Silly Symphonies - Who Killed Cock Robin? (1935)
I also did an entry on an 1865 version of The Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin last year. The best thing about this one is that Jenny Wren is clearly Mae West.
Photo
Ladybugs heaven (by LucaDeravignone.com)
Time for a freaky nursery rhyme. This time it’s imperiled bugs:
Ladybird, ladybird fly away home,
Your house is on fire and your children are gone,
All except one,
And her name is Ann,
And she hid under the baking pan.
Or:
Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home,
Your house is on fire,
Your children shall burn!
Lovely, right? It’s like the Rats of N.I.H.M only not as charming. I suppose I’m not supposed to identify with the bug though.
Sometimes the ‘little one’ isn’t hiding:
Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
Your house is on fire;
Your children all roam.
Except little Nan
Who sits in her pan
Weaving her laces as fast as she can.
Or:
Ladybird, ladybird, / Fly away home. / Your house is on fire, / Your children are flown.
All but a little one / Under a stone. / Fly home, Ladybird, / ‘Ere it be gone.
And:
Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home, / Your horse is on foot, your children are gone;
All but one, and that’s little John, / And he lies under the grindle stone.
A grindle stone is a grinding stone—like one that would be used to grind wheat. Probably not so great for a ladybug.
Photo
Three children sliding on the ice
Upon a summer’s day,
As it fell out, they all fell in,
The rest they ran away.
Oh, had these children been at school,
Or sliding on dry ground,
Ten thousand pounds to one penny
They had not then been drowned.
Ye parents who have children dear,
And ye, too, who have none,
If you would keep them safe abroad
Pray keep them safe at home.
Now, THAT is heartwarming imagery for small children. Before warning labels there were nursery rhymes.
From The Real Mother Goose, 1916. Illustration above by Walter Crane, in The Sleeping Beauty Picture Book.
The Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin
Much like Babes in the Wood, it’s easy to see why The Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin fell out of favor over the years.
Scholars don’t know how old the song actually is, but the oldest text version dates to 1744.
And, like so many nursery rhymes, it’s terrifically twisted.
From Original Designs by
H. L. STEPHENS
(1865)
You can find it here. The bummer of this version is that the big real deal for imagery is the robin with the arrow in it’s breast—the Stephens version leaves it out.
Who killed Cock Robin?With my bow and arrow, I, said the Sparrow,I kill’d Cock Robin.
Who saw him die? With my little eye, I, said the Fly, I saw him die.
Who caught his blood? With my little dish, I, said the Fish, I caught his blood.
Who’ll make his shroud? With my thread and needle, I, said the Beetle, I’ll make his shroud.
Who’ll dig his grave? With my spade and trowel, I, said the Owl, I’ll dig his grave.
Who’ll bear the pall? Both the Cock and the Hen, We, said the Wren, We’ll bear the pall.
Who’ll carry him to the grave? If it’s not in the night, I, said the Kite, I’ll carry him to the grave.
Who’ll be the Parson? With my little book, I, said the Rook, I’ll be the Parson.
Who’ll sing a Psalm? As he sat in the bush, I, said the Thrush, I’ll sing a Psalm?
Who’ll be the Clerk? If it’s not in the dark, I, said the Lark, I’ll be the Clerk.
Who’ll be chief mourner? Because I mourned for my love, I, said the Dove, I’ll be chief mourner.
Who’ll carry the link? I’ll fetch it in a minute, I, said the Linnet, I’ll carry the link.
Who’ll toll the bell? Because I can pull, I, said the Bull, I’ll toll the bell.
All the birds in the air
When they heard the bell
Fell to sighing and sobbing
For poor Cock Robin.
While the cruel Cock Sparrow, Was hung on a gibbet
The cause of their grief, Next day, like a thief.
