Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go;
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round;
Dance little baby, and mother shall sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding.
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ON the cheerful village green,
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‘MY Fanny, I have news to tell,
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Well, what’s the matter? there’s a face
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THE Butterfly, an idle thing,
As do the bee and bird;Nor does it, like the prudent ant,Lay up the grain for times of want,A wise and cautious hoard.My youth is but a summer’s day:Then like the bee and ant I’ll layA store of learning by;And though from flower to flower I rove,My stock of wisdom I’ll improveNor be a butterfly.