
Ev'ry breath of air besides;
So, till morning shineth bright,
Little baby dear, good night.
BABY, baby, ope your eye,
For the sun is in the sky,
And he's peeping once again
Through the frosty window-pane ;
Little baby, do not keep
Any longer fast asleep.
There now, sit in mother's lap,
That she may untie your cap,
For the little strings have got
Twisted into such a knot;
Ah! for shame, you've been at play
With the bobbin, as you lay.
There it comes, now let us see
Where your petticoats can be :
Oh! they're in the window-seat,
Folded very smooth and neat:
When my baby older grows,
She shall double up her clothes.
Now one pretty little kiss,
For dressing you so nice as this,
And, before we go down stairs,
Don't forget to say your pray'rs;
For 'tis God who loves to keep
Little babies while they sleep.
Mamma and the Baby.
WHAT a little thing am I!
Hardly higher than the table;
I can eat, and play, and cry,
But to work I am not able.
Nothing in the world I know,
But mamma will try and show me: Sweet mamma, I love her so, She's so very kind unto me.
And she sets me on her knee
Very often, for some kisses:
Oh! how good I'll try to be,
For such a dear mamma as this is.
Hor about, pretty sparrows, and pick up the hay,
And the twigs, and the wool, and the moss Indeed, I'll stand far enough out of your way, Don't fly from the window so cross.
I don't mean to catch you, you dear little Dick, And fasten you up in a cage;
To hop all day long on a straight bit of stick, Or to flutter about in a rage.
I only just want to stand by you and see
How you gather the twigs for your house;
Or sit at the foot of the jenneting tree,
While you twitter a song in the boughs.
Oh dear, if you'd eat a crumb out of my hand, How happy and glad should I be;
Then come, pretty bird, while I quietly stand At the foot of the jenneting tree.
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