As I was going to St. Ives
I met a man with seven lives;
Seven lives,
In seven sacks,
Like seven beeves

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond

Whales have calves,
Cats have kittens,
Bears have cubs,
Bats have bittens,
Swans have cygnets,

Some people, and it doesn’t matter

Some singers sing of ladies’ eyes,
And some of ladies lips,
Refined ones praise their ladylike
And course ones hymn their hips.
The Oxford Book of English Verse

First a little
Then a lottle

The solitary huntsman
No coat of pink doth wear,
But midnight black from cap to spu
Upon his midnight mare.
He drones a tuneless jingle

So Thomas Edison
Never drank his medicine;
So Blackstone and Hoyle
Refused cod-liver oil;
So Sir Thomas Malory

When I remember bygone days
I think how evening follows morn;
So many I loved were not yet dead
So many I love were not yet born.

The pig, if I am not mistaken;
Supplies us sausage, ham, and baco
Let others say his heart is big—
I call it stupid of the pig.