The Nursery Rhymes of England

								



The lady, at this declaration,

    Almost fainted away with pain;
But what was her sad consternation,

    When a sweet little girl came again.


She sent her away to be nurs'd,

    Without seeing her gruff papa;
And when she was old enough,

    To a school she was packed away.


Fifteen summers are fled,

    Now she left good Mrs. Jervis;
To see home she was forbid,--

    She determined to go and seek service.


Her dresses so grand and so gay,

    She carefully rolled in a knob;
Which she hid in a forest away,

    And put on a Catskin robe.


She knock'd at a castle gate,

    And pray'd for charity;
They sent her some meat on a plate,

    And kept her a scullion to be.


My lady look'd long in her face,

    And prais'd her great beauty;
I'm sorry I've no better place,

    And you must our scullion be.


So Catskin was under the cook,

    A very sad life she led,
For often a ladle she took,

    And broke poor Catskin's head.


There is now a grand ball to be,

    When ladies their beauties show;
"Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me,

    How much I should like to go!"


"You go with your Catskin robe,

    You dirty impudent slut!
Among the fine ladies and lords,

    A very fine figure you'd cut."


A basin of water she took,

    And dash'd in poor Catskin's face;
But briskly her ears she shook,

    And went to her hiding-place.


She washed every stain from her skin,

    In some crystal waterfall;
Then put on a beautiful dress,

    And hasted away to the ball.


When she entered, the ladies were mute,

    Overcome by her figure and face;
But the lord, her young master, at once

    Fell in love with her beauty and grace;


He pray'd her his partner to be,

    She said, "Yes!" with a sweet smiling glance;
All night with no other lady

    But Catskin, our young lord would dance.


"Pray tell me, fair maid, where you live?"

    For now was the sad parting time;
But she no other answer would give,

    Than this distich of mystical rhyme,--


[Old English Script:
Kind Sir, if the truth I must tell,
At the sign of the Basin of Water I Dwell.]


Then she flew from the ball-room, and put

    On her Catskin robe again;
And slipt in unseen by the cook,

    Who little thought where she had been.


The young lord, the very next day,

    To his mother his passion betrayed;
He declared he never would rest,

    Till he'd found out this beautiful maid.


There's another grand ball to be,

    Where ladies their beauties show;
"Mrs. Cook," said Catskin, "dear me,

    How much I should like to go!"


"You go with your Catskin robe,

    You dirty impudent slut!
Among the fine ladies and lords,

    A very fine figure you'd cut."


In a rage the ladle she took,

    And broke poor Catskin's head;
But off she went shaking her ears,

    And swift to her forest she fled.


She washed every blood-stain off

    In some crystal waterfall;