Short Poems

Highty, tighty, paradighty, clothed in green,
The king could not read it, no more could the queen;
They sent for a wise man out of the East,
Who said it had horns, but was not a beast.
A holly tree

Hickety, pickety, my black hen,
She lays eggs for gentlemen;
Sometimes nine, sometimes ten,
Hickety, pickety, my black hen.

Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more,
On the King's kitchen door;
All the King's horses,
And all the King's men,
Couldn't drive Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more,
Off the King's kitchen door.
( Sunshine )

Here lies the body of Richard Hind,
Who was neither ingenious, sober, nor kind.

Here lies my wife. Eternal peace
Be to us both with her decease.

Here lies John Bun,
He was killed by a gun,
His name was not Bun, but Wood,
But Wood would not rhyme with gun, but Bun would.

Here lies a Dog: may every Dog that dies
Lie in security — as this Dog lies.

Here Delia 's buried at Fourscore:
When young ; a leud, rapacious Whore ,
Vain, and expensive; but when old ;
A pious, fordid, drunken Scold .

From gods of other men, fastidious heart,
You thank your stars good sense has set you free.
Ay. But the dread slow piercing of death's dart?
Its, " Why, my God, have I forsaken thee ."

There was an Old Man of Dunluce,
Who went out to sea on a goose.
When he'd gone out a mile, he observ'd with a smile,
" It is time to return to Dunluce. "