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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 48 pages of information about The Real Mother Goose.

LITTLE JUMPING JOAN

    Here am I, little jumping Joan,
When nobody’s with me
    I’m always alone.

PAT-A-CAKE

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,
  Baker’s man! 
So I do, master,
  As fast as I can.

Pat it, and prick it,
  And mark it with T,
Put it in the oven
  For Tommy and me.

MONEY AND THE MARE

“Lend me thy mare to ride a mile.” 
“She is lamed, leaping over a stile.”

“Alack! and I must keep the fair! 
I’ll give thee money for thy mare.”

“Oh, oh! say you so? 
Money will make the mare to go!”

ROBIN REDBREAST

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree,
Up went Pussy-Cat, down went he,
Down came Pussy-Cat, away Robin ran,
Says little Robin Redbreast:  “Catch me if you can!”

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a spade,
Pussy-Cat jumped after him, and then he was afraid. 
Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did Pussy say? 
Pussy-Cat said:  “Mew, mew, mew,” and Robin flew away.

A MELANCHOLY SONG

Trip upon trenchers,
And dance upon dishes,
My mother sent me for some barm, some barm;
She bid me go lightly,
And come again quickly,
For fear the young men should do me some harm. 
Yet didn’t you see, yet didn’t you see,
What naughty tricks they put upon me? 
They broke my pitcher
And spilt the water,
And huffed my mother,
And chid her daughter,
And kissed my sister instead of me.

JACK

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,
Jack jump over the candlestick.

GOING TO ST. IVES

As I was going to St. Ives
I met a man with seven wives. 
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits. 
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?

THIRTY DAYS HATH SEPTEMBER

Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year, that’s the time
When February’s days are twenty-nine.

BABY DOLLY

Hush, baby, my dolly, I pray you don’t cry,
And I’ll give you some bread, and some milk by-and-by;
Or perhaps you like custard, or, maybe, a tart,
Then to either you’re welcome, with all my heart.

BEES

A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spoon;
A swarm of bees in July
Is not worth a fly.

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