Chapter III

Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore--
No doubt you have heard the name before--
Was a boy who never would shut a door!

The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.

His father would beg, his mother implore,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really _do_ wish you would shut the door!”

Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.

When he walked forth the folks would roar,
“Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don’t you think to shut the door?”

They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.

But he begged for mercy, and said, “No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!”

“You will?” said his parents; “then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!”

IV

Timothy Tight, Timothy Tight,
Says he will neither have sup nor bite,
Nor comb to his hair, nor sleep in his bed,
Till he has done what he thinks in his head.

What is it poor little Timothy thinks
To do before he eats, or drinks,
Or combs, or sleeps? Why, Timothy Tight
Thinks in his head to turn black into white!

He caught a crow, and he tried with that,
He tried again with a great black cat,
He tried again with dyes and inks;
He keeps on trying to do what he thinks!

He tried with lumps of coals a score,
He tried with jet, and a blackamoor,
He tried with these till he got vext--
He means to try the Black Sea next.

V

Baby, baby, bless her;
How shall mammy dress her?

The summer cloud
Is not too proud
To find soft wool to dress her.

The bluebell
Is a true bell,
And will find the blue to dress her.

The cherry-tree
Is a merry tree,
And will find the pink to dress her.

The lily bright
Will find the white,
The beautiful white to dress her.

The leaves in the wood
Are sweet and good,
And will find the green to dress her.

The honeysuckle,
With buds for a buckle,
Will make a girdle to dress her.

The heavens hold
Both silver and gold
In the stars, and they will dress her.

VI

There was a man so very tall,
That when you spoke you had to bawl
Through both your hands, put like a cup,
His head was such a long way up!

But there was something even sadder,--
His wife had to go up a ladder
Whenever she desired a kiss--
And he, alas, was proud of this!

Said he, “I am the tallest man
That ever grew since time began,”
As down on a house-top he sat;
Well, he _was_ tall; but what of that?

This monstrous man, as we shall see,
Was punished for his vanity:
He grew and grew,--the people placed
A telescope to see his waist!

He grew and grew--you could not see
Without a telescope his knee;
He grew till he was over-grown,
And seen by over-sight alone!

VII

My man John
To sea is gone
All in a wicker cradle;
The cradle creaks,
The cradle leaks,
But John has got a ladle.

VIII

There is a curious boy, whose name
Is Lumpy Loggerhead;
His greatest joy is--oh, for shame!--
To spend his time in bed.

They fit with gongs alarum clocks
That make your blood run chill;
And they encourage crowing cocks
Beneath his window-sill.

In vain the gongs,--his eyes are shut--
In vain the cocks do crow;
Empty on him a water-butt,
And he will say, “Hallo!”

But only in a drowsy style,
And in a second more
He sleeps--and, oh! to see him smile!
And, oh! to hear him snore!

He seems to carry, all day long,
Sleep in his very shape;
And, though you may be brisk and strong,
You often want to gape

When Lumpy Loggerhead comes near,
Whose bed is all his joy.
How glad I am he is not here,
That very sleepy boy!