OLD MOTHER HUBBARD
(Or the Horrible Tale of Mrs. Ultimately Consumed)
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To get her poor children a bone;
But when she came there
The cupboard was bare,
It was plain the shelves held none.
She went to the baker’s
To buy them some bread,
But wheat had gone up,
Reciprocity was dead.
She went to the joiner’s
A coffin to buy,
But she found that cremation
Was not half so high.
She took a clean dish
To buy them some trout,
But the price was so “fishy”
She came away without.
She went to the ale-house
To buy them some beer,
But the cost of the drink
Took away all the cheer.
She went to the tavern
For white wine and red,
But when she had priced it,
She took water, instead.
She went to the hatter’s
To buy them a hat,
But the things that were swell
Made her pocket-book flat.
She went to the barber’s
With wigs to display,
She found nothing there
But a high price “toupee.”
She went to the fruiterer’s
To buy them some fruit,
But the figures had taken
The aerial route.
She went to the tailor’s
To buy them a coat,
The tailor convinced her
That she was the “goat.”
She went to the cobbler’s
To buy them some shoes,
It was plain she must give
To the tariff its dues.
She went to the sempstress
To buy them some linen,
The cost plainly showed her
She was in for a skinnin’.
She went to the hosier’s
To buy them some hose,
He took what was left,
Increasing her woes.
The Dame made a curtsey,
The Trusts made a bow;
The Dame said, “Your servant.”
The Trusts said “Kow-tow.”
Then Old Mother Hubbard
Went back to the cupboard
Where she had sought for a bone;
And she said, “I declare,
It will have to stay bare,”
So the poor little children got none.
Little Simon met a Sly Man
Going to Alaska;
Says Little Simon to the Sly Man,
“What is there, I ask you?”
Says the Sly Man to Little Simon,
“There’s copper there in plenty.”
Says Little Simon to the Sly Man,
“Of coppers I have many.”
Little Simon had six brothers
Who saw what there was in it;
They sent the Sly Man to Alaska—
Little Simon to the Senate.
Little G. P.
Went to sea,
In an open boat;
The little boat bended—
My story’s ended.
There was a fat man from St. Lou-ay,
Sat trust-busting one sunshiny day;
For the press he had naught,
Though steel was his thought,
Which vex’d the fat man from St. Lou-ay.
A dillar, a dollar
A 12 o’clock scholar,
We like the Senate’s gall;
It’s coming now at 2 o’clock—
Why does it come at all?
Jimmie Lloyd, a Congressman,
Came back to Washington
On Democratic victory feeling vain;
He stepped in a patronage muddle,
Like a Missouri toll-road puddle,
And he swears he’ll ne’er do that again.
Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any pull?
The Tariff Board is after the rates on Wool:
Yes, we have stand-patters and the A. P. T. L.,
While presidential vetoes are doing very well.
Cabot and Murray each separately delve
On their own little jobs ’till the clock strikes 12;
Then up starts Cabot and looks far away,
“Oh, brother Murray, we are both from Back Bay!”
“Yes,” says Murray, choking, by stealth,
“Until Adjournment—then each for himself.”
Old King Joe was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he;
He called for his smoke,
And his highball, too,
And he called for his cronies three.
And every crony had a very good hand,
And a very fine hand had he;
“Tweedle dee, tweedle dee,” said Old King Joe,
“Oh, there’s none so rare as can compare
With a stand-pat hand. Give me three.”
There was a man from New York Town,
And he was wondrous wise;
He raked in sheckles by the pound
From trusts, and closed his eyes.
But he came down to Washington
And with all his might and main,
He jumped into so many trusts,
He gave them all a pain.
Ten little candidates in presidential line—
One got bashful, and then there were nine.
Nine little candidates tried to frame a slate—
One backed out, and then there were eight.
Eight little candidates for political heaven—
One hit a primary, and then there were seven.
Seven little candidates went to fixing sticks—
One got hurt, and then there were six.
Six little candidates monkeyed with a hive—
One got stung, and then there were five.
Five little candidates tried to take the floor—
One got stepped on, and then there were four.
Four little candidates tried to climb a tree—
One fell out, and then there were three.
Three little candidates out in a canoe—
One fell overboard, and then there were two.
Two little candidates fooling with a gun—
One got shot, and then there was one.
One little candidate standing all alone—
He got left, and the dark horse won.
Jim and Henry went up the hill
To fetch a pail of votes, sir;
Jim fell down and broke his crown,
And Henry was in the same boat, sir.
Up both got and home did trot,
With sundry funny capers;
Bill Barnes had the job to plaster their knobs,
And keep it out of the papers.
Frankie Hitchcock went to sea,
Heeding not my tearful plea;
He’ll come back and marry me,
Pretty Frankie Hitchcock.
Frankie Hitchcock’s lean and fair,
Combing down his yellow hair;
Now he’s gone up in the air;
Pretty Frankie Hitchcock.
Albert C. and Robert L.
Resolved to have a battle,
For Albert C. said Robert L.
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.
Just then came by a monstrous man,
As big as a tar-barrel,
Which frightened both the heroes so,
They quite forgot their quarrel.
