No More Learning

If you're pleased with my song,
I will feed you with cold apple-tart.
When you scrape up the coals with a delicate sound,
You enrapture my life with delight,
Your nose is so shiny, your head is so round,
And your shape is so slender and bright!
Ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong!
Ain't you pleased with my song? "


III.

"Alas! Mrs. Broom," sighed the Tongs in his song,
"Oh! is it because I'm so thin,
And my legs are so long,--ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong! --
That you don't care about me a pin?
Ah! fairest of creatures, when sweeping the room,
Ah! why don't you heed my complaint?
Must you needs be so cruel, you beautiful Broom,
Because you are covered with paint?
Ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong!
You are certainly wrong. "


IV.

Mrs. Broom and Miss Shovel together they sang,
"What nonsense you're singing to-day! "
Said the Shovel, "I'll certainly hit you a bang! "
Said the Broom, "And I'll sweep you away! "
So the coachman drove homeward as fast as he could,
Perceiving their anger with pain;
But they put on the kettle, and little by little
They all became happy again.
Ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong!
There's an end of my song.




THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR.

[Illustration]

I.

Said the Table to the Chair,
"You can hardly be aware
How I suffer from the heat
And from chilblains on my feet.
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk;
Pray let us take the air,"
Said the Table to the Chair.


II.

Said the Chair unto the Table,
"Now, you _know_ we are not able:
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we _cannot_ walk! "
Said the Table with a sigh,
"It can do no harm to try.