Pease-pudding hot, Pease-pudding cold, Pease-pudding in the pot, Nine days old. Some like it hot, Some like it cold, Some like it in the pot, Nine days old. _Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-eater._ 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. Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater, Had another and didn’t love her; Peter learned to read and spell, And then he loved her very well. [Illustration: The Farmyard.] [Illustration: Waiting to be Hired.] _Little Miss Muffet._ Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating of curds and whey; There came a spider, And sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Muffet away. _My Lady Wind, my Lady Wind._ My Lady Wind, my Lady Wind, Went round about the house to find A chink to get her foot in. She tried the key-hole in the door, She tried the crevice in the floor, And drove the chimney soot in. And then one night when it was dark She blew up such a tiny spark, That all the house was bothered: From it she raised up such a flame, As flamed away to Belting Lane, And White Cross folks were smothered. And thus when once, my little dears, A whisper reaches itching ears, The same will come, you’ll find: Take my advice, restrain the tongue, Remember what old Nurse has sung Of busy Lady Wind! _What is the Rhyme for Porringer?_ What is the rhyme for _porringer_? The king he had a daughter fair, And gave the Prince of Orange her. _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 those tarts, And beat the knave full sore; The knave of hearts Brought back those tarts, And said he’d ne’er steal more. _Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid?_ “Where are you going, my pretty maid?” “I’m going a-milking, sir,” she said. “May I go with you, my pretty maid?” “You’re kindly welcome, sir,” she said. “What is your father, my pretty maid?” “My father’s a farmer, sir,” she said. “What is your fortune, my pretty maid?” “My face is my fortune, sir,” she said. “Then I can’t marry you, my pretty maid!” “Nobody asked you, sir,” she said. _Here We Go Up, Up, Up._ Here we go up, up, up, And here we go down, down, downy, And here we go backwards and forwards, And here we go round, round, roundy. _Oh, Dear! What Can the Matter Be?_ Oh, dear! what can the matter be? Two old women got up an apple-tree; One came down, And the other stayed till Saturday. _For Every Evil Under the Sun._