Impatient of his childhood,
“Ah me!” exclaims young Arthur,
Whilst roving in the wild wood,
“I wish I were my father!”
Meanwhile, to see his Arthur
So skip, and play, and run,
“Ah me!” exclaims the father,
“I wish I were my son!”
Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.
UPON A CHILD THAT DIED.
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood:
Who as soon fell fast asleep,
As her little eyes did peep.
Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.
Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,
Full and fair ones; come and buy!
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer, There,
Where my Julia’s lips do smile;
There’s the land, or cherry-isle,
Whose plantations fully show
All the year where cherries grow.
Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the
The linnet and thrush say, “I love and I love!”
In the winter they’re silent—the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don’t know; but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving—all come back together,
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and forever sings he—
“I love my Love, and my Love loves me!”
He sees an inch afore his nose.
He takes the bull by the horns.
He that fights and runs away may live to fight another day.
He that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing.
He that has but four and spends five has no need of a purse.
He that knows not how to hold his tongue knows not how to talk.
He that lives on hope has but a slender diet.
He that plants trees loves others besides himself.
He that will steal a pin will steal a better thing.
He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
He’s in clover.
His bread is buttered on both sides.
His room is better than his company.
Hunger is the best sauce.
I have other fish to fry.
“ONE, TWO, THREE!”
It was an old, old, old, old lady,
And a boy that was half past three;
And the way that they played together
Was beautiful to see.
She couldn’t go running and jumping,
And the boy, no more could he;
For he was a thin little fellow,
With a thin little twisted knee.