“Happy be the bridegroom,
And happy be the bride!
And may not man, nor bird, nor beast,
This happy pair divide!”
The birds were asked to dine,
Not Jenny’s friends alone,
But every pretty songster
That had Cock Robin known.
They had a cherry-pie,
Besides some currant-wine,
And every guest brought something,
That sumptuous they might dine.
Now they all sat or stood,
To eat and to drink;
And every one said what
He happened to think.
They each took a bumper,
And drank to the pair,
Cock Robin the bridegroom,
And Jenny the fair.
The dinner-things removed,
They all began to sing;
And soon they made the place
Near a mile round to ring.
The concert it was fine;
And every bird tried
Who best should sing for Robin,
And Jenny Wren the bride.
When in came the Cuckoo,
And made a great rout;
He caught hold of Jenny,
And pulled her about.
Cock Robin was angry,
And so was the Sparrow,
Who fetched in a hurry
His bow and his arrow.
His aim then he took,
But he took it not right;
His skill was not good,
Or he shot in a fright;
For the Cuckoo he missed,
But Cock Robin he killed! —
And all the birds mourned
That his blood was so spilled.
The Death and Burial of Poor
Cock Robin
Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
With my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.
This is the Sparrow,
With his bow and arrow.
Who saw him die?
I, said the Fly,
With my little eye,
I saw him die.
This is the little Fly
Who saw Cock Robin die.
Who caught his blood?
I, said the Fish,
With my little dish,
I caught his blood.
This is the Fish,
That held the dish.
Who’ll make his shroud?
I, said the Beetle,
With my thread and needle,
I’ll make his shroud.
This is the Beetle,
With his thread and needle.
Who’ll dig his grave?
I, said the Owl,
With my spade and show’l,
I’ll dig his grave.
This is the Owl,
With his spade and show’l.
Who’ll be the Parson?
I, said the Rook,
With my little book,
I’ll be the Parson.
This is the Rook,
Reading his book.
Who’ll be the Clerk?
I, said the Lark,
If it’s not in the dark,
I’ll be the Clerk.
This is the Lark,
Saying “Amen” like a clerk.
Who’ll carry him to the grave?
I, said the Kite,
If it’s not in the night,
I’ll carry him to the grave.
This is the Kite,
About to take flight.
Who’ll carry the link?
I, said the Linnet,
I’ll fetch it in a minute,
I’ll carry the link.
This is the Linnet,
And a link with fire in it.
Who’ll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
For I mourn for my love,
I’ll be chief mourner.
This is the Dove,
Who Cock Robin did love.
Who’ll sing a psalm?
I, said the Thrush,
As she sat in a bush,
I’ll sing a psalm.
This is the Thrush,
Singing psalms from a bush.
Who’ll toll the bell?
I, said the Bull,
Because I can pull;
So, Cock Robin, farewell!
This is the Bull
Who the bell-rope did pull.
All the birds of the air
Fell a-sighing and sobbing,
When they heard the bell toll
For Poor Cock Robin.
Freddie and the Cherry-Tree
FREDDIE saw some fine ripe cherries
Hanging on a cherry-tree, And he said,
“You pretty cherries,
Will you not come down to me?”
“Thank you kindly,” said a cherry,
“We would rather stay up here;
If we ventured down this morning,
You would eat us up, I fear.”
One, the finest of the cherries,
Dangled from a slender twig;
“You are beautiful,” said Freddie,
“Red and ripe, and oh, how big!”
“Catch me,” said the cherry, “catch me,
Little master, if you can.”
“I would catch you soon,” said Freddie,
“If I were a grown-up man.”
Freddie jumped, and tried to reach it,
Standing high upon his toes;
But the cherry bobbed about,
And laughed,