Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, Your house is on fire, your children all gone; All but one, and her name is Ann, And she crept under the pudding-pan.
Little boy blue, come blow your horn, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn; Where is the boy that looks after the sheep? He's under the haycock fast asleep. Will you wake him? No, not I; For if I do, he'll be sure to cry.
Little girl, little girl, where have you been? Gathering roses to give to the queen. Little girl, little girl, what gave she you? She gave me a diamond as big as my shoe.
Little Jack Horner Sat in a corner, Eating his Christmas pie. He put in his thumb, And he pulled out a plum, And said, "What a good boy am I!"
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.
Little Johnny Pringle had a little pig; It was very little, so was not very big. As it was playing beneath the shed, In half a minute poor Piggie was dead. So Johnny Pringle he sat down and cried, And Betty Pringle she lay down and died. This is the history of one, two, and three, Johnny Pringle he, Betty Pringle she, And the Piggie-Wiggie.
Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating of curds and whey; There came a great spider, And sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away.
Little Nancy Etticoat, In a white petticoat, And a red nose; The longer she stands, The shorter she grows. (_A candle._)
Little Robin Redbreast Sat upon a rail; Niddle naddle went his head, Wiggle waggle went his tail.
Little Tommy Tucker Sings for his supper; What shall he eat? White bread and butter. How shall he cut it Without e'er a knife? How will he be married Without e'er a wife?
Long legs, crooked thighs, Little head and no eyes. (_The tongs._)
Lucy Locket lost her pocket, Kitty Fisher found it: Nothing in it, nothing in it, But the binding round it.
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Guard the bed that I lie on! Four corners to my bed, Four angels round my head; One to watch, one to pray, And two to bear my soul away.
Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With cockle-shells, and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row.
Multiplication is vexation, Division is as bad; The Rule of Three perplexes me, And Practice drives me mad.