Sir Nicketty Nox was an ancient knight,
So old was he that he'd lost his sight.
Blind as a mole, and slim as a fox,
And dry as a stick was Sir Nicketty Nox.

His sword and buckler were old and cracked,
So was his charger and that's a fact.
Thin as a rake from head to hocks,
Was this rickety nag of Sir Nicketty Nox.

A wife he had and daughters three,
And all were as old, as old could be.
They mended the shirts and darned the socks
Of that old Antiquity, Nicketty Nox.

Sir Nicketty Nox would fly in a rage
If anyone tried to guess his age.

I love at quiet eventide,
Far from the city's noise to stray;
To climb the brow of rocky hill,
And watch the light of parting day.

To see reflected on the clouds,
In red and gold its colors glow;
Or watch the lengthening shadows fall
On field and valley, far below.

To hear the quail's low, plaintive call,
At intervals, the stillness break;
Or sprightly sparrow's cheerful note,
That memory's pleasing fancies wake.

Faint rises on the tranquil air
The tardy insects' droning song;
Which still, amid the closing flowers,

She is a rich and rare land;
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land,
She is a dear and rare land—
—This native land of mine.

No men than hers are braver—
Her women's hearts ne'er waver;
I'd freely die to save her,
—And think my lot divine.

She's not a dull or cold land;
No! she's a warm and bold land;
Oh! she's a true and old land—
—This native land of mine.

Could beauty ever guard her,
And virtue still reward her,
No foe would cross her border—
—No friend within it pine.

Oh! she's a fresh and fair land,

She frowned and called him Mr.
Because in sport he kr.
And so in spite
That very night
This Mr. kr. sr.

She always leaned to watch for us,
Anxious if we were late,
In winter by the window,
In summer by the gate;

And though we mocked her tenderly,
Who had such foolish care,
The long way home would seem more safe
Because she waited there.

Her thoughts were all so full of us,
She never could forget!
And so I think that where she is
She must be watching yet,

Waiting till we come home to her,
Anxious if we are late—
Watching from Heaven's window,
Leaning from Heaven's gate.

Sweet Iesus of thy mercie, our pitifull praiers heare:
That we may be on thy right hand, when thou shalt appeare.
For thou shalt come with heavenlie power, and sit on the throne:
None shall judge the quicke and dead, but thou Christ alone.
O Christ cast us not awaie, in that daie of ire:
When thou shalt send before thee, a hot consuming fire.
To purge all creatures, defild with Adams sinne:
Then a new heaven and earth, O Lord thou wilt beginne.
Then the elect shall be blessed, upon thy holie hill:
But the wicked shall be damned, that have withstood thy will.

See! I give myself to you, Beloved!
My words are little jars
For you to take and put upon a shelf.
Their shapes are quaint and beautiful,
And they have many pleasant colours and lustres
To recommend them.
Also the scent from them fills the room
With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.

When I shall have given you the last one,
You will have the whole of me,
But I shall be dead.

The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat:
If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse.
If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,
If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.
If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,
If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat—
And there isn't any call for me to shout it:
For he will do
As he do do
And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a terrible bore:
When you let him in, then he wants to be out;

Round about me hum the winds of autumn,
Cool between the apple boughs: and slumber,
Flowing from the quiveting leaves to earthward,
Spreads as a river.

Romira, stay,
And run not thus like a young Roe away,
No enemie
Pursues thee (foolish girle) tis onely I,
I'll keep off harms,
If thou'lt be pleas'd to garrison mine arms;
What dost thou fear
I'll turn a Traitour? may these Roses here
To palenesse shred,
And Lilies stand disguised in new Red,
If that I lay
A snare, wherein thou wouldst not gladly stay;
See see the Sunne
Does slowly to his azure Lodging run,
Come sit but here
And presently he'll quit our Hemisphere,
So still among
Lovers, time is too short or else too long;