From Mother’s Geese, by George Barr Baker, George C. Chappell, and Oliver Herford, pictured by T. Gilbert White; Dodd, Mead & Company; New York, 1906 [unpaginated].
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POOR Mother’s had so many geese
Since she’s bin Mrs. Goose —
All sorts of fly an’ fuzzy ones
That played her fast an’ loose —
That somehow it seemed only fair
Their history should be writ,
So, thinking’ that, we set to work,
An’ this, dear friends, is it.
Of course, we know it’s got its faults,
Like leavin’ some folks out
That’s often in the daily press,
An’ elsewhere talked about.
But bless your hearts, it’s not always
The folks that’s in the swim
That’s really, truly mother’s geese,
Or, seein’ ponds, jump in.
An’ all we footed things are n’t
geese,
Nor gooses yet, nor ganders,
Though most wise, then, they’re ducks
and drakes,
With wobbly understanders,
Which last word there might seem
like slang
Except its 2 intenders
Can make it fit to take in geese
Of diff’r’nt kinds an’ genders.
At any rate, these geese that’s here
Have underlyin’ thinkin’s
That’s often deeper than the lines
Of jokes an’ knocks an’ drinkin’s,
An’ if you don’t see all the deeps
Nor quite approve the wit,
Just think we had to write of geese,
An’ this, dear friends, is it.
SING a song of ex-pence
Pocket full of bills,
Four-and-twenty new hats,
Foolish fads and frills.
When the bills were opened,
Pa began to bray;
Was n’t that a pretty dish,
To serve for dejeuner ?
Pa went in his counting-house
And counted up his debts,
Ma went into tantrums —
The kind she always gets;
I was at the keyhole
Trying hard to hear !
Along came the door-knob
And banged me on the ear !
HICKORY Dickory Dock.
The Bull ran up the stock,
The stock ran down,
The Bull left town,
Hickory Dickory Dock.
THERE was a little man
And he had a little fun,
And he woke up in the morning
With a head, head, head.
He went to the brook
And took a little look,
And I will not repeat
What he said, said, said.
But he turned with a moan
To his young wife Joan,
And told her he felt like a
Lark, lark, lark.
Which was hard on the bird,
Though perhaps he referred
To the kind that you find after
Dark, dark, dark.
LITTLE Jack Horner
Tried for a corner
(Corner of B’way and Wall).
He put in his pile
And waited awhile,
And pulled out nothing at all.
BYE, Baby Bunting,
Sister’s gone a-hunting
With the hounds to chase the cub;
Mother’s at the Country Club
Playing Bridge, some wealth to win
To roll Baby Bunting in.
MOTHER, may I go out to
play ?
Oh yes, my darling daughter;
But remember the things you’d like
to do
Are the things you had n’t oughter.
DING, Dong, bell,
Truth’s in the well.
Who’ll pull her out ?
“I,” said Doctor Stout.
“No,” said Lawyer Spare,
“She has nought to wear.”
Ding, Dong, bell,
Truth’s in the well.
AS I went through the garden
gate
Whom should I meet but Dick
Redpate,
Stuttering in his feet, unsteady in
his throat.
If you’ll tell me this riddle I give
you a groat.
RIDE a fast pace
To any old place,
See an old woman
With paint on her face,
Rings on her fingers
(And under her eyes),
She can make trouble
Whenever she tries.
THERE was a man in our town,
And he was wondrous dense.
He jump’d into a bramble bush,
And scratch’d out all his sense.
And when he saw that, minus sense,
He look’d just like Hall Caine,
He quickly bought a fountain-pen
And scratched it in again.
SIMPLE Simon met a Sly One
Whom he asked to wed.
Show me first your pretty penny,
Little Sly One said.
“Petite Sly One,” murmured Simon,
“Je n’ en ai pas le sou !“
“Simple Simon,” answered Sly One,
“To the woods with you !”
IF I was as bad as they say I
am,
And you were as good as you
look,
I wonder which one would feel the
worse
If each for the other was took ?
THE Summer wind blows
Good-bye to the Shows,
And what will the Actors do now ?
Poor things!
Do vaudeville turns
Till the Angel returns
And flaps his theatrical wings —
Poor things!
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