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Shock-headed Peter

Just look at him! there he stands,

With his nasty hair and hands.

See! his nails are never cut;

They are grimed as black as soot;

And the sloven, I declare,

Never once has combed his hair;

Anything to me is sweeter

Than to see Shock-headed Peter.

The trough was full, and faithful Tray

Came out to drink one sultry day;

He wagged his tail, and wet his lip,

When cruel Fred snatched up a whip,

And whipped poor Tray till he was sore,

And kicked and whipped him more and more:

At this, good Tray grew very red,

And growled, and bit him till he bled;

Then you should only have been by,

To see how Fred did scream and cry!

The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches

It almost makes me cry to tell

What foolish Harriet befell.

Mamma and Nurse went out one day

And left her all alone at play.

Now, on the table close at hand,

A box of matches chanced to stand;

And kind Mamma and Nurse had told her,

That, if she touched them, they would scold her.

But Harriet said: "Oh, what a pity!

For, when they burn, it is so pretty;

They crackle so, and spit, and flame:

Mamma, too, often does the same."

The pussy-cats heard this,

And they began to hiss,

And stretch their claws,

And raise their paws;

"Me-ow," they said, "me-ow, me-o,

You'll burn to death, if you do so."

But Harriet would not take advice:

She lit a match, it was so nice!

It crackled so, it burned so clear—

Exactly like the picture here.

She jumped for joy and ran about

And was too pleased to put it out.

The Pussy-cats saw this

And said: "Oh, naughty, naughty Miss!"

And stretched their claws,

And raised their paws:

"'Tis very, very wrong, you know,

Me-ow, me-o, me-ow, me-o,

You will be burnt, if you do so."

And see! oh, what dreadful thing!

The fire has caught her apron-string;

Her apron burns, her arms, her hair—

She burns all over everywhere.

Then how the pussy-cats did mew—

What else, poor pussies, could they do?

They screamed for help, 'twas all in vain!

So then they said: "We'll scream again;

Make haste, make haste, me-ow, me-o,

She'll burn to death; we told her so."

So she was burnt, with all her clothes,

And arms, and hands, and eyes, and nose;

Till she had nothing more to lose

Except her little scarlet shoes;

And nothing else but these was found

Among her ashes on the ground.

And when the good cats sat beside

The smoking ashes, how they cried!

"Me-ow, me-oo, me-ow, me-oo,

What will Mamma and Nursey do?"

Their tears ran down their cheeks so fast,

They made a little pond at last.

The Story of the Inky Boys

As he had often done before,

The woolly-headed Black-a-moor

One nice fine summer's day went out

To see the shops, and walk about;

And, as he found it hot, poor fellow,

He took with him his green umbrella,

Then Edward, little noisy wag,

Ran out and laughed, and waved his flag;

And William came in jacket trim,

And brought his wooden hoop with him;

And Arthur, too, snatched up his toys

And joined the other naughty boys.

So, one and all set up a roar,

And laughed and hooted more and more,

And kept on singing,—only think!—

"Oh, Blacky, you're as black as ink!"

Then great Agrippa foams with rage—

Look at him on this very page!

He seizes Arthur, seizes Ned,

Takes William by his little head;

And they may scream and kick and call,

Into the ink he dips them all;

Into the inkstand, one, two, three,

Till they are black as black can be;

Turn over now, and you shall see.

See, there they are, and there they run!

The Black-a-moor enjoys the fun.

They have been made as black as crows,

Quite black all over, eyes and nose,

And legs, and arms, and heads, and toes,

And trousers, pinafores, and toys—

The silly little inky boys!

Because they set up such a roar,

And teased the harmless Black-a-moor.

The Story of the Man that went out Shooting

This is the man that shoots the hares;

This is the coat he always wears:

With game-bag, powder-horn, and gun

He's going out to have some fun.

He finds it hard, without a pair

Of spectacles, to shoot the hare.

The hare sits snug in leaves and grass

And laughs to see the green man pass.

At last he stumbled at the well,

Head over ears, and in he fell.

The hare stopped short, took aim and, hark!

Bang went the gun—she missed her mark!