Etext of Nursery Rhymes: a Dialogue, based on "Nursery Rhymes, of England, &c; Collected and edited by James Orchard Hallowell, Esq.," by Samuel G. Goodrich from Robert Merry's Museum August 1846, pp. 52-54 Timothy.--Mother! mother! do stop a minute, and hear me say my poetry. Mother.--Your poetry, my son? Who told you how to make poetry? T.--O, I don't know; but hear what I have made up. M.--Well, go on. T.--Now don't you laugh; it's all mine. I didn't get a bit of it out of a book. Here it is! "Higglety, pigglety, pop! The dog has ate the mop The pig's in a hurry, The cat's in a flurry-- Higglety, pigglety--pop." M.--Well, go on. T.--Why, that's all. Don't you think it pretty good? M.--Really, my son, I don't see much sense in it. T.--Sense? Whoever thought of sense in poetry? Why, mother, you gave me a book the other day, and it was all poetry, and I don't think there was a bit of sense in the whole of it. Hear me read. [Reads]. "Hub a dub! Three men in a tub-- And how do you think they got there? The butcher, The baker, The candlestick-maker, They all jumped out of a rotten potato 'Twas enough to make a man stare." And here's another. "A cat came fiddling out of a barn, With a pair of bagpipes under her arm; She could sing nothing but fiddle cum fee-- The mouse has married the humble-bee-- Pipe, cat--dance, mouse-- We'll have a wedding at our good house." And here's another. "Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon-- The little dog laughed To see the craft, And the dish ran after the spoon." Now, mother, the book is full of such things as these, and I don't see any meaning in them. M.--Well, my son, I think, as you do they are really very absurd. T.--Absurd? Why, then, do you give me such things to read? M.--Let me ask you a question. Do you not love to read these rhymes, even though they are silly? T.--Yes, dearly. M.--Well, you have just learned to read, and I thought these jingles, silly as they are, might induce you to study your book, and make yourself familiar with reading. T.--I don't understand you, mother; but no matter. "Higglety, pigglety, pop! The dog has ate the mop; The pig's in a hurry--" M.--Stop, stop, my son. I choose you should understand me. T.--But, mother, what's the use of understanding you? "Higglety, pigglety, pop!" M.--Timothy! T.--Ma'am? M.--Listen to me, or you will have cause to repent it. Listen to what I say. I gave you the book to amuse you, and improve your reading, not to form your taste in poetry. T.--Well, mother, pray forgive me. I did not mean to offend you. But I really do love poetry, because it is so silly! "Higglety, pigglety, pop!" M.--Don't say that again, Timothy! T.--Well, I won't; but I'll say something out of this pretty book you gave me. "Doodledy, doodledy, dan! I'll have a piper to be my good man-- And if I get less meat, I shall get game-- Doodledy, doodledy dan!" M.--That's enough, my son. T.--But, dear mother, do hear me read another. "We're all in the dumps, For diamonds are trumps-- The kittens are gone to St. Paul's-- The babies are bit-- The moon's in a fit-- And the houses are built without walls." M.--I do not wish to hear any more. T.--One more; one more, dear mother. "Round about--round about-- Maggotty pie-- My father loves good ale, And so do I." Don't you like that, mother? M.--No; it is too coarse, and unfit to be read or spoken. T.--But it is here in this pretty book you gave me, and I like it very much, mother. And here is a poem, which I think very fine. "One-ery, two-eery, Ziccary zan, Hollow bone, crack a bone-- Ninery ten: Spittery spat, It must be done, Twiddledum, tweddledum, Twenty-one, Hink, spink, the puddings stink["] M.--Stop, stop, my son. Are you not ashamed to say such things? T.--Ashamed? No, mother. Why should I be? It's all printed here as plain as day. Ought I to be ashamed to say any thing I find in a pretty book you have given me? Just hear the rest of this. "Hink, spink, the puddings--" M.--Give me the book, Timothy. I see that I have made a mistake; it is not a proper book for you. T.--Well, you may take the book, but I can say the rhymes, for I have learnt them all by heart. "Hink, spink, the puddings--" M.--Timothy, how dare you! T.--Well, mother, I won't say it, if you don't wish me to. But mayn't I say "Higglety, pigglety, pop!" M.--I had rather you would not. T.--And "Doodledy, doodledy dan"--mayn't I say that? M.--No. T.--Nor "Hey diddle, diddle"? M.--I do not wish you to say any of those silly things. T.--Dear me, what shall I do? M.--I had rather you would learn some good sensible things. T.--Such as what? M.--Watts's Hymns, and Original Hymns. T.--Do you call them sensible things? I hate 'em. "Doodledy, doodledy dan!" M.--[Aside.] Dear, dear, what shall I do? The boy has got his head turned with these foolish rhymes. It was really a very unwise thing to put a book into his hands, so full of nonsense and vulgarity. The rhymes seem to stick like burs [sic] in his mind, and the coarsest and vilest seem to be best remembered. I must remedy this mistake; but I see it will take all my wit to do so. [Aloud.] Timothy, you must give me up this book, and I will get you another. T.--Well, mother, I am sorry to part with it--but I don't care so much about it, as I know all the best of it by heart. "Hink, spink, the puddings--" M.--You'll have a box on the ear, if you repeat that. T.--Well, I suppose I can say, "Round about--round about--Maggotty pie--" M.--You go to bed! T.--Well, if I must, I must. Good night, mother! "Higglety, pigglety, pop! The dog has ate the mop; The cat's in a flurry, The cow's in a hurry, Higglety, pigglety, pop!" Good night, mother!