ABSTRACT
N.B. The following Nursery Ode was originally written for private circulation, and transmitted, together with an ounce of crisp gingerbread-nuts, to my little acquaintance, John Warren, junior, by way of a birth-day present. As, however, the Editor of this Volume, to whom it was shown by the father, imagined that it might be serviceable in promoting the interests of his Work, it is here numbered among the collection. https://www.niso.org/standards/z39-96/ns/oasis-exchange/table"> Ah, little ranting Johnny! https://s3-euw1-ap-pe-df-pch-content-public-p.s3.eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/9780429348310/bcce36ff-62d2-4acc-a207-ce3645db7263/content/ilg_4.tif" xmlns:xlink="https://www.w3.org/1999/xlink"/> For ever blythe and bonny, And singing heigho, nonny! Come, you rogue, to me now, And sit upon my knee now, While in thought we rove Through clipsome Lisson Grove, 1 Where the blackbird singeth And the daisy springeth, And the Naiads 2 tie, All underneath the sky, / Their garters with crisp posies Of daffodils and roses. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny! Fie! oh fie upon ye! Thus to teaze your nunkey, 3 You good-for-nothing monkey; Thus to pull and swale 1 His perriwig and tail, And throw, with cunning glee, Tobacco in his tea. There – but words are vain, John – There you go again, John; Now perked up in a corner, Like jaunty Jacky Horner; Now clambering up the chimney With springy step and slim knee, Till, open-mouthed, you whip down An ounce of soot; then slip down, And run to daddy, crying – “Odzooks, papa, I’m dying:” (5) Or else, with glib intention, You puzzle your invention To joke us; first you weep, John, And snore as if asleep, John; / Then up you jump and cry out – “Oh Christ, I’ve poked my eye out!” When lo! directly after, You turn us into laughter. 2 Well, poppet, though you bore us With one eternal chorus Of harum scarum divo, Tag rag and genitivo; 1 And though, you tricksy wizard, You daily stuff your gizzard With sugar-plums of full size, And lollipops and bulls’-eyes, (6) The Muse, through me, shall shed, now, Her blessings on your head, now. May your hours of childhood, Like roses in a wild wood, Shed native sweets around you, Till sunny thoughts surround you; And when by twilight still You roam o’er Primrose-Hill, Or when, by midnight dark, You cross the Regent’s Park, / May Pan, with eye so brightsome, And cock-up 2 nose so lightsome, Tell you tales of tree-gods, Of river and of sea-gods As how from lover’s lay Daphne 1 stole away; How by Tempè’s fountain 2 She ran, and Pindus’ mountain, 3 While chesnut, vine, and hop-leaf Rung aloud with “Stop thief!” And, to love a martyr, Apollo followed arter 4 (7) Or how that Colchian witch, 5 In Jason’s friendship rich, Her father dared to whip in A monstrous earthen pipkin, 6 (8) To boil him up with lamb And caper-sauce 7 and ham, And then, as I’m a sinner, To dish him up for dinner! Your father, too, my own John, We’ll not let him alone, John, But, with prophetic glee, Declare how time will be / When nations shall proclaim The triumphs of his fame, And story pile on story In honour of his glory. So now good night, my Johnny; Put your night-cap on ye; (9) And mind, you little jewel, Mind you drink your gruel, Or else, despite your tears, John, Papa will box your ears, John.
