Nursery Rhyme. CII. Proverbs.

    The mackerel's cry,
    Is never long dry.

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CCCLXXI. Paradoxes.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXVII. Love And Matrimony.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCVII. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Epitaphs

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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Nursery Rhyme. CIII. Proverbs.


            In July,
    Some reap rye;
            In August,
    If one will not the other must.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. LXXXIV. Proverbs.

    Three straws on a staff,
    Would make a baby cry and laugh.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. C. Proverbs.

    As the days lengthen,
    So the storms strengthen.

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Nursery Rhyme. XCVIII. Proverbs.

    A sunshiny shower,
    Won't last half an hour.

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Nursery Rhyme. LXXXIX. Proverbs.

        [One version of the following song, which I believe to be the genuine one, is written on the last leaf of MS. Harl. 6580, between the lines of a fragment of an old charter, originally used for binding the book, in a hand of the end of the seventeenth century, but unfortunately it is scarcely adapted for the "ears polite" of modern days.]

    A man of words and not of deeds,
    Is like a garden full of weeds;
    And when the weeds begin to grow,
    It's like a garden full of snow;
    And when the snow begins to fall,
    It's like a bird upon the wall;
    And when the bird away does fly,
    It's like an eagle in the sky;
    And when the sky begins to roar,
    It's like a lion at the door;
    And when the door begins to crack,
    It's like a stick across you...

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. XCII. Proverbs.

    A pullet in the pen
    Is worth a hundred in the fen!

Unknown