Beg, doggie, beg: Come, come, sit up,
No, not that way, you silly pup;
Upon your hind legs sit,
And I will tell you how to ask
For bread – it is an easy task;
And then you’ll get a bit.
Now there – that’s right – keep up your paw!
A better dog I never saw.
Oh dear! you’re down once more:
I cannot let you off: Now try,
Oh, Jack, I really fear that I
Have got a “treat” in store;
Look at this cake. Now, sit upright
And stare at me with all you’re might,
And then I’ll place the food:
That’s well: Now, doggie, quite still
You must not stir an inch until
I tell you, come, that’s good!
One trial more, and you shall eat
This great round cake, just for a treat:
Now sit up, Jacky – so,
Ask for it, sir – just say “bow-wow”
And louder still! There make your bow
Good dog! now you may go.
Baby Poems
I shall help mother when I am grown big;
When I am old enough, oh! wont I dig,
Plough with the horses, and call out “Gee-ho!”
Plant the potatoes, fell timber, and mow?
Then I shall fetch the cows home to the byre,
Carry such fagots to make mother’s fire,
Reap and make hay – Hush! who calls? I shant go!
Its only to play with the baby, I know.
A boy who is seven is too big to do that,
Can’t mother nurse her, or give her the cat?
Oh, what a bother! She’s calling me still
“Come and take the baby off my hands, Bill.”
“I must get your father’s socks finished to-night,
And I can’t while the little girl pulls the thread tight;
There—lift him up, play at ball or Peep-bo
You will help mother then very greatly you know.”
Bill waited a moment. Then into his mind
Came a thought, “Little boy, if you don’t feel inclined
To help mother now, when you easily can,
I’m afraid you won’t do it when you are a man.”
So he brightened his face till the baby smiled too;
Hid himself in the cupboard and called out “Cuckoo.”
And on his knee fed her with delicious cream,
And helping mother was not so bad it would seem.
Baby Poems
I like my cat, I like him well,
As all the house may see
I like him for himself, and not
Because the cat likes me.
He counts his only work in life,
To flourish and be fat;
And this he does with all his might;
Of course, I like my cat.
His eyes shine out beneath his brows,
As eyes have rarely shone;
His beauty is the grandest thing
That ever cat put on.
He wears a paw of wondrous bulk,
With secret claws to match,
And puts a charm in all its play,
The pat, the box, the scratch.
I have not heard how cats are made
Within their furry veil,
But rather fancy Tippo’s thoughts
Lie chiefly in his tail.
For while in every other part
His portly person sleeps,
That bushy tail, with steady wave,
A ceaseless vigil keeps.
Baby Poems
