Songs before sleep

A cat came fiddling out of a barn,
With a pair of bagpipes under her arm.
She could sing nothing but fiddle-de-dee,
The mouse shall marry the bumblebee.
Pipe, cat, dance, mouse!
We’ll have a wedding at our good house.

Fiddle-de-dee, fiddle-de-dee,
The mouse has married the bumblebee.
They went to church and married was she,
The mouse has married the bumblebee.

The cat came fiddling out of the barn,
With a pair of bagpipes under her arm.
She sang nothing but fiddle-de-dee,
Which worried the mouse and the bumblebee.
Puss began purring, the mouse ran away,
And the bee flew off with a loud huzra!

Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown.
Rapping at the window, crying at the lock,
Are the children in bed, for it’s now ten o’clock.

Hey, Willie Winkie, are you coming in?
The cat’s singing quiet songs to the sleeping hen,
The dog’s sprawled across the floor, and doesn’t give a cheep,
But here’s a wakeful laddie that will not fall asleep.

Anything but sleep you rogue! Glowering like the moon,
Rattling in an iron mug with an iron spoon,
Rumbling, tumbling roundabout, crowing like a cock,
Squealing like I don’t know what, waking sleeping folk.

Hey, Willie Winkie, the child’s in a creel,
Scrambling off his mother’s knee like a very eel,
Tugging at the cat’s ear and spoiling all her dreams,
Hey, Willie Winkie see, here he comes!

Weary is the mother that has a wakeful bairn,
A wee wilful mischief that can’t be left alone,
That battles every night with sleep before he’ll close an eye,
But a kiss from off his rosy lips gives strength anew to me.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what thou are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle all the night.

When the trav’ller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark,
He could not see which way to go
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never close your eye,
‘Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the trav’ller in the dark,
Though I know now what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Baby, baby, naughty baby,
Hush, you squalling thing, I say,
Peace this moment, peace or maybe
Bonaparte will pass this way.

Baby, baby he’s a giant,
Tall and black as Rouen steeple.
And he breakfasts, dines, rely on’t,
Ev’ry day on naughty people.

Baby, baby, if he hears you,
As he gallops past the house,
Limb from limb at once he’ll tear you,
Just as pussy tears a mouse.

And he’ll beat you, beat you, beat you,
And he’ll beat you all to pap,
And he’ll eat you, eat you, eat you,
Snap, snap, snap.

As I walked by myself,
And talked to myself,
  Myself said unto me:
"Look to thyself,
Take care of thyself, 
  For nobody cares for thee."

I answered myself, 
And said to myself
  In the selfsame repartee:
"Look to thyself,
Or not to thyself, 
  The selfsame thing will be."

There was an old woman lived under a hill,
And if she’s not gone she lives there still.
There was an old woman lived under a hill,
Put a mouse in a bag and went to the mill.
The miller did swear by the point of his knife,
He never took toll of a mouse in his life.

There was an old woman and nothing she had,
And so this old woman was said to be mad.
She’d nothing to eat and nothing to wear,
She’d nothing to lose and nothing to fear.
She’d nothing to ask and she’d nothing to give,
And when she did die, she’d nothing to leave.

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, 
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do.
She gave them some porridge without any bread,
Then she borrowed a hammer and knocked them all dead.
She went to the town to bespeak ‘em a coffin,
But when she got back they were lying there laughing.
She went up the stairs to ring the bell
Then she slipped her foot and down she fell.
So she got the coffin to herself.

There was an old woman tossed up in a basket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon.
And where she was going I couldn’t but ask it,
For in her hand she carried a broom.
Old woman, old woman, old woman, quoth I,
Where are you going to, up so high?
To brush the cobwebs off the sky.