Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1

An orphan child was Jenny Lee;
  Her father, he was dead.
And very hard her mother worked;
  To get the children bread.

In winter time, she often rose
  Long ere the day was light,
And left her orphan family,
  Till dark again at night.

And she would always say to Jane,
  Before she went away;
"Be sure you mind the little ones,
  And don't go out to play.

"Keep baby quiet in his bed,
  As long as he will lie;
Then take him up, and dance him well,
  Don't leave him there to cry.

"And don't let little Christopher,
  Get down into the street,
For fear he meets an accident
  Beneath the horse's feet.

"And mind about the fire, child,
  And keep a tidy floor;
We never need be dirty, Jane,
  Although we may be poor.

"Good-by my precious comforter,
  For all the neighbours say,
That I can trust my little maid,
  Whenever I'm away."

Then Jenny she was quite as proud
  As England's noble Queen,
And she resolved to do the work,
  And keep the dwelling clean.

She did not stop to waste her time,
  But very brisk was she,
And worked as hard and cheerfully
  As any busy bee.

If down upon the cottage floor
  Her little brother fell,
She stroked the places tenderly,
  And kissed and made them well.

And when the little babe was cross,
  As little babes will be,
She nursed and danced it merrily,
  And fed it on her knee.

But when they both were safe in bed,
  She neatly swept the hearth,
And waited until her mother's step
  Came sounding up the path.

Then open flew the cottage door,
  The weary mother smiled.
"Ah! Jenny dear, what should I do,
  Without my precious child!"

"Mother has sent me to the well,
  To fetch a jug of water,
And I am very glad to be
  A useful little daughter;
That's why I cannot play
  With you and Mary Ann to-day.

"Some afternoon I'll come with you,
  And make you wreaths and posies;
I know a place where blue-bells grow,
  And daisies and primroses;
But not to-day, for I must go
  And help my mother, dears, you know.

"She says, that I am nearly eight,
  So I can fill the kettle,
And sweep the room and clean the grate,
  And even scrub a little;
Oh! I'm so very glad to be
  A little useful girl, you see.

"So Johnny, do not ask to-day—
  Perhaps I'll come to morrow;
But you'd not wish me now to stay,
  And give my mother sorrow.
When she can spare me, she will say,
  'Now, Susan, you may go and play.'"

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
  And, when I crossed the wild,
I managed to see at break of day
  The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
  She dwelt on a wide moor,—
The sweetest thing that ever grew
  Besides a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
  The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
  Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night—
  You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, child, to light
  Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do!
  'Tis scarcely afternoon—
The minster-clock has just struck two,
  And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his book
  And snapped a faggot band;
He piled his work,—and Lucy took
  The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe;
  With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
  That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before it's time;
  She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb,
  But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
  Went shouting far and wide,
But there was neither sound or sight
  To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
  That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood
  A furlong from their door.

And, turning homeward, now they cried
  "In heaven we shall meet!"
When in the snow the mother spied
  The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
  They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn edge,
  And by the long stone wall.

And then an open field they crossed—
  The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
  And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
  The footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
  And further there were none!

Yet some maintain that to this day
  She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
  Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
  And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
  That whistles in the wind.

Mary had a little lamb,
  It's fleece was white as snow;
And everywhere that Mary went
  The lamb was sure to go.

He followed her to school one day—
  That was against the rule;
It made the children laugh and play,
  To see a lamb at school.

The teacher therefore turned him out;
  But still he lingered near,
And on the grass he played about
  Till Mary did appear.

At once he ran to her, and laid
  His head upon her arm,
As if to say, I'm not afraid—
  You'll keep me from all harm.

"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
  The little children cry;
"Oh! Mary loves the lamb you know,"
  The teacher did reply.

I met a little cottage girl;
  She was eight years old, she said;
Her head was thick with many a curl
  That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
  And she was wildly clad;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair,
  Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
  How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said,
  And wondering, looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
  She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
  And two are gone to sea.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie—
  My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage I
  Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
  And two are gone to sea;
Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
  Sweet maid how this may be?"

Then did the little maid reply,
  Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
  Beneath the churchyard tree."

"You run about, my little maid,
  Your limbs they are alive!
If two are in the churchyard laid,
  Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
  The little maid replied;
"Twelve steps or more, from my mother's door,
  And they are side by side.

"My stockings there I often knit,
  My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
  I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir,
  When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
  And eat my supper there.

"The first that died was little Jane;
  In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain,
  And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard she was laid;
  And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
  My brother John and I.

"And when the ground was white with snow,
  And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
  And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then? said I,
  "If they two are in heaven!"
The little maiden did reply
  "O master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead;
  Their spirits are in heaven!"
'Twas throwing words away; for still
The little maid would have her will,
  And say, "Nay, we are seven."

Young Lucy Payne lives on the Village Green;
  Mary, you know the cottage, I am sure,
Under the hawthorn! 'Tis so neat and clean,
  Though Widow Payne, alas! is blind and poor.

She plies her needles, and she plies them well,
  And Lucy never spends an idle hour;
On market days their mits and socks they sell,
  And thus their balls of worsted turn to flour.

I pass'd one morning by their cottage door;
  Lucy was talking to a little child,
A ragged thing that lives upon the moor;
  It's parents leave it to run rude and wild.

Hanger had tamed the little wilding thing,
  It's cheeks were hollow, but it's air was light;
Young Lucy did not know I saw her bring
  That porringer she kept so clean and bright.

  It was her breakfast—all the darling had;
  But oh! she gave it with a heart so glad.

"Over the wave, the stormy wave,
  Hasten, dear father, with me,
The crew to save from a wat'ry grave,
  Deep in the merciless sea.
Hear ye the shriek, the piercing shriek,
  Hear ye the cry of despair?
With courage quick the wreck we'll seek;
  Danger united we'll dare.

"Out with the boat, the gallant boat;
  Not a moment to be lost;
See! she's afloat, proudly afloat,
  And high on the waves we're tossed;
Mother, Adieu, a short adieu;
  Your prayers will rise to heaven;
Father to you—your child and you—
  Power to save is given.

"I have no fear, no maiden fear;
  My heart is firm to the deed,
I shed no tear, no coward tear;
  I've strength in time of need.
Hear ye the crash, the horrid crash?
  Their mast over the side is gone;
Yet on we dash, 'mid lightning flash,
  Safe through the pelting storm.

"The wreck we near, the wreck we near,
  Our bonny boat seems to fly,
List to the cheer, their welcome cheer,
  They know that succour is nigh."
And on that night, that dreadful night,
  The father and daughter brave,
With strengthened might they both unite,
  And many dear lives they save.

Hail to the maid, the fearless maid,
  The maid of matchless worth;
She'll e'er abide the cherished pride
  Of the land that gave her birth.
The send her gold, her name high uphold,
  Honour and praise to impart;
But, with true regard, the loved reward
  Is the joy of her own brave heart.

Who is it each day in the week may be seen,
With her hair short and smooth, and her hands and face clean;
In a stout cotton gown, of dark and light blue,
Though old, so well mended, you'd take it for new;
Her handkerchief tidily pinned o'er her neck.
With a neat little cap, and an apron of check;
Her shoes and her stockings all sound and all clean?
She's never fine outside and dirty within.

Go visit her cottage, though humble and poor.
'Tis so neat and so clean you might eat off the floor;
No rubbish, no cobwebs, no dirt can be found,
Though you hunt every corner, and search all around.
Who sweeps it so nicely, who makes all the bread,
Who tends her sick mother, and works by her bed?
'Tis the neat, tidy girl—she needs no other name;
Abroad or at home, she is always the same.

"I will be good, dear mother,"
  I heard a sweet child say;
"I will be good; now watch me—
  I will be good all day."

Oh, many, many, bitter tears
  'Twould save us, did we say,
Like that dear child, with earnest heart,
  "I will be good to-day."

I have a little sister,
  She's only three years old;
I do most dearly love her,
  She's worth her weight in gold.
We often play together
  And I begin to find,
To make my sister happy,
  I must be very kind.

She danced like a Fairy,
She sung like a Frog,
She squeaked like a Pig,
She barked like a dog.

  Oh yes! Oh yes! She did! She Did!
  And Frog-gy played a tune.

She mooed like a Bullock,
She baaed like a Ram,
She leaped like a Goat,
She skipped like a Lamb—Oh yes!

She brayed like a Donkey,
She cried like a Hare,
She neighed like a Horse,
She growled like a Bear!—Oh yes!

She munched like a Rabbit,
She gnawed like a Rat,
She popped like a Mouse,
She flew like a Bat—Oh yes!

She talked like a Parrot,
She quacked like a Drake,
She mewed like a Cat,
She hissed like a Snake—Oh yes!

She climbed like a Squirrel,
She flopped like a Seal,
She ran like a Deer,
She slid like an Eel—Oh yes!

She crept like a Tortoise,
She soared like a Lark,
She drank like a Fish,
She ate like a Shark—Oh yes!

She roared like a Lion,
She dived like a Whale,
She swam like a Goose,
She crawled like a Snail—Oh yes!

She croaked like a Raven,
She screeched like an Owl,
She cawed like a Crow,
She crowed like a Fowl—Oh yes!

She grinned like a Monkey,
She hummed like a Bee,
She buzzed like a Fly,
She jumped like a Flea—Oh yes!

There is no death! what seems so is transition
  This life of mortal breath,
Is but a suburb of life Elysian
  Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead—the child of our affection—
  But gone unto that school
Where she no longer needs our poor protection
  And GOD himself doth rule.

  Little Jack Jingle,
  He used to live single;
But when he got tired of this kind of life,
He left off being single, and lived with his wife.

  I'll tell you a story
  About Jack Nory,—
And now my story's begun:
  I'll tell you another
  About Jack his brother,—
And now my story's done.

  Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
  Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
They made him a coat
Of an old nanny-goat,
  I wonder how they could do so!
With a ring and a ting tang,
And a ring and a ting tang,
  Poor old Robinson Crusoe!

"John, come sell thy fiddle,
  And buy thy wife a gown."
"No; I'll not sell my fiddle
  For any wife in town."

Jacky, come give me thy fiddle
  If ever thou mean'st to thrive;
Nay, I'll not give my fiddle
  To any man alive.
If I should give my fiddle,
  They'll think that I'm gone mad,
For many a joyful day
  My fiddle and I have had.

Jack was a fisherman
  Who went out one day,
But couldn't catch a single fish,
  And so he came away.
And then he came home,
  This angler so bold,
And found he'd caught something—
  For he'd caught a cold.

  The Queen of Hearts,
  She made some tarts,
All on a summer day;
  The Knave of Hearts
  He stole those tarts
And took them clean away.

  The King of Hearts
  Called for the tarts,
And beat the knave full sore;
  The Knave of Hearts
  Brought back the tarts,
And vowed he'd steal no more.

Charley Wag
Ate the pudding and left the bag.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away did run!
The pig he eat, and Tom they beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street.

Tom, he was a piper's son:
He learned to play when he was young:
But all the tunes that he could play
Was, "Over the hills and far away;
Over the hills and a great way off,
And the wind will blow my topknot off."

Now Tom with his pipe made such a noise,
That he pleased both the girls and the boys,
And they stopped to hear him play
"Over the hills and far away."

As Dolly was milking her cow one day,
Tom took out his pipe and began for to play;
So Doll and the cow danced "the Cheshire round,"
Till the pail they broke and the milk ran on the ground.

He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs,
He used his pipe and she used her legs;
She danced about till all the eggs she broke,
She began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke.

He saw a cross fellow beating an ass,
Heavily laden with pots, pans, dishes and glass;
He took out his pipe and played them a tune,
And the jackass did kick off his load very soon.

Tom met the parson on his way,
Took out his pipe, began to play
A merry tune that led his grace
Into a very muddy place.

The mayor then said he would not fail
To send poor Tommy off to gaol.
Tom took his pipe, began to play,
And all the court soon danced away.

'Twas quite a treat to see the rout,
How clerks and judges hopped about;
While Tommy still kept playing the tune,
"I'll be free this afternoon."

The Policeman Grab, who held him fast,
Began to dance about at last;
Whilst Tom, delighted at the fun,
Slipped out of court and off did run.

Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house, and stole a piece of beef.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not at home;
Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not in.
Taffy came to my house, and stole a silver pin.
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed.
I took up a poker and flung it at his head.

  Old King Cole
  Was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
  He called for his pipe,
  And he called for his bowl,
And he called for his fiddlers three.

Peter White will ne'er go right;
  Would you know the reason why?
He follows his nose where'er he goes,
  And that stands all awry.

This is the house that Jack built.

This is the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the cock that crowed in the morn,
That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

This is the farmer sowing his corn,
That kept the cock that crowed in the morn,
That awaked the priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the dog,
That worried the cat,
That killed the rat,
That ate the malt,
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Simple Simon met a pieman
  Going to the fair;
Says Simple Simon to the pieman:
  "Let me taste your ware."

Says the pieman to Simple Simon,
  "Show me first the penny."
Says Simple Simon to the pieman:
  "Indeed I have not any."

Simple Simon went a-fishing
  For to catch a whale—
All the water he had got
  Was in his mother's pail.

Simple Simon went to look
  If plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much,
  Which made poor Simon whistle.

He went to catch a dicky bird,
  And thought he could not fail
Because he'd got a little salt
  To put upon it's tail.

Then Simple Simon went-a-hunting,
  For to catch a hare.
He rode on a goat about the street,
  But could not find one there.

Simon made a great snowball,
  And brought it in to roast;
He laid it down before the fire,
  And soon the ball was lost.

Simple Simon went a-skating
  When the ice was thin,
And Simon was astonished quite
  To find he tumbled in.

And Simon he would honey eat
  Out of the mustard pot;
He bit his tongue until he cried:
  "That was all the good he got."

Ten little Niggers going out to dine,
One choked his little self, and then there were Nine.

Nine little Niggers crying at his fate,
One cried himself away, and then there were Eight.

Eight little Niggers to travelling were given.
But one kicked the bucket, and then there were Seven.

Seven little Niggers playing at their tricks,
One cut himself in halves, and then there were Six.

Six little Niggers playing with a hive,
A bumble bee killed one, and then there were Five.

Five little Niggers went in for law,
One got into Chancery, and then there were Four.

Four little Niggers going out to sea,
A ref herring swallowed one, and then there were Three.

Three little Niggers walking in the Zoo,
A big bear cuddled one, and then there were Two.

Two little Niggers sitting in the sun,
One got frizzled up, and then there was One.

One little Nigger living all alone,
He got married, and then there were None.

I remember, I remember,
  When I was a little Boy,
One fine morning in September
  Uncle brought me home a toy.

I remember how he patted
  Both my cheeks in his kindliest mood;
"Then," said he, "you little Fat-head,
  There's a top because you're good."

Grandmamma—a shrewd observer—
  I remember gazed upon
My new top, and said with fervour,
  "Oh! how kind of Uncle John."

While mamma, my form caressing—
  In her eyes the tear-drop stood,
Read me this fine moral lesson,
  "See what comes of being good."

I remember, I remember,
  On a wet and windy day,
One cold morning in December,
  I stole out and went to play.

I remember Billy Hawkins
  Came, and with his pewter squirt
Squibbed my pantaloons and stockings
  Till they were all over dirt.

To my mother for protection
  I ran, quaking every limb;
She exclaim'd, with fond affection,
  "Gracious goodness! look at him!"

Pa cried, when he saw my garment,
  'Twas a newly purchased dress—
"Oh! you nasty little varment,
  How came you in such a mess?"

Then he caught me by the collar,
  —Cruel only to be kind—
And to my exceeding dolour,
  Gave me—several slaps behind.

Grandmamma, while I yet smarted,
  As she saw my evil plight,
Said—'twas rather stony-hearted—
  "Little rascal! serve him right!"

I remember, I remember,
  From that sad and solemn day,
Never more in dark December
  Did I venture out to play.

And the moral which they taught, I
  Well remember: thus they said—
"Little Boys, when they are naughty,
  Must be whipp'd and sent to bed!"

  There was one little Jack,
  Not very long back,
And 't is said to his lasting disgrace,
  That he never was seen
  With his hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.

  His friends were much hurt
  To see so much dirt
And often and well did they scour,
  But all was in vain,
  He was dirty again
Before they had done it an hour.

  When to wash he was sent,
  He reluctantly went
With water to splash himself o'er,
  But he left the black streaks
  Running down both his cheeks,
And made them look worse than before.

  The pigs in the dirt
  Could not be more expert
Than he was, in grubbing about;
  And people have thought
  This gentleman ought
To be made with four legs and a snout.

  The idle and bad
  May, like to this lad,
Be dirty and black, to be sure.
  But good boys are seen
  To be decent and clean,
Although they be ever so poor.

Johnny Jones, why do you do it?
Those who throw stones
Surely will rue it;
Little of pleasure, evil may flow,
Mischief past measure comes of a blow.

Yes, yes! stone flinging.
Laugh as you may,
Woe may be bringing
Upon you some day.

Someone is watching,
Armed by the law,
Truncheon from pocket
Soon he will draw.
Off he will march you—
Dreadful to think!—to a dark prison:
Light through a chink,
Bread without butter, water for drink.

Dirty, noisy, mischievous Dick,
  Struggled and tore, and wanted to fight
Susan, the nurse, who in the bath
  Began to wash him on Saturday night.

Her hair he tried to pull up by the roots,
  The water he splashed all over the floor,
Which ran downstairs, and one night made
  A terrible slop at the parlour door.

To give him advice was a waste of time,
  So his father resolved to try a stick,
And never since then has he been called
  Dirty, noisy, mischievous Dick.

A boy looked over a wall,
  And spied some lovely apples;
"But," says he "the tree is tall,
  And belongs to 'Grumpie Chapples!'
Still, I think some could be got
  By a climbing lad like me:
I'll try and steal a lot,
  So here goes up the tree."

Look at the Picture!!!

Pretty little fingers,
  Wherefore were they made?
Like ten smart young soldiers,
  All in pink arrayed.

Apt and quick obedient
  To your lightest thought,
Doing in an instant
  Everything they're taught.

'T was for play or study,
  Pen to wield or ball;
Kite, top, needle, pencil,
  Prompt at parents' call.

Picking, poking, soiling
  Costly things and dear,
Wrecking, cracking, spoiling
  All that they come near.

Thus 't was with Robert Chivers,
  Brandishing a swish,
Broke a vase to shivers
  Filled with silver fish.

"Tick, tick" says the Dutch clock.
  Robert fain would know
How it's pendulum swinging
  Made it's wheels go.

Who not ask? No! foolish
  Robert takes a stick,
Pokes and breaks the clock, which
  Ceases soon to tick.

"Puff, puff," sighs the bellows.
  Robert wants to find,
Yet he will not ask, whence
  Comes it's stock of wind.

With a knife upripping,
  Finds them void and flat.
Ah! be sure a whipping
  Robert caught for that.

Listen about a naughty boy
Who might have been a parent's joy,
But that he had a strong desire
To always meddle with fire.

One day when his mamma went out,
She said "Mind, dear, what you're about:
With your nice books and playthings stay,
And with the fire, oh! do not play."

But as soon as his mamma was gone,
And this bad boy left all alone,
Thought he, "In spite of all ma says,
Now we'll have a glorious blaze.

"No one is by, 't is quickly done,
And oh! 't will be such famous fun."
Quick then about the hearth he strewed
Some scraps of paper and of wood.

Then lighted them and drew them out,
And with them, laughing, ran about.
But soon he changed his merry note—
The flames, alas, had caught his coat,
And every moment, mounting higher,
His body soon was all on fire;
And though he screamed with shriek and shout,
No one came near to put it out:
So it happened, sad to say,
That boy was burned to death that day.

Willie was a wicked boy,
  Snubbed his poor old mother;
Willie was a dreadful boy,
  Quarrelled with his brother;
Willie was a spiteful boy,
  Often pinched his sister,
Once he gave her such a blow,
  Raised a great big blister!

Willy was a sulky boy,
  Sadly plagued his cousins,
Often broke folks' window panes,
  Throwing stones by dozens,
Often worried little girls,
  Bullied smaller boys,
Often broke their biggest dolls,
  Jumped upon their toys.

If he smelled a smoking tart,
  Willie longed to steal it;
If he saw a pulpy peach,
  Willie tried to peel it;
Could he reach a new plum-cake,
  Greedy Willie picked it,
If he spied a pot of jam,
  Dirty Willie licked it.

If he saw a poor old dog,
  Wicked Willie whacked it;
If it had a spot of white,
  Silly Willy blacked it,
If he saw a sleeping cat,
  Horrid Willie kicked it;
If he caught a pretty moth,
  Cruel Willie pricked it.

If his pony would not trot,
  Angry Willie thrashed it;
If he saw a clinging snail,
  Thoughtless Willie smashed it;
If he found a sparrow's nest,
  Unkind Willie hit it.
All the mischief ever done,
  Folks knew Willie did it.

No one liked that horrid boy,
  Can you wonder at it?
None who saw his ugly head,
  Ever tried to pat it.
No one ever took him for a ride—
  Folks too gladly skipped him.
No one ever gave him bats or balls,
  No one ever "tipped" him.

No one taught him how to skate,
  Or to play at cricket;
No one helped him if he stuck
  In a prickly thicket.
Oh no! for the boys all said
  Willie loved to tease them,
And that if he had the chance,
  Willie would not please them.

And they shunned him every one,
  And they would not know him,
And their games and picture-books
  They would never show him,
And their tops they would not spin,
  If they saw him near them,
And they treated him with scorn
  Till he learned to fear them.

They all left him to himself,
  And he was so lonely,
But of course it was his fault,
  Willie's own fault only.
If a boy's a wicked boy,
  Shy of him folks fight then,
If it makes him dull and sad,
  Why, it serves him right then!

He said he would be Good,
but he got into the mud,
and was a Naughty, Bad,
Bad Boy!!!

  Boys, stop your noise! Girls, stop your jumping and skipping!
  While I tell you about a bad boy, who often deserves a whipping.
  If this boy to you were named, to speak to him you'd feel ashamed,
  So to-day I'll only say—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  I won't tell you his age, nor the colour of his hair,
  Nor say anything about the clothes he sometimes does wear;
  You never see them neat and clean, and seldom without a tear,
  Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  If he's sent on a message, such a long time he stops,
  To pelt stones at Chinamen, and stare in the shops;
  Running behind drays, and wastes time so many ways,
  That when he gets home his mother says—
  Oh you wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  If his mother gives him lolly, cake, piece of beef or mutton,
  In a corner he'll eat it by himself, he's such a nasty, greedy glutton.
  And he'll smug from his playmates a marble, top or button,
  That scarcely any one can with him have any fun,
  Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  He's been going to school for years, I can't tell you how long,
  If you ask him to spell three words, two are sure to be wrong;
  If you saw the dirty books and broken slate which to him belong,
  You'd easily guess from such a mess that—
  He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  You can't believe a word he says, he tells so many lies.
  He's such a coward, he'll only hit a girl or boy much less than his size,
  But if he gets a blow himself, he howls, bawls, yelps, and cries,
  That anyone who sees him never tries to please him,
  Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  He won't play any game without being always cheating,
  I often wonder how he so many times escapes a beating,
  And he never says grace before or after eating.
  He's scarcely better in the least than a brute beast,
  Because—He's a wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

  What school he goes to at present I won't tell,
  But I mean to watch him, and if he don't mind and behave well,
  I'll go to every school and ring a little bell,
  I'll make a great noise, and show all the girls and boys
  This wicked, rude, bad, naughty, cross, nasty, bold, dirty-faced boy!

There was a little Chinese Boy,
  That ran away from home—
"Ha! ha!" he said, "I'll see the world
  And through the streets I'll roam.

"I won't go any more to school,
  Or go so soon to bed,
Nor yet be scolded if I choose
  To stand upon my head."

So little Chinkey ran away,
  His tail flew in the wind;
He thought not of his good mamma
  Who was so very kind:

He knew she could not follow him
  Along the crowded street,
Because mammas in China have
  Such very tiny feet.

Now, as he went along he saw
  Such strange and lovely sights,
Such pretty painted houses—
  Such tops! and oh! such kites!

He saw so many gilded toys,
  and ivory things so white,
That he forgot about the time,
  Until he found it night.

Ah! then he saw such fireworks!
  They glistened in his eyes;
The crackers and the lanterns too
  Quite took him by surprise.

He listened to the music of
  The fiddle and the gong,
And felt that it was jolly, though
  He knew that it was wrong.

But after that he began to think
  Things were not so bright;
The men were going, and there came
  The watchman of the night;

And sleep was stealing over him,
  He scarce could lift his head,
So he lay on the cold, cold stones,
  Which served him for a bed.

Little Chinkey Chow-Chow
  Woke up with early light,
And wandered far away from where
  He passed the dreary night;

He was so very worn and cold,
  And sadly wanted food,
So he sat upon a well
  In not a pleasant mood.

He saw the well was very deep,
  The water too was clear,
And soon he saw a golden fish
  That looked so very near.

He stretched his hand to catch the fish;
  But oh! how sad to tell,
He tumbled over and he sank
  To the bottom of the well.

Some other boys were playing there
  And saw him disappear,
And ran along the road to see
  If anyone was near.

A Great BIG Market Gardener,
  Was soon upon the ground,
And caught our little Chinkey up,
  Who soon would have been drowned.

The boys began to jeer at him,
  For he was very wet;
They pulled his dripping tail, and called
  Him names that I forget.

One took his wooden shoes away,
  Another took his hat,
And someone said, "It serves him right,"
  Now only think of that!

When little Chinkey ran away,
  His tail flew in the wind;
But when our Chinkey turned again
  His tail hung down behind.

He wandered past the painted shops,
  Where they put up the tea,
And I am sure the boys at school
  Were happier than he.

Poor Chinkey Chow was very tired,
  And very sore his feet,
When his mother saw him from
  The corner of a street.

She said he was a wicked boy,
  And ought to have a smack!
And yet I think she loved him more
  Because she'd got him back.

Now when I see a Chinaman,
  And that is every day,
I wonder if he is, grown up,
  The boy that ran away.

But what I still think most about
  When I this story tell,
Is the GREAT BIG Market Gardener
  That raised him from the well

  From Calvert's Australian Toy Books