Here goes my lord-- A trot! a trot! a trot! a trot! Here goes my lady-- A canter! a canter! a canter! a canter! Here goes my young master-- Jockey-hitch! jockey-hitch! jockey-hitch! jockey-hitch! Here goes my young miss-- An amble! an amble! an amble! an amble! The footman lags behind, And goes gallop, a gallop, a gallop, to make up his time. A FARMER WENT TROTTING A farmer went trotting upon his gray mare; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! With his daughter behind him, so rosy and fair; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! A raven cried croak! and they all tumbled down; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! The mare broke her knees, and the farmer his crown; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! The mischievous raven flew laughing away; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! And vowed he would serve them the same the next day; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! UP TO THE CEILING Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Backward and forward, round and round; Dance, little baby, and mother will sing, With the merry chorus, ding, ding, ding! THE MESSENGER Here in the morning we're starting so soon, Give us a message, we'll ride to the moon, Straight through the meadows and hop o'er the stile, And we will but charge you a farthing a mile. A farthing a mile! a farthing a mile! We will but charge you a farthing a mile. CATCH HIM, CROW Catch him, crow! Carry him, kite! Take him away till the apples are ripe; When they are ripe and ready to fall, Home comes [Johnny], apples and all. RIDE A COCK-HORSE Ride a Cock-Horse to Charing Cross, To see a Young Lady jump on a White Horse, With Rings on her Fingers, and Bells on her Toes, She shall have Music wherever she goes. THIS IS THE WAY This is the way the ladies ride, Nin! Nin! Nin! This is the way the gentlemen ride, Trot! Trot! Trot! This is the way the farmers ride, Jogglety! Jogglety! Jogglety! Jog! RIDE AWAY, RIDE AWAY Ride away, ride away, Johnny shall ride, And he shall have pussy-cat Tied to one side; And he shall have little dog Tied to the other, And Johnny shall ride To see his grandmother. TO MARKET, TO MARKET To market, to market, To buy a plum bun; Home again, home again, My journey is done. TROT, TROT, THE BABY GOES BY MARY F. BUTTS Every evening Baby goes Trot, trot, to town-- Across the river, through the fields, Up hill and down. Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Up hill and down, To buy a feather for her hat, To buy a woolen gown. Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The birds fly down, alack! "You cannot have our feathers, dear," They say; "so please trot back."