diddle dumplin', my son John;
Cripple Dick upon a stick, And Sandy on a soo, Ride away to Galloway To buy a pund o' woo';
or yet again in--
Sing a sang o' saxpence, A baggie fu' o' rye, Four-and-twenty blackbirds, Bakit in a pie. When the pie was opened The birds began to sing; And wasna that a dainty dish To set before the King?
The King was in his counting-house Counting out his money, The Queen was in the parlour Eating bread and honey, The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes, When by came a blackbird And snapped aff her nose.
For such supreme nonsense no historical origin need be sought, surely. Yet part of the latter has been at least applied to a historical personage in a way that is worth recalling. Dr. H. J. Pye, who was created Poet Laureate in succession to Thomas Warton, in 1790, was, as a poet, regularly made fun of. In his New Year Odes there were perpetual references to the coming spring: and, in the dearth of more important top
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