Ce a

Cvoss-Patch.

ROSS-PATCH! there’s few draw her latch,
As she sits by the fire to spin,
And when she would sup she must fill her own cup,
For her neighbours they never drop in.
Cross-Patch has ne’er found a match,
And for ever will be an old spin;
Who for life could put up with a sharp bitter cup,
May attempt this sweet creature to win.

The Racing Stud.

HIRTY white horses upon a red hill,
How they tramp! how they champ! now they stand still !
Through richest of pasture they drive might and main,
Who, though easy to manage, few men can restrain:
But should they grow restive, as soon as we’re able _
They’re dragged forth, no more to return to our stable.

 

 

nt

The Old Woman in the Shoe.

HERE was an old woman that lived in a shoe,
Had so many children she didn’t know what to do;
So she gave them some broth without any bread,
And whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.

Now the shoe that she lived in I’ve heard was Shoe Lane,
Where the dame kept a school, and the birch produced pain
In a flock of small children, of whom it was said,

That they sometimes smelt porridge, but seldom saw bread.