Page 472 - The model orator, or, Young folks' speaker : containing the choicest recitations and readings from the best authors for schools, public entertainments, social gatherings, Sunday schools, etc. : including recitals in prose and verse ...
P. 472

And  here's  the  handle  of  a  cup
                                          That  somebody  has broke  at tea:
                                          The shell's  a  hole in  it, von see;
                                        Nobody  knows  that  I  have  dot it,
                                        I  keep  it safe  here  in  my pottct,

                                        And  here’s  my  ball,  too, in  my pottet,
                                          And  here’s  my pennies,  one, two,  three.
                                          That  aunt  Mary  gave  to  me;
                                          To-morrow  day  I'll  buy a spade
                                          When  I ’m  out  walking  wiLh  the  maid.
                                        I  can’t  put  dat  here  in  my pottet,
                                        But  I  can  use  it  when  I've  dot  it.


                                        Here’s  some  more  sin^  in  my potlet\
                                           Here’s my  lead,  and here’s  my  string,
                                           And  once  I  had  an  iron  ring.
                                           But  through  a  hole  it  lost  one  day  ;
                                           And  here is what 1  always  say—
                                        A   hole’s the worst sin’  in  a pottet— -
                                        Have  it  mended  when  you’ve  dot it,


                                                     HOW  ME  DOES  IT.

                                        H     E  comes  right  down  the chimney
                                                 When  the  Christmas  bells  are  rung.
                                              When  little  folks  arc  fast  asleep,
                                           And stockings  all  are  hung,
                                        A ll  loaded  down  with  pretty things,
                                           With  guns  and  dolls  and  drums  ■
                                        So  be sure  and  hang  your stockings
                                           Where  lie'll  see  ’em  when  he  comes.

                                        You  might  hear  him  swiftly  coming,
                                           Riding  on  the  winter blast,
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