She sat all day on the selfsame spray, From sunrise till sunset; And the dim grey light, it was all too bright For the Owl to see in yet. "Jenny Owlet, Jenny Owlet," said a merry little bird, "They say you're wondrous wise; But I don't think you see, though you're looking at ME With your large, round, shining eyes." But night came soon, and the pale white moon Rolled high up in the skies; And the great Brown Owl flew away in her cowl, With her large, round, shining eyes. [Illustration: LITTLE TOM TUCKER.] LITTLE TOM TUCKER. [Illustration: Music: Little Tom Tucker Sings for his supper: What shall he eat? White bread and butter. How shall he cut it Without e'er a knife? How can he marry Without e'er a wife?] [Illustration] Four and twenty tailors went to kill a snail, The best man amongst them durst not touch her tail. She put out her horns, like a little Kyloe cow, Run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you all just now. [Illustration] Doctor Foster went to Glo'ster, In a shower of rain; He stepped in a puddle, up to the middle, And never went there again. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? Silver bells and cockle-shells, And pretty maids all in a row. [Illustration] The man in the moon Came tumbling down, And asked the way to Norwich; He went by the south, And burnt his mouth With eating cold pease porridge. Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a rail, Niddle, naddle, went his head, wiggle, waddle, went his tail; Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a bridle, With a pair of speckle legs, and a green girdle. Pit, pat, well-a-day! Little Robin flew away; Where can little Robin be, But up in yon cherry-tree? Ding, dong, darrow, The cat and the sparrow; The little dog has burnt his tail, And he shall be whipped to-morrow. [Illustration] DAME DUCK'S LESSONS TO HER DUCKLINGS. OLD MOTHER DUCK has hatched a brood Of ducklings, small and callow: Their little wings are short, their down Is mottled grey and yellow. There is a quiet little stream, That runs into the moat, Where tall green sedges spread their leaves, And water-lilies float. Close by the margin of the brook The old Duck made her nest, Of straw, and leaves, and withered grass, And down from her own breast. And there she sat for four long weeks, In rainy days and fine, Until the Ducklings all came out-- Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. One peeped out from beneath her wing, One scrambled on her back: "That's very rude," said old Dame Duck, "Get off! quack, quack, quack, quack!"