He carried it home to his old wife Joan, And bade her a fire to make, make, make, To roast the little duck he had shot in the brook, And he’d go and fetch the drake, drake, drake. _Fiddle-de-dee._ Fiddle-de-dee, fiddle-de-dee, The fly shall marry the humble-bee, They went to the church, and married was she, The fly has married the humble-bee. SEVEN TIMES ONE. [Illustration] There’s no dew left on the daisies and clover, There’s no rain left in heaven; I’ve said my “seven times” over and over— Seven times one are seven. I am old! so old I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better; They are only one time one. Oh, moon! in the night I have seen you sailing, And shining so round and low; You were bright! Ah, bright! but your light is failing; You are nothing now but a bow. You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face? I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O, velvet Bee! you’re a dusty fellow, You’ve powdered your legs with gold; O, brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow! Give me your money to hold. O, Columbine! open your folded wrapper Where two twin turtle-doves dwell; O, Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper, That hangs in your clear green bell. And show me your nest with the young ones in it— I will not steal them away; I am old! you must trust me, Linnet, Linnet— I am seven times one to-day. —_Jean Ingelow._ GOING INTO BREECHES. Joy to Philip! he this day Has his long coats cast away, And (the childish season gone) Put the manly breeches on. Sashes, frocks, to those that need ’em, Philip’s limbs have got their freedom— He can run, or he can ride, And do twenty things beside. Which his petticoats forbade; Is he not a happy lad? Baste-the-bear he now may play at; Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at; Show his skill and strength at cricket, Mark his distance, pitch his wicket; Run about in winter’s snow Till his cheeks and fingers glow; Climb a tree or scale a wall, Without any fear to fall. This and more must now be done, Now the breeches are put on. —_Charles and Mary Lamb._ [Illustration] MR. PEGGOTTY’S HOUSE.