The Poetry Corner

Baby's Trotting Song

By Clara Doty Bates

[Daintily] Come, see how the ladies ride, All so pretty, all so gay, In their beauty, in their pride, Down Broadway; Prancing horses silver shod, All so pretty, all so gay; Princely feathers bend and nod, Down Broadway. [Roughly] Jiggety-jog, jiggety-jog, Over the mountain, through the bog-- That's the way the farmers go, Hear the news and see the show; Pumpkins round strapped on behind, Eggs in baskets, too, you'll find, Soon to change for calico-- That's the way the farmers go. [Tea-Bell Accompaniment] Bells a-jingle, fingers tingle, Ditto toes, likewise nose. The wind doth blow, And all the snow Around doth scatter; Our teeth they chatter, But that's no matter-- The song rings clear With a Happy New Year, And never a mutter, As we fly in our cutter. [Trot to Boston] Jingle, jar, horse car, Leave you near, or take you far. Take a seat upon my lap, Cling on, swing on by the strap; Here a stop, and there a start-- Let me off, I'll take a cart! [Boisterously] Sword and pistols by their side, And that's the way the officers ride! Boots stretched out like a letter V, we belong to the cavalry! Over the hurdles after the hounds, tirra-la! the hunting-horn sounds-- Dashaway, slashaway, reckless and fast! Crashaway, smashaway, tumbled at last!