SONGS for CHILDREN, SONG XXIX

Pretty little chidren come, Tho' we have no sports of May, You may hear our Billy's drum, And our Sammy's fiddle play.

They have been abroad to buy, Toys their parents to them gave; See their little flags on high, Full of pleasure, how they wave!

First of all the throng is Charley, On his flag is writ in gold; How his parents love him dearly, Few so good, though twice as old.

Next comes Harry, known to all, None like him at cricket play; Little as he is, the ball He can strike a wond'rous way.

But these sports are over now, To the winter we must yield; Winter calls the sheep and cow, Cold and shiv'ring from the field.

Yet still o'er the blazing fire, Charley with our Kitty stands; We can sport to our desire, Play at questions and commands.