R. CALDECOTT'S PICTURE BOOK (No. 1)

CONTAINING

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG THE BABES IN THE WOOD

LONDON FREDERICK WARNE AND CO., Ltd. AND NEW YORK

Printed in Great Britain

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN:

Showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again.

WRITTEN BY Wm. COWPER WITH DRAWINGS BY R. CALDECOTT

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he, Of famous London town.

The Linendraper bold

The 3 customers

But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat.

But still he seemed to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced; For all might see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay; And there he threw the wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goose at play.

Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; He lost them sooner than at first, For why?—they were too big.

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

This is the House that Jack built.

This is the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Maiden all forlorn, That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Man all tattered and torn, That kissed the Maiden all forlorn, That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Priest, all shaven and shorn, That married the Man all tattered and torn, That kissed the Maiden all forlorn, That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Cock that crowed in the morn; That waked the Priest all shaven and shorn, That married the Man all tattered and torn, That kissed the Maiden all forlorn, That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

This is the Farmer who sowed the corn, That fed the Cock that crowed in the morn, That waked the Priest all shaven and shorn, That married the Man all tattered and torn, That kissed the Maiden all forlorn, That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn, That tossed the Dog, That worried the Cat, That killed the Rat, That ate the Malt, That lay in the House that Jack built.

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

An ELEGY on the DEATH of a MAD DOG. WRITTEN By Dr GOLDSMITH PICTURED By R. Caldecott SUNG By Master Bill Primrose IN MEMORY OF TOBY

GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short,

It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there lived a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran,

Whene'er he went

to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad,

When he put on

his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found: As many dogs there be—

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,

And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends;

But, when a pique began, The dog, to gain some private ends,

Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all

the neighbouring streets

The wondering neighbours ran;

And swore the dog had lost his wits,

To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every christian eye;

And while they swore the dog was mad,

They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied—

The man recover'd of the bite;

The dog it was that died.

THE BABES IN THE WOOD

SORE SICKE THEY WERE AND LIKE TO DYE

Now ponder well, you parents deare, These wordes which I shall write; A doleful story you shall heare, In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account In Norfolke dwelt of late, Who did in honour far surmount Most men of his estate. Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, No helpe his life could save; His wife by him as sicke did lye, And both possest one grave.

No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kinde; In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, And left two babes behinde: The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three yeares olde; The other a girl more young than he And fram'd in beautye's molde. The father left his little son, As plainlye doth appeare, When he to perfect age should come Three hundred poundes a yeare. And to his little daughter Jane Five hundred poundes in gold, To be paid downe on marriage-day, Which might not be controll'd:

But if the children chanced to dye, Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possesse their wealth; For so the wille did run.

Now, Brother, said the dying man, Look to my children deare.

"Now, brother," said the dying man, "Look to my children deare; Be good unto my boy and girl, No friendes else have they here: "To God and you I do commend My children deare this daye; But little while be sure we have Within this world to staye. "You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; God knowes what will become of them, When I am dead and gone."

With that bespake their mother deare: "O brother kinde," quoth shee, "You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or miserie:

"And if you keep them carefully, Then God will you reward; But if you otherwise should deal, God will your deedes regard."

With lippes as cold as any stone, they kist the children small

With lippes as cold as any stone, They kist the children small: "God bless you both, my children deare:" With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake To this sicke couple there: "The keeping of your little ones, Sweet sister, do not feare: "God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, If I do wrong your children deare, When you are layd in grave."

Their Parents being Dead & Gone, The Children home he takes.

The parents being dead and gone, The children home he takes, And bringes them straite unto his house, Where much of them he makes.

He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a daye, But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both awaye. He bargain'd with two ruffians strong, Which were of furious mood, That they should take the children young, And slaye them in a wood.

He told his wife an artful tale, He would the children send To be brought up in faire London, With one that was his friend.

Away then went those pretty babes, Rejoycing at that tide, Rejoycing with a merry minde, They should on cock-horse ride.

Away then went the Pretty Babes Rejoycing at that tide.

They prate and prattle pleasantly As they rode on the waye, To those that should their butchers be, And work their lives' decaye: So that the pretty speeche they had, Made murderers' heart relent: And they that undertooke the deed, Full sore did now repent. Yet one of them, more hard of heart, Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch, that hired him, Had paid him very large.

The other would not agree thereto, So here they fell to strife; With one another they did fight, About the children's life:

And he that was of mildest mood, Did slaye the other there, Within an unfrequented wood, Where babes did quake for feare!

And he that was of mildest mood did slaye the other there

He took the children by the hand, While teares stood in their eye, And bade them come and go with him, And look they did not crye: And two long miles he ledd them on, While they for food complaine: "Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring ye bread, When I come back againe."

These prettye babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and downe;

But never more they sawe the man Approaching from the town.

Their prettye lippes with blackberries Were all besmear'd and dyed; And when they sawe the darksome night, They sat them downe and cryed.

Thus wandered these two prettye babes, Till death did end their grief; In one another's armes they dyed, As babes wanting relief. No burial these prettye babes Of any man receives,

Till Robin-redbreast painfully Did cover them with leaves.

In one another's arms they dyed.