III "All are not fitted to sit on a wall, Some have no balance, and some are too small; Many have tried it and found, as I guess, They've ended, like me, in a terrible mess. IV "Hark, you horses, and all you king's men! Hear it, and never forget it again! 'Tis those who are patient in seats that are low, Who some day get up in high places and crow." V Then they took him and put him to bed. I hope you'll remember the things that he said; For all the king's horses and all the king's men Never once thought of his sermon again. The Queen of Hearts "The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts All on a summer's day The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts And with them ran away. The King of Hearts called for the tarts And beat the Knave full sore. The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more." This noble queen, with mind serene, Then made a mammoth cake. The naughty knave for cake did crave, And off with it did make. The haughty king, for punishing, Would have him eat it all, Which made the knave--unhappy slave-- Too sick to speak or crawl. Since then, at ease, their majesties Eat pastries every day. The knave affirms his stomach squirms, And looks the other way. Alas, alas, to such a pass Doth gluttony invite! 'Tis very sad to be so bad, And lose one's appetite. Next day the queen, with lofty mien, Prepared some lovely pies. The feeble knave side-glances gave At them with longing eyes. The cruel king, with mocking fling, Said: "Do, now, have some pie!" The qualmish knave, no longer brave, Could only groan, "Not I." One Misty Moisty Morning "One misty, moisty morning When cloudy was the weather I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in leather. He began to compliment, and I began to grin, How do you do, and how do you do And how do you do again?" This morning as I wandered To enjoy the charming weather, I met a man in goggles and a modern suit of leather. He began to toot a horn and I began to run, He knocked me flat nor cared for that; And down the road he spun. OLD KING COLE "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. Every fiddler had a fine fiddle, And a very fine fiddle had he: (Twee-tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee, went the fiddlers three)-- Oh, there's none so rare as can compare With King Cole and his fiddlers three!"