Kensington Rhymes Part 5

And charge a flock of sheep; He used to read in bed at night Instead of going to sleep.

There was not anything of which He could not make a game; He must have been a jolly chap-- Don Quixote was his name.

He had adventures every day, He simply made them come; But all his family shook their heads And said that he was rum.

They burnt his books, they shut him up, They threw enormous stones.

Some beastly fellows beat him too And almost broke his bones.

It makes me simply furious, It _nearly_ makes me cry To see him lying in the road-- I hope he will not die.

He did not mean to misbehave, He wanted just to play; Some people think my games are bad-- They did the other day.

A cousin came to stay with us To see the Lord Mayor's Show, And we were playing 'Ancient Greeks,'

A game you all must know.

Andromeda we gave to her, Perseus was given to me; My kiddy brother was the beast, The nursery floor the sea.

We tied her to the rock with string, The rock was Nurse's bed, Medusa's head was Nurse's hat-- We ruined it, she said.

And as the floor was rather dry, We got the water-jug, And slooshed it all about the room And simply sopped the rug.

My kiddy brother was the beast, I killed him with the poker; My kiddy cousin screamed and yelled As if we _meant_ to soak her.

So we were punished just because We played at 'let's pretend.'

Don Quixote would have understood, He would have been our friend.

Hullo! there goes the bell for tea; They've lighted up the hall, And I must go and wash my hands And fetch Miss Perkins' shawl.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WET DAY]

THE wettest days in London Are quite a jolly spree: Our house is like an island, The wet street like a sea.

The rain beats on our windows And splashes on the sill; But the dining-room's a jungle, The staircase is a hill.

Our camping-ground's the nursery, The hall's a coral-reef; My sister's cot's a schooner, And Nurse an Indian chief.

Miss Perkins is a pirate, The maids are cannibals; They have orgies in the pantry Unless a person calls.

We've guns and swords and pistols, We've several sorts of flags; By shooting on the hillside We've got some splendid bags.

We found a grand volcano Close to the servants' room, It really was the cistern, But it made a fearful boom.

In all our expeditions My brother is the crew, I'm midshipman and captain-- Of course it's rather few,

But then my kiddie sister Has _got_ to be the beasts Which we go out a-hunting In order to have feasts.

Our feasts are bread and b.u.t.ter, And sometimes bread and jam-- That is, if when we're shooting No doors are made to slam.

The wettest days in London Are quite a jolly spree; And sometimes, though not often, Our friends come in to tea.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LAST WORDS]

IF, Percy, you have money in your pocket, For Algernon I hope you'll buy this book, But when you've bought it, do let Algy read it, And let your kiddy sister have a look.

This good advice applies to you, young G.o.dfrey, To Wilfred and to Michael and to Claude, To James, Guy, Basil, Archibald and Eustace, And also to Diana, Joan and Maud.

Philip, to you the last must be spoken; Tell people of this book round Kensington; Mention with kind encouragement the Author, And get the money from your Uncle John.

THE END