Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1
He to his wife did say,
"The doctor wants his money, and
I haven't it to pay.
"What shall we do, what can we do?
The doctor made me well,
There's only one thing can be done,
We must the pet lamb sell;
We've nearly eaten all the bread,
And how can we get more,
Unless you call the butcher in
When he rides by the door?"
"Oh, do not sell my white pet lamb,"
Then little Mary said,
"And every night I'll go up stairs
Without my tea to bed;
Oh! do not sell my sweet pet lamb;
And if you let it live,
The best half of my bread and milk
I will unto it give."
The doctor at that very time
Entered the cottage door,
As, with her arms around her lamb,
She sat upon the floor.
"For if the butcher buys my lamb,
He'll take away its life,
And make its pretty white throat bleed
With his sharp cruel knife;
"And never in the morning light
Again it will me meet,
Nor come again to lick my hand,
Look up upon me and bleat."
"Why do you weep, my pretty girl?"
The doctor then did say.
"Because I love my little lamb,
Which must be sold to-day;
It lies beside my bed at night,
And, oh, it is so still,
It never made a bit of noise
When father was so ill.
"Oh do not let them sell my lamb,
And then I'll go to bed,
And never ask for aught to eat
But a small piece of bread."
"I'll buy the lamb and give it you,"
The kind, good doctor said,
"And with the money that I pay
Your father can buy bread.
"As for the bill, that can remain
Until another year."
He paid the money down, and said,
"The lamb is yours, my dear:
You have a kind and gentle heart,
And God, who made us all,
He loveth well those who are kind
To creatures great and small;
"And while I live, my little girl,
Your lamb shall not be sold,
But play with you upon the moor,
And sleep within the fold."
And so the white pet lamb was saved,
And played upon the moor,
And after little Mary ran
About the cottage-floor.
It fed upon cowslips tall,
And ate the grass so sweet,
And on the little garden-walk
Pattered its pretty feet;
And with its head upon her lap
The little lamb would lay
Asleep beneath the elm-tree's shade,
Upon the summer's day,
While she twined the flowers around its neck,
And called it her, "Sweet May."
Thomas Miller
[Page 174--Piggy Land]
The Pig, He is a Gentleman
The pig, he is a gentleman,
And never goes to work;
He eats the very best of food
Without knife or fork.
The pig, he is a gentleman,
And drinks the best of milk;
His clothes are good, and thick, and strong
And wear as well as silk.
The pig he, is a gentleman,
And covers up his head,
And looks at you with one eye,
And grunts beneath his bed.
He eats, and drinks, and sleeps all day
Just like his lady mother,
His father, uncle, and his aunt,
His sister, and his brother.
E. W. Cole
The Pigs
"Do look at those pigs, as they lie in the straw,"
Little Richard said to papa;
"They keep eating longer than ever I saw,
What nasty fat gluttons they are!"
"I see they are feasting," his father replied,
"They ear a great deal, I allow;
But let us remember, before we deride,
'Tis the nature, my dear, of a sow.
"But when a great boy, such as you my dear Dick,
Does nothing but eat all the day,
And keeps sucking good things till he makes himself sick,
What a glutton, indeed, we may say.
"When plumcake and sugar for ever he picks,
And sweetmeats, and comfits, and figs;
Pray let him get rid of his own nasty tricks,
And then he may laugh at the pigs."
J. T.
Five Little Pigs
Five lit-tle fingers
And five lit-tle pigs,
Of each I've a story to tell;
Look at their faces
And fun-ny curl-ed tails,
And hear what each one be-fell.
Ring-tail, that stead-y
And good lit-tle pig,
To mark-et set off at a trot;
And brought him his bas-ket
Quite full of nice things,
Con-tent-ed and pleas-ed with his lot.
Young Smil-er, the next,
Was a stay at home pig,
Lik-ed his pipe, and to sit at his ease;
He fell fast a-sleep,
Burned his nose with his pipe,
And a-woke with a ve-ry loud sneeze.
Num-ber three was young Long-snout
Who ate up the beef.
He was both greed-y and fat;
He made him-self ill
By eat-ing too much,
And then he was sor-ry for that.
And poor lit-tle Grun-ter--
You know he had none--
A pig-gy so hun-gry and sad!
He si-lent-ly wiped
The salt tears from his eyes,
I think it was real-ly too bad.
Young Squeak-er cried, "Wee, wee, wee,"
All the way home,
A pig-gy so fret-ful was he;
He got a good whip-ping,
Was sent off to bed,
And de-served it, I think you must see.
Oh, these five lit-tle pigs,
How they've made child-ren laugh
In ages and ages now past!
And they'll be quite as fun-ny,
In years yet to come,
While small toes and small fing-ers last.
The Self-willed Pig
It happened one day,
As the other pigs tell,
In the course of their walk
They drew near to a well,
So wide and so deep,
With so smooth a wall round,
That a pig tumbling in
Was sure to be drowned.
But a perverse little brother,
Foolish as ever,
Still boasting himself
Very cunning and clever,
Now made up his mind
That, whatever befell,
He would run on before
And jump over the well.
Then away he ran fast
To one side of the well,
Climbed up on the wall,
Slipped, and headlong he fell;
And now from the bottom
His pitiful shout
Was, "Oh mother! I'm in;
Pray do help me out!"
She ran to the side
When she heard his complaint,
And she then saw him struggling,
Weakly and faint,
Yet no help could she give!
But, "My children," cried she,
"How often I've feared
A sad end his would be!"
"Oh, mother, dear mother;"
The drowning pig cried,
"I see all this comes
Of my folly and pride!"
He could not speak more,
But he sank down and died,
Whilst his mother and brothers
Wept round the well-side!
[Page 175--Piggy Land]
Three Naughty Pigs
Three naughty pigs,
All in one pen,
Drank up the milk
Left by the men,
Then all the three
Fast as they could,
Dug their way out
To find something good.
Out in the garden
A maiden fair
Had set some flowers
Of beauty rare.
Out in the garden
A merry boy
Had planted seeds,
With childish joy,
One naughty pig
Ran to the bed;
Soon lay the flowers
Drooping and dead.
To naughty pigs
Dug up the seeds,
And left, for the boy,
Not even weeds.
Three naughty pigs,
Back in the pen,
Never could do
Such digging again.
For, in their noses,
Something would hurt
Whenever they tried
To dig in the dirt.
Little Biddy
Little Biddy O'Toole, on her three-legged stool,
Was 'atin' her praties so hot;
Whin up stepped the pig,
Wid his appetite big,
And Biddy got down like a shot.
The Spectre Pig
It was the stalwart butcher man
That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle pig must die,
And sealed it with a vow.
And oh! it was the gentle pig
Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
His little heart that found.
They took him then those wicked men,
They trailed him all along;
They put a stick between his lips,
And through his heels a thong.
And round and round an oaken beam
A hempen cord they flung,
And like a mighty pendulum
All solemnly he swung.
Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man
And think what thou hast done,
And read thy catechism well,
Thou sanguinary one.
For if its sprite should walk by night
It better were for thee,
That thou were mouldering in the ground,
Or bleaching in the sea.
It was the savage butcher then
That made a mock of sin,
And swore a very wicked oath,
He did not care a pin.
It was the butcher's youngest son,
His voice was broke with sighs,
And with his pocket handkerchief
He wiped his little eyes.
All young and ignorant was he,
But innocent and mild,
And, in his soft simplicity,
Out spoke the tender child--
"Oh! father, father, list to me;
The pig is deadly sick,
And men have hung him by his heels,
And fed him with a stick."
It was the naughty butcher then
That laughed as he would die,
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child
And bid him not to cry.
"Oh! Nathan, Nathan, what's a pig,
That thou shouldst weep and wail?
Come bear thee like a butcher's child,
And thou shalt have his tail."
It was the butcher's daughter then,
So slender and so fair,
That sobbed as if her heart would break
And tore her yellow hair.
And thus she spoke in thrilling tone--
Fell fast the tear-drops big:
"Ah! woe to me! Alas! alas!
The pig! the pig! the pig!"
Then did her wicked father's lips
Make merry wit her woe,
And call her many a naughty name,
Because she whimpered so.
Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,
In vain your tears are shed,
Ye cannot wash the crimson hand,
Ye cannot sooth the dead.
The bright sun folded on his breast,
His robes of rosey flame,
And softly over all the west
The shades of evening came.
He slept, and troops of murdered pigs
Were busy in his dreams;
Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,
Wide yawned their mortal seams.
The clock struck twelve; the dead hath heard;
He opened both his eyes,
And sullenly he shook his tail
To lash the feeding flies.
One quiver of the hempen cord--
One struggle and one bound--
With stiffened limb and leaded eye,
The pig was on the ground.
And straight towards the sleeper's house
His fearful way he wended;
And hooting owl, and hovering bat,
On midnight wing attended.
Back flew the bolt, uprose the latch,
And open swung the door,
And little mincing feet were heard
Pat, pat, along the floor.
Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,
And two upon the bed;
And they are breathing side by side,
The living and the dead.
"Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!
What makes your cheeks so pale?
Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fear
To clasp a spectre's tail?"
Untwisted every winding coil;
The shuddering wretch took hold,
Till like an icicle it seemed,
So tapering and so cold.
"Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"
He strives to loose his grasp,
But, faster than the clinging vine,
Those twining spirals clasp.
And open, open, swung the door,
And fleeter than the wind,
The shadowy spectre swept before,
The butcher trailed behind.
Fast fled the darkness of the night,
And morn rose faint and dim;
They called full loud, they knocked full long
They did not waken him.
Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,
A trampled pathway ran;
A ghastly shape was swinging there--
It was the butcher man.
O. W. Holmes
[Page 176--Piggy Land]
Little Dame Crump
Little Dame Crump,
With her little hair broom,