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Then he was put back on the steeple. How glad he felt to be up in the sunshine again!

“I hope the sailors will look for me to-morrow,” he said.

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Who saw him die? “I,” said the Fly, “With my little eye;

I saw him die.”

Who caught his blood ? “I,” said the Fish, “With my little dish;

I caught his blood.”

Who made his shroud ? “I,” said the Beetle, “With my little needle ;

I made his shroud.”

Who will be the parson? “I,” said the Rook, “With my little book;

I will be the parson.”

Who will dig his grave? “I," said the Owl, “With my spade and trowel;

I'll dig his grave."

Who will be the clerk ? I,” said the Lark, “If 'tis not in the dark;

I will be the clerk.”

Who'll carry him to his grave? “I,” said the Kite, “If 'tis not in the night;

I'll carry him to the grave."

Who'll be the chief mourner ? “I,” said the Dove, “Because of my love;

I'll be chief mourner.”

Who'll sing a psalm ? “I,” said the Thrush,

As she sat in a bush ; “I'll sing a psalm.”

Who will bear the pall ? “We,” said the Wren,

Both the Cock and the Hen; “We will bear the pall."

Who will toll the bell ?
“T,” said the Bull,
“ Because I can pull.”

So, Cock Robin, farewell.

All the birds of the air
Fell to sobbing and sighing,
When they heard the bell toll
For poor Cock Robin's dying.

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Hans was a little shepherd boy. He lived in Germany. One day he was standing with his sheep near a great wood when a hunter rode up to him.

“How far is it to the nearest village, my boy?” asked the hunter.

"It is six miles, sir," said Hans. “But the road is only a sheep track. You could easily miss your way.”

“My boy,” said the hunter with a grave face, “I have been lost in the wood. If you will show me the way I will pay you well.”


Hans shook his head. “I can not leave the sheep, sir,” he said. “They would stray into the wood and be killed by the wolves.”

“Suppose one or two sheep are eaten by the wolves, I will pay you more than you can earn in a year.”

“Sir, I can not go,” said Hans. “These sheep

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