Sylvia Long's Mother Goose Read online

  ©1999 by Sylvia Long.

  All rights reserved.

  Book design by Lucy Nielson and Susan Van Horn.

  Typeset in Cantoria and Village.

  The illustrations in this book were rendered in pen and ink with watercolor.

  Printed in China.

  ISBN 978-1-4521-2864-1

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the previous edition as follows:

  Mother Goose. Selections.

  Sylvia Long’s Mother Goose / [illustrated] by Sylvia Long.

  p. cm.

  Summary: An illustrated collection of familiar nursery rhymes.

  ISBN 0-8118-2088-2

  [1. Nursery rhymes. 2. Children’s poetry. 3. Nursery rhymes.] I. Long, Sylvia, ill. II. Title.

  PZ8.3.M85 1999

  Chronicle Books

  680 Second Street, San Francisco, California 94107

  www.chroniclebooks.com/Kids

  Be careful as this small book ages,

  Do not fold or tear the pages.

  Treat it carefully as can be,

  For this book belongs to me.

  To my friend & mentor, Victoria Rock,

  who taught me more than I’ll ever remember.

  ARTIST’S NOTE

  Mother Goose rhymes have such a long and deeply rooted tradition that I approached this project with some trepidation. After all, bookshelves are already filled with Mother Goose collections, many of them wonderful. I felt strongly that there was no point in doing another unless I could find ways to make it unique. So along with the most familiar rhymes, I have included quite a few less familiar ones. I have also tried to keep the classic qualities associated with Mother Goose while at the same time softening the more frightening images. Based on my own reactions as a child, I know that some of the imagery can be terrifying. It is not difficult for children to imagine what will happen when Humpty Dumpty or the rocking cradle hits the ground. In all but one case, “The Old Woman in the Shoe,” I didn’t feel justified in changing the words, but I tried to add a gentleness to the pictures. This doesn’t mean that I have made the images “contemporary,” but rather that I have tried to show that the rhymes can be interpreted in many different ways. Here, Peter Pumpkin-Eater’s wife is quite cozy in her pumpkin shell. The baby in the cradle is a fledgling bird. And Humpty Dumpty, always a beloved character, may not be able to piece his shell together again, but that’s not necessarily the end. A broken egg is not always a problem. Sometimes it’s a duckling.

  In addition, I have linked the pages visually to add another level of play, as well as a sense of cohesion to the collection. For instance, the spoon that runs away with the dish in “Hey, Diddle, Diddle” is the same spoon that Little Miss Muffet later uses to eat her curds and whey. My hope is that readers will return to the book again and again, not only to hear the rhymes but also to pore over the images, finding new connections with each reading. When we make reading fun and surprising, we grow readers (and writers and artists). Many adults can look back and see that it was in these rhymes that they first found a love of language, rhythm and story. And for artists like myself, it is a place where many of us found images that remain vividly alive in our imaginations. Recited by heart, passed lovingly from parent to child, these verses — magical, musical, sometimes silly, sometimes wise — are part of our collective childhood.

  This has been the most ambitious and challenging book project that I have been involved in, as well as the most fun. Now that I have had the privilege of helping with its creation, I hope that it will be enjoyed and loved by others.

  Cackle, cackle, Mother Goose,

  Have you any feathers loose?

  Truly have I, pretty fellow,

  Half enough to fill a pillow.

  Here are quills, take one or two,

  And down to make a bed for you.

  Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee

  Resolved to have a battle,

  For Tweedle-dum said Tweedle-dee

  Had spoiled his nice new rattle.

  Just then flew by a monstrous crow,

  As big as a tar barrel,

  Which frightened both the heroes so

  They quite forgot their quarrel.

  Rock-a-bye, baby,

  Your cradle is green;

  Father’s a nobleman;

  Mother’s a queen;

  And Betty’s a lady

  And wears a gold ring,

  And Johnny’s a drummer

  And drums for the king.

  Once I saw a little bird

  Come hop, hop, hop;

  So I cried, “Little bird,

  Will you stop, stop, stop?”

  And was going to the window

  To say “How do you do?”

  But he shook his little tail,

  And far away he flew.

  Little Tommy Tittlemouse

  Lived in a little house;

  He caught fishes

  in other men’s ditches.

  Daffy-Down-Dilly has now come to town

  In her petticoat green and her bright yellow gown.

  Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;

  Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

  All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men

  Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

  Ring around the rosies,

  A pocket full of posies.

  Ashes, ashes,

  We all fall down.

  Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

  How does your garden grow?

  Silver bells and cockleshells,

  And pretty maids all in a row.

  Monday’s child is fair of face,

  Tuesday’s child is full of grace,

  Wednesday’s child is full of woe,

  Thursday’s child has far to go,

  Friday’s child is loving and giving,

  Saturday’s child works hard for a living,

  But the child that’s born on Sabbath day

  Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

  There was a little girl who had a little curl

  Right in the middle of her forehead;

  When she was good, she was very, very good,

  And when she was bad she was horrid.

  Curly-locks, Curly-locks, wilt thou be mine?

  Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet feed the swine;

  But sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam,

  And feed upon strawberries, sugar, and cream!

  Hey, diddle, diddle!

  The cat and the fiddle,

  The cow jumped over the moon;

  The little dog laughed

  To see such sport,

  And the dish ran away

  With the spoon.

  Little Jack Horner

  Sat in a corner,

  Eating a Christmas pie.

  He put in his thumb,

  And pulled out a plum,

  And said, “What a good boy am I!”

  Little Miss Muffet

  Sat on a tuffet,

  Eating some curds and whey.

  Along came a spider,

  Who sat down beside her,

  And frightened Miss Muffet away.

  One, two, buckle my shoe;

  Three, four, knock at the door;

  Five, six, pick up sticks;

  Seven, eight, lay them straight;

  Nine, ten, a good fat hen;

  Eleven, twelve, dig and delve;

  Thirteen, fourteen, maids a-courting;

  Fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen;

  Seventeen, eighteen, maids a-waiting;

  Nineteen, twenty, my plate’s empty.

  There was an old woman

  Who lived in Dundee,

  And in her back garden
/>   There grew a plum tree;

  The plums they grew rotten

  Before they grew ripe,

  And she sold them

  Three farthings a pint.

  Diddlety, diddlety, dumpty,

  The cat ran up the plum tree;

  Half a crown to fetch her down,

  Diddlety, diddlety, dumpty.

  Peter Piper picked a peck

  Of pickled peppers;

  A peck of pickled peppers

  Peter Piper picked;

  If Peter Piper picked a peck

  Of pickled peppers,

  Where’s the peck of pickled peppers

  Peter Piper picked?

  Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater;

  Had a wife, and couldn’t keep her,

  He put her in a pumpkin shell,

  And there he kept her very well.

  Bow, wow, wow!

  Whose dog art thou?

  Little Tom Tinker’s dog,

  Bow, wow, wow!

  Old Mother Hubbard

  Went to the cupboard

  To get her poor dog a bone;

  But when she got there

  The cupboard was bare,

  And so the poor dog had none.

  Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

  How I wonder what you are.

  Up above the world so high,

  Like a diamond in the sky.

  When the blazing sun is gone,

  When he nothing shines upon,

  Then you show your little light,

  Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

  Then the traveler in the dark

  Thanks you for your tiny spark;

  He could not see which way to go,

  If you did not twinkle so.

  In the dark blue sky you keep,

  And often through my curtains peep,

  For you never shut your eye,

  Till the sun is in the sky.

  As your bright and tiny spark

  Lights the traveler in the dark,

  Though I know not what you are,

  Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

  Dame Trot and her cat

  Led a peaceable life,

  When they were not troubled

  With other folks’ strife.

  When Dame had her dinner

  Pussy would wait,

  And was sure to receive

  A nice piece from her plate.

  I love little pussy,

  Her coat is so warm,

  And if I don’t hurt her

  She’ll do me no harm.

  So I’ll not pull her tail,

  Nor drive her away,

  But pussy and I

  Very gently will play.

  There were two birds sat upon a stone,

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  One flew away, and then there was one,

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  The other flew after, and then there was none,

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  So the poor stone was left all alone,

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  One of these little birds back again flew,

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  The other came after, and then there were two,

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  Says one to the other, “Pray how do you do?”

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  “Very well, thank you, and pray how are you?”

  Fal de ral-al de ral-laddy.

  Hush-a-bye, baby, upon the tree top,

  When the wind blows the cradle will rock;

  When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,

  And down will come baby, cradle and all.

  Little Robin Red-breast

  Sat upon a rail,

  Niddle, naddle, went his head,

  Wiggle, waggle, went his tail.

  Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?

  Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.

  One for the master, and one for the dame,

  And one for the little boy who lives down the lane.

  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?

  Under the haystack, fast asleep!

  Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,

  And can’t tell where to find them;

  Leave them alone, and they’ll come home,

  Wagging their tails behind them.

  Jack Spratt could eat no fat.

  His wife could eat no lean;

  So ’twixt them both they cleaned the cloth,

  And licked the platter clean.

  There’s a neat little clock,

  In the school room it stands,

  And it points to the time

  With its two little hands.

  And may we, like the clock,

  Keep a face clean and bright,

  With hands ever ready

  To do what is right.

  Little Betty Blue

  Lost her holiday shoe,

  What shall little Betty do?

  Give her another

  To match the other,

  And then she’ll walk upon two.

  Cobbler, cobbler, mend my shoe

  Get it done by half past two;

  Stitch it up, and stitch it down,

  Make the finest shoes in town.

  Lucy Locket lost her pocket,

  Kitty Fisher found it;

  There was not a penny in it,

  But a ribbon ’round it.

  Cock a doodle doo!

  My dame has lost her shoe;

  My master’s lost his fiddling stick,

  And knows not what to do!

  Cock a doodle doo!

  What is my dame to do?

  Till master finds his fiddling stick,

  She’ll dance without her shoe.

  Dance, little baby, dance up high!

  Never mind, baby, mother is by.

  Crow and caper, caper and crow,

  There, little baby, there you go!

  Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,

  Backward and forward, round and round;

  Dance, little baby and mother will sing,

  With the merry chorale, ding, ding, ding!

  Old King Cole was a merry old soul,

  And a merry old soul was he;

  He called for his pipe,

  And he called for his bowl,

  And he called for his fiddlers three.

  And every fiddler, he had a fine fiddle,

  And a very fine fiddle had he.

  Oh, there’s none so rare

  As can compare

  With King Cole

  And his fiddlers three.

  Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?

  I’ve been to London to see the Queen.

  Pussycat, pussycat,

  What did you there?

  I frightened a little mouse

  Under her chair.

  The cock crows in the morn

  To tell us to rise,

  And he who lies late

  Will never be wise:

  For early to bed

  And early to rise,

  Is the way to be healthy

  And wealthy and wise.

  Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John

  Went to bed with his breeches on,

  One stocking off, and one stocking on;

  Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John.

  This is the way we wash our hands,

  Wash our hands, wash our hands;

  This is the way we wash our hands,

  On a cold and frosty morning.

  This is the way we wash our clothes,

  Wash our clothes, wash our clothes;

  This is the way we wash our clothes,

  On a cold and frosty morning.

  This is the way we go to school,

  Go to school, go to school;

  This is the way we go to sc
hool,

  On a cold and frosty morning.

  This is the way we come out of school,

  Come out of school, come out of school;

  This is the way we come out of school,

  On a cold and frosty morning.

  Rub-a-dub-dub,

  Three men in a tub;

  And who do you think they be?

  The butcher, the baker,

  The candlestick-maker;

  Turn ’em out, knaves all three.

  Three blind mice. Three blind mice.

  See how they run! See how they run!

  They all ran after the farmer’s wife

  Who cut off their tails with a carving knife.

  Did you ever see such a thing in your life

  As three blind mice?

  Bow-wow, says the dog;

  Mew, mew, says the cat;

  Grunt, grunt, goes the hog;

  And squeak goes the rat.

  Tu-whu, says the owl;

  Caw, caw, says the crow;

  Quack, quack, says the duck;

  And what sparrows say, you know.

  So with sparrows and owls,

  With rats and with dogs,

  With ducks and with crows,

  With cats and with hogs,

  A fine song I have made,

  To please you, my dear;

  And if it’s well sung,

  ’Twill be charming to hear.