Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/280

244 And gave them to the Cottagers

She met among the Bushes,

Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen

And tall as Amazon:

An old red blanket cloak she wore;

A chip hat had she on.

God rest her aged bones somewhere—

She died full long agone!

was a naughty Boy,

A naughty boy was he,

He would not stop at home,

He could not quiet be—

He took

In his Knapsack

A Book

Full of vowels;

And a shirt

With some towels—

A slight cap

For night cap—

A hair brush,

Comb ditto,

New Stockings,

For old ones

Would split O!

This Knapsack,

Tight at 's back,

He rivetted close

And follow'd his Nose

To the North,

To the North,

And follow'd his nose

To the North.

There was a naughty boy

And a naughty boy was he,

For nothing would he do

But scribble poetry—

He took

An inkstand

In his hand,

And a Pen

Big as ten

In the other,

And away

In a Pother

He ran

To the mountains,

And fountains

And ghostes,

And Postes,

And witches,

And ditches,

And wrote

In his coat,

When the weather

Was cool,

Fear of gout,

And without

When the weather

Was Warm—

Och the charm

When we choose

To follow one's nose

To the north,

To the north,

To follow one's nose

To the north.

There was a naughty boy

And a naughty boy was he,

He kept little fishes

In washing tubs three

In spite

Of the might

Of the Maid,

Nor afraid

Of his Granny—good—

He often would,

Hurly burly,

Get up early,

And go

By hook or crook

To the brook,

And bring home

Miller's thumb,

Tittlebat

Not over fat,

Minnows small

As the stall

Of a glove,

Not above

The size

Of a nice

Little Baby's

Little fingers—

O, he made,

'T was his trade,

Of Fish a pretty Kettle

A Kettle—

A Kettle