Howlibus, gowlibus, Doggibus oh! Bring something home to my Baby Bo! Bring him a snarl and bring him a snap, And bring him a posy to put in his cap.
Twinkily, winkily, Firefly oh! Bring something home to my Baby Bo! Bring him a moonbeam and bring him a star, Then twinkily, winkily, fly away far.
Eight fingers, Ten toes, Two eyes, And one nose. Baby said When she smelt the rose, "Oh! what a pity I've only one nose!"
Ten teeth In even rows, Three dimples, And one nose. Baby said When she smelt the snuff, "Deary me! One nose is enough."
Little John Bottlejohn lived on the hill, And a blithe little man was he. And he won the heart of a pretty mermaid Who lived in the deep blue sea. And every evening she used to sit And sing on the rocks by the sea, "Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn, Won't you come out to me?"
Little John Bottlejohn heard her song, And he opened his little door. And he hopped and he skipped, and he skipped and he hopped, Until he came down to the shore. And there on the rocks sat the little mermaid, And still she was singing so free, "Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn, Won't you come out to me?"
Little John Bottlejohn made a bow, And the mermaid, she made one too, And she said, "Oh! I never saw any one half So perfectly sweet as you! In my lovely home 'neath the ocean foam, How happy we both might be! Oh! little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn, Won't you come down with me?"
Little John Bottlejohn said, "Oh yes! I'll willingly go with you. And I never shall quail at the sight of your tail, For perhaps I may grow one too." So he took her hand, and he left the land, And plunged in the foaming main. And little John Bottlejohn, pretty John Bottlejohn, Never was seen again.
Bring her here, my little Alice, Poor Jemima Brown! Make the little cradle ready! Softly lay her down! Once she lived in ease and comfort, Slept on couch of down; Now upon the floor she's lying, Poor Jemima Brown!
Once she was a lovely dolly, Rosy-cheeked and fair, With her eyes of brightest azure And her golden hair; Now, alas! no hair's remaining On her poor old crown; And the crown itself is broken, Poor Jemima Brown!
Once her legs were smooth and comely, And her nose was straight; And that arm, now hanging lonely, Had, methinks, a mate. And she was as finely dressed as Any doll in town. Now she's old, forlorn, and ragged, Poor Jemima Brown!