rhymes to Sir John Suckling

Little Miss

Muffet sighed and played with her cat
Muffet on a toadstool sat


Pop Goes the

Weasel slinks away the
forest of its trees
naught but hobbyhorse of matchsticks
doth Weasel please


Froggy Would

a-woo himself
in the green pond
Froggy of his own reflet
was rather fond



in his petticoat
glowing hot
Ninny of the hard head
filled with ought



the marchpane thief
took his sinecure for fief
who will ever drive him out
Tom-Tom with some borrowed clout?


(teach him that his valued swine
is spun sugar superfine)