Ding Dong, Ding Dong, There goes the gong, Dick, come along, ’Tis time for dinner. Wash your face, Take your place, Where’s your grace You little sinner? “Like an apple?” “Yes, I should. Nice, nice, nicey! Good, good, good!” “Manners, Miss, Please behave. Those you ask Shan’t have.” “Those who don’t, Don’t want. I’ll eat it, You shan’t.” Baby cry, Wipe his eye. Baby good, Give him food. Baby sleepy, Go to bed. Baby naughty, Smack his head! Poor little thrush, Found dead in a bush! When did he die? He is rather high. Bury him deep, He won’t keep. Bury him well, Or he’ll smell. What have horns? Cows and moons. What have crests? Cocks and spoons. What are nice? Ducks and peas. What are nasty? Bites of fleas. What are fast? Tides and times. What are slow? Nursery Rhymes. From _The Light Green_. Cambridge, W. Metcalf and Sons, 1872. [Illustration] WILLIAM MORRIS. The author of “The Earthly Paradise” is much more than a mere poet, he is a thorough man of business, who works as an art designer, and lectures on the social improvement of the people. His poetry was thus amusingly criticised in _London_, 1877:―― RONDEL. Behold the works of W. Morris, Epics, and here and there wall-papery, Mild, mooney, melancholy vapoury. A sort of Chaucer _minus_ Horace. Spun out like those of William Loris, Who wrote of amourous red-tapery, Behold the works of W. Morris, Epics, and here and there wall-papery! Long ladies, knights, and earles and choris- ters in the most appropriate drapery, Samite and silk and spotless napery, Sunflowers and apple-blossoms and orris, Behold the works of W. Morris! ―――― There are not many good parodies of Mr. Morris, the following is one of the best, though where it first appeared, or by whom it was written, cannot be stated:―― In the cushioned Abbey pew There is space for Me and You. Twine the blossoms in my hair; Never mind if people stare―― Never mind, for none knowèth If one flirteth after death! Hark――the organ shakes the pew! Would it were for Me and You! Yea, I would indeed it were! Are they staring? Let them stare! Never mind, for none knowèth If one laugheth after death! We will slumber in the pew―― I am weary, so are you, And the cushions in repair! Let the British public stare! Never mind, for none knowèth If one sleepeth after death! ―――― ALL SIDES OF THE RIVER. _The Maidens._ We, with distaste, across the water wan, The broadcloth of our modern lovers scan; We each prefer a mediæval man. _The Youths._ We would not reach you, if we could dry-shod; Not one of us would change, for even, his odd; The Girl we like not of the Period.