You've heard about little Miss Muffett, -
The maiden who sat on a tuffet,
Who was frightened away from her curds and whey
By a spider who came to snuff it?
Well, she was a sweet little midget;
She wasn't set all in a fidget
By having to stay two minutes from play
To pick up the dishes for Bridget.
She was ready, and handy, and nimble,
With scissors and needle and thimble;
And always so true, the very maid knew
"Miss Muffet could never dissemble."
She read from her own little primer
To grandma, whose eyes had got dimmer;
And tripped with a laugh to bring her her staff,
For a walk in the sunny noon shimmer.
The pet of the school and the teacher,
At play there was none who could reach her;
But, once in the house, she was still as a mouse,
And recited as glib as a preacher.
Coming in from her work or her races,
She hung up her things in their places;
The mud of the street was put off from her feet,
And the carpet knew none of its traces.
She trained up her dolly so wisely,
It would do as she bade it, precisely,
And to show it the way, at her work or her play
She served her own mother as nicely.
To the finch and the wren in the thicket,
The squirrel, the toad, and the cricket,
She'd chatter and laugh; and the clumsy red calf,
When she offered a finger, would lick it.
But ah! just one grace was denied her,
She would never show love to a spider:
She even would broom the wretch from the room,
To spin in a world that is wider.
Miss Muffett