Children

There were his young barbarians all at play,

Abortions will not let you forget.

Your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.

In America there are two classes of travel—first class, and with children.

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

And always keep a-hold of Nurse

Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them. They must, they have no other models.

Children sweeten labours, but they make misfortunes more bitter.

The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears.

He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.

Come, dear children, let us away;

Children’s talent to endure stems from their ignorance of alternatives.

If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children.

Ten little Indians standing in a line— One went home, and then there were nine.

Little Polly Flinders Sat among the cinders, Warming her pretty little toes. Her mother came and caught her, And whipped her little daughter For spoiling her nice new clothes.

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 broth without any bread, She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

Bye baby bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting. Gone to get a rabbit skin To wrap the baby bunting in.

Little Tom Tucker Sings for his supper; What shall he eat? White bread and butter. How will he cut it Without e’er a knife? How will he be married Without e’er a wife?

Little boy blue, come blow your horn, The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn; But where is the boy who looks after the sheep? He’s under the haystack fast asleep. Will you wake him? No, not I, For if I do, he’ll be sure to cry.

Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man, Bake me a cake as fast as you can; Pat it and prick it, and mark it with B, Put it in the oven for baby and me.

What shall I give my children? who are poor, Who are adjudged the leastwise of the land.

Abortions will not let you forget. You remember the children you got that you did not get.

And children swarmed to him like settlers. He became a land.

anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did.