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HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE and BABY BUNTING

R Caldecott's

PICTURE

BOOKS

Frederick Warne and Co Ltd.

HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE

Randolph Caldecott's

Picture Books

"The humour of Randolph Caldecott's drawings is simply irresistible, no healthy-minded man, woman, or child could look at them without laughing."

RALPH CALDECOTT'S

Collection of Pictures and Songs No. 1 containing the first 8 books listed above with their Color Pictures and numerous Outline Sketches

RALPH CALDECOTT'S

Collection of Pictures and Songs No. 2 containing the second 8 books listed above with their Color Pictures and numerous Outline Sketches

LONDON FREDERICK WARNE & Co. Ltd. & NEW YORK

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

Sir John Hawky, the musical Knight, Who in wit all the Quorum surpasses, And to whom, if we judge of him right, The wise men of Greece were mere asses, Has defin'd Antient Music to be What sprung from the bottom of Madam, And that under the wisdom-fraught tree Eve f--t--d in concert with Adam.

Now those sages renown'd in our nation, The fam'd F.R.S.es, do tell us, That to blow up the coals of creation, The bum is a species of bellows. But Priestley, who loves to oppose, Doth a different system insist on, And swears that he's led by the nose To pronounce it a Cask of Phlogiston.

The moment the Lady let fly, Billington, Storacci, and Kelly, With laughter were ready to die At the pickle of poor Rubinelli; For Rubi, the father of screeches, In laughing at Mara, so strain'd it, That his PIPE let the piss in his breeches, For no CISTERN has he to retain it.

Hurlowe Thrumbo, your wonder 'twill raise, Is of catgut so charming a scraper, That, old Orpheus-like, when he plays, The trees and the brutes round him caper. He blasted the Thing I won't name, Hop'd she'd burst on the rock of damnation; But he stopp'd when the Bishop cry'd "Shame, "Brother, think of the late proclamation."

That famous reformist, Jack Wilkes, Martin Luther the Second now deem'd, Sat in converse with Lawn Sleeves and Silks, And declar'd Sacred Music blasphem'd; But Jack turning round to Jem Twitch, Swore 'twas like the affair on the Terrace, When Bethsheba, impudent bitch, Shew'd bollocking David her bare arse.

RUNNYMEDE PILLAR.

To celebrate deeds of renown, 'tis agreed That a pillar on fam'd Runnymede be erected: MEN of PARTS of all parties then here may proceed, To relate how this wonderful work is effected. The pillar's to stand in Middlesex land, BUSHY PARK'S CENTRE'S the sweet pleasure ground; A strong-fenc'd retreat, well water'd and sweet, Where Adam first FELL, Runnymede's to be found.

CHORUS.

Rare Runnymede such pleasures producing, No language of mortals is equal to tell; Tho' Moses declines it, my Muse thus defines it: The paradise where our progenitors FELL.

When the midwife, our welcome deliverer, came, Runnymede witness'd a great revolution; From bondage she brought us, and Nature, dear dame, To Britain's brave sons gave their good Constitution: For blessings like these, let gratitude seize The CRITICAL MINUTE its ardour to shew; The STONES first prepare the PILLAR to rear, Then DISCHARGE in this MEDE the just debt that we owe. Rare Runnymede, &c.

When Eve, with a mixture of fear and surprise, Beheld the HUGE PILLAR of Adam erected, Her bare bosom heav'd, and gave vent to soft sighs, While with curious eye she the structure inspected. O'erjoy'd did she trace the MOSS round its base, But its altitude did her chaste senses appal; Eve fainted away, and Moses doth say, That her apron of fig-leaves flew up in the fall. Rare Runnymede, &c.

Adam's instinct divine display'd powers that prove, Mighty man most sagacious of Nature's creation; Eve's distress he beheld, and, in pity, Love His COLUMN convey'd to its dear destination. What follow'd, you'll find, is wisely design'd, And the Hercules' Pillar of Pagan renown Ne'er long could stand in Middlesex land, Adam's BASIS gave way, so the Pillar fell down. Rare Runnymede, &c.

Tho' partisans differ, in this all agree, From Reason's clear light, and from Nature's dictation, That THE MEDE, at this moment, my mind's eye doth see, Is alone the sweet spot for the PROUD PILLAR'S station. There stout may it stand, resisting Time's hand: And, Nature, great architect, as thee we prize! From fire protect it, when down don't neglect it, Let it RISE but to FALL, let it FALL but to RISE. Rare Runnymede, &c.

THE BANKRUPT BAWD.

CHORUS.

MEDLEY.

Silence, humbugs all, and I'll sing you a merry song; Like our lives, 'tis a medley, neither short nor very long; I mean plainly to prove, that in high and low station, Hub, bub, bub, bub, boo, is the business of the nation. Hub, bub, boo, fal, lal, &c.

As late from the hall Hurlow Thrumbo came growling, A carman's great dog at his coach set up howling; Enrag'd with the brute, Hurlow let down the glass, sir, Cry'd, "whose dog is that?" quoth the carman, "ask his a--, sir."

The maiden scream'd, and snip teem'd with love's delicious liquor; O there never was a taylor that could stitch it nine times quicker; Twas ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, ditto, Till he work'd up all the thread, then he ripp'd up the slit O.

"R?," dames cry, "what a ravishing creature! "His pipe! and his shake! and each delicate feature!" But la! what a pity, divine R?! Your pipe can but carry the p-- from your belly! Bow, wow, wow, &c.

If wedlock's your plan, ere you scheme to open trenches, Humbugs pray take heed of our modern made-up wenches: Fore and aft they are plump to view, but feel, and you will find, sir, They've bubbies like blown bladders, and all is hum behind, sir.

Oh poverty! our purses spare, and pains, do not perplex us, Still the cheerful song we'll chaunt, nor shall trifles ever vex us; But leave to dreary dull dogs their cheerless hours to spend, sir, Whilst we, in mirthful mood, meet our bottles, c?s, and friends, sir.

Now the sequel of my song mark well each humbug brother, Tho' here we laugh, drink and joke, and humbug one another; When out of wind, Death hums us, and we're sent the Lord knows where, sir, If we've humbugg'd the Devil, I'll be d?d if we need fear, sir.

HUMBUG CLUB CONSTITUTIONAL SONG.

This tastey gay town's grown of humbug so full, That ev'ry new day starts new matter to gull, Credulity's known by the name of John Bull. O the humbugs of Old England; How finely Old England's humbugg'd!

Here clergy the minister flatter and fawn, Stick close to his skirts to secure sleeves of lawn, And the curate's old cassock goes weekly to pawn. O the humbugs, &c.

The captain's a compound of flash and cockade, Cosmetics, pink powder, with curl carronade, And his feats are confin'd to box-lobby parade. O the humbugs, &c.

Now lawyers are licens'd their clients to cheat, Trading justices equity tread under feet, And rascally runners all rogu'ry greet. O the humbugs, &c.

The stage, to amuse us, sings "Fal de Ral Tit," With "Che chow cherry chow, and cherry chow chit;" And then, to humbug us, they puff it as wit. O the humbugs, &c.

The celebrated patroness of the young Chimney Sweepers, whose hard fate was so often deplored by the late Jonas Hanway, has had fitted up an elegant apartment in her town residence, decorated with Feathers; here follows a description of what is termed "THE FEATHER'D ROOM."

The blue-stocking club, when abandon'd by fame, On a project resolv'd to revive a lost name, So for each member's comfort in life's chilling gloom, Old mother M?tague feather'd her room.

CHORUS.

Sing a Ballynamona oro, A fine feather'd chamber for me.

W? stood undismay'd at old Q?'s queer mishap, And swore, tho' the devil should stand in the gap, Into it he'd wriggle; when in it he got, He turn'd pale and fell sick, and dropt dead on the spot.

Birds of passage, alas! all us mortals are here, Exclaim'd Johnny W? when he spent his last tear; In his last dying speech, he declar'd with dejection, He'd not the least hope of a flesh resurrection.

LITTLE PERU, OR THE WICKLOW GOLD-MINE.

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