The Peter Patter Book of Nursery Rhymes

Oh, Mother, Oh, Mother,
Come quickly and see,
The house and the farmyard
Have gone on a spree.

The pig’s in the pantry,
The chickens are out,
The parrot is perched
On the tea kettle spout.

And mercy, Oh, mercy,
Oh, what shall I do?
A rat has run off
With my very best shoe.

Two funny friends that you all know
Are Cella Ree and Tommy To.
About as queer as friends can be,
Are Tommy To and Cella Ree.
For hours they sit there grim and stable
Side by side upon the table.
Tom is red and Cella pale,
His blushes are of no avail;
She sits, in spite of his endeavor,
As firm and undisturbed as ever,
A funny pair, you must agree,
This Tommy To and Cella Ree.

If I were richer
I’d buy a pitcher
With scenery on it.
’Jolica ware—
Storks here and there,
And a funny affair
With ladies on it.

In half a minute
I’d mix up in it
A wonderful drink—
Peppermint, ice,
Lemons and spice—
Taste pretty nice,
What do you think?

O the Army of the Queen,
The Army of the Queen,
Some are dressed in turkey-red
And some are dressed in green;
A colonel and a captain,
A corporal in between,
Their guns are filled with powder
And their swords are bright and keen;
So toot your little trumpet
For the Army of the Queen.

Romulus, Romulus,
Father of Rome,
Ran off with a wolf
And he wouldn’t come home.

When he grew up
He founded a city
With an eagle, a bear,
And a tortoise-shell kitty.

My dad was a soldier and fought in the wars,
My grandfather fought on the sea,
And the tales of their daring and valor of course
Put the sand and the ginger in me.

I’m not scared of tigers or any wild beast,
I could fight with a lion all right,
I wouldn’t be ’fraid of a bear in the least—
Excepting, perhaps, in the night.

But sister, she’s skeery as skeery can be,
She’s even afraid of the bark of a tree.

Percy when a little boy
Was quiet as a mouse,
He never set the barn afire
Nor battered down the house.

He used to sit for hours and hours
Just gazing at the moon,
And feeding little fishes
Sarsaparilla from a spoon.

Moon, O Moon in the empty sky,
Why do you swing so low?
Pretty moon with the silver ring
And the long bright beams where the fairies cling,
Where do you always go?

I go to the land of the Siamese,
Ceylon and the Great Plateau,
Over the seas where Sinbad sailed,
Where Moses crossed and Pharaoh failed,—
There’s where I always go.

“Rag-man, rag-man,
Taggy, taggy, rag-man,
Tell us what you’ve got there in your sack.”

“Oh—it’s full of rimes and riddles,
Jingles, jokes, and hi-de-diddles—
This bundle that I carry on my back.”

“O tell us, funny rag-man,
Grinny, skinny rag-man,
Where did you pick up your funny rimes?”

“Some were dancing with corn-flowers,
Some were hiding in church-towers,
And sprinkled helter-skelter by the chimes.”

“Rag-man, rag-man,
Nice old taggy rag-man,
Sing us just one jingle, tingle song.”

“Why, my dears, I’ve got a plenty,
Sing you one? I’ll sing you twenty—
I’ve been hoping you would ask me all along.”

Whenever I go out to walk,
All the geese begin to gawk;
And when I start to wander back,
All the ducks begin to quack.

Mister McCune
Can whistle a tune,

Old Uncle Strong
Can sing us a song,

Benjamin Biddle
Can play on the fiddle,

Captain O’Trigg
Can dance us a jig,

And I, if I’m able,
Will tell you a fable.

Heigho, Billy Bumpkins,
How d’ you grow your pumpkins?
“At six o’clock I sows ’em,
At ten o’clock I hoes ’em,
An’ jes before I goes to bed
I puts ’em in the pumpkin shed.”

Tell us, Billy Bumpkins,
How d’ you sell your pumpkins?
“I lends ’em to the ladies,
I gives ’em to the babies,
An’ trades a hundred for a kiss
To any pretty little miss.”

Blue flames and red flames
In a world all dark;
Blue flames and red flames,
And a tiny spark
Hurrying to heaven, lest it should be late;
Lest the cautious seraphim close the shining gate,
And leave the little wanderer forevermore to fly
Like an orphan angel through the endless sky.

Poor little Timothy Grady
Screwed up his face at a lady,
And, jiminy jack!
It wouldn’t come back.
The louder he hollered
The tighter it grew,
His eyes are all red
And his lips are all blue.
Oh, mercy me, what in the world will he do?
Poor little Timothy Grady!

Captain Tickle had a nickel
In a paper sack,
He threw it in the river
And he couldn’t get it back.
Captain Tickle spent his nickel
For a rubber ball,
And when he cut it open
There was nothing there at all.

O Grandmother Grundy,
Now what would you say
If the katydids carried
Your glasses away—

Carried them off
To the top of the sky
And used them to watch
The eclipses go by?

Needles and pins, hooks and eyes!
I saw a doughnut in the skies.
Flipperjinks the circus clown
Climbed a tree and got it down.

Tassle is a captain,
Tinsel is a mayor,
Tony is a baker-boy
With ’lasses in his hair,
Tipsy is a sailor,
With anchors on his chest,
And Tiny is the baby boy
Who bosses all the rest.

Harry Hooker had a book
And couldn’t find a teacher.
But still he managed very well,
He climbed a box and rang a bell
And turned into a preacher.

Cut up a caper,
You’ve got a paper
And I’ve got a widget of string.
You be the army
And let nothing harm me
For I am the captain and king.

Here come the sweet potatoes
And here’s the Sunday meat,
I guess we must be ready now
To eat, eat, eat.

I’m going to have the nicey plate
And Daddy’s leather seat,
And wear my patent-leather shoes
To eat, eat, eat.

My Daddy’s talking all about
The war, and some old fleet,
I wonder if he never, never,
Never wants to eat.

We’re going to have some apple-cake,
We’re going to have a treat.
O hurry, hurry, Daddy,
Let us eat, eat, eat.

Hetty Hutton,
Here’s a button,
Sew it on your dress.

Willie Waller,
Here’s a dollar,
Maybe more or less.

Mister Shuster,
Here’s a rooster,
Put him in a pen.

Mister Saxon,
Get an ax an’
Let him out again.

A big, fat potato lay down on a clod
In the shade of some burdock and tall goldenrod,
And he dreamed he were king of the whole garden plot,
With a palace and throne, and a crown with a lot
Of jewels and diamonds and gold till it shone
Like the front of a show when the lights are turned on.
He had to be minded by all of the plants;
When he whistled the radishes knew they must dance;
When he tooted his horn the cucumbers must sing
To a vegetable crowd gathered round in a ring.
He made all the cabbages stand in a row
While a sunflower instructed them just how to grow;
The bright yellow pumpkins he painted light blue;
Took the clothes off the scare-crow and made him buy new.
He strutted and sputtered and thought it was grand
To be king and commander o’er all the wide land.
But at last he woke up with an awful surprise
And found a blind mole kicking sand in his eyes.

A bundle of hay
From Baffin’s Bay,
A johnny-cake from Rome,
A man and a mule
From Ultima Thule
To carry the cargo home.

Peter, popper, dopper, Dan,
Catch a moonbeam if you can;
Climb a cedar ten feet high
And pick the planets from the sky.
You’re a wonder, little man—
Peter, popper, dopper, Dan.

Old Father Annum on New Year’s Day
Picked up his bag of months and years,
Thrust in his hand in a careless way,
And pulled a wee fellow out by the ears.
“There you are,” said he to the waiting crowd,
“He’s as good as any I have in my pack.
I never can tell, but I hope to be proud
Of the little rascal when I come back.”

O what will you take for a tippany flower,
And what will you take for a pansy?
I’ll take a smile for the tippany flower,
And a kiss for the pretty pansy.

Here comes a cabbage with a bonnet on its head,
A pretty purple bonnet with a bow of blue and red;
And here comes a bottle with a collar ’round its neck,
A handsome linen collar, too, without a spot or speck;
Next comes a meat-saw, his job is biting beef,
And according to the cleaver he has gold in all his teeth;
And last of all there comes along, amid the ringing cheers,
A princely Indian corn-stalk with rings in both his ears.

There are plenty feathers on a hen
And prickers on a rose,
There is plenty roaring in a den
Of lions, goodness knows;

There are plenty fishes in the lake
And islands in the sea;
There are plenty raisins in this cake
For even you and me.

A pipe and a spoon and a tenpenny nail
Stole a tin dishpan and went for a sail.
But the cook he grew curious,
Fussy, and furious;
Gathered his trappings, and went on their trail.
He found them that night in a pitiful plight,
And sent them all home on the ten o’clock mail.

Hi! Hi! Who will buy
A wee little cloud for the pretty blue sky?
Some are purple, some are red,
And all are soft as a feather bed.
Hi! Little children, won’t any one buy
One little cloud for the pretty blue sky?

A race, a race to Moscow,
Before the close of day!
A race, a race to Moscow,
A long, long way!
First comes a butterfly a-riding on a frog,
Next comes a water rat a-floating on a log;
A caterpillar on the fence, a hopper in the hay—
Who’ll get to Moscow before the close of day?

A prince came down from Pepperville
In satin and in lace,
He wore a bonnet on his head
And whiskers on his face.

And when he came to Battleburg
This is what befell:
He gave the king and cabinet
A half a peanut shell.

Hitch up your cattle
And drive to Seattle
To see all the boats come in,—
From Kibi and Kobi
And Panama Dobi
And some from the Islands of Myn.
They’re bringing us rices
And cocoa and spices
And pineapples done up in tin,
And maybe Aunt Dinah
Will come back from China
If ever the boats get in.

Pretty poppies,
Pretty trees,
Pretty little lettuce-leaves,
Pretty pebbles,
Red and brown,
Pretty floating thistle-down.
Pretty baby,
Curly head,
Standing in a pansy-bed,
Pretty clouds
All white and curled—
O the great, big pretty world!

Did you ever go to the watering trough
And watch the sparrows drink?
Did you ever go to Potter’s pond
And see the divers sink?
Did you ever steal to the barn at night
And watch the hoot-owls think?

Hootem, tootem, clear the track!
I caught a coon on Kamiak!
Colonel Clapp and Uncle Rome
Have hired a hack to bring it home.

On a hummock by the lake
Stands the home of Doctor Drake,
Poor old doctor, how he works!
Week by week he never shirks—

Pulling teeth for guinea-fowl,
Soothing puppies when they howl,
Whittling out a hickory peg
For a gander’s broken leg,

Giving medicine away
About a hundred times a day,
Linseed oil and elder-bark
To a croaking meadowlark,

Nasty, bitter yarrow-tea
To a tipsy bumble-bee,
A poultice made of plantain leaves
To cure a rabbit with the heaves.

Fever, colic, cramp, or stitch,
Kitten-croup or beaver’s-itch,
Any kind of pain or ache
Is cured by dear, old Doctor Drake.

Come to the land where the babies grow,
Like flowers in the green, green grass.
Tiny babes that swing and crow
Whenever the warm winds pass,
And laugh at their own bright eyes aglow
In a fairy looking-glass.

Come to the sea where the babies sail
In ships of shining pearl,
Borne to the west by a golden gale
Of sun-beams all awhirl;
And perhaps a baby brother will sail
To you, my little girl.

Twenty thieves from Albion,
All with butcher knives,
Coming on the dead run,
Fighting for their lives.

See the man from our town.
In a fancy vest,
Knocking all the big ones down,
Chasing all the rest.

As I came out of Grundy Greet
Four cats were marching down the street

One was long and gray and thin
With lots of whiskers on his chin,

And one was round and sleek and fat
(He must have been a butcher’s cat).

One was dapper, slight, and frail,
With bells and tassels on his tail,

And one had starey yellow eyes
Almost as big as pumpkin pies.

These four came marching down the street
As I came out of Grundy Greet.