I’m a Brave, Brave Mouse.

I’m a brave, brave mouse.

I go marching through the house.

And I’m not afraid of anything.

For danger I’m prepared,

And I’m never, never scared.

No, I’m not afraid of anything.

What about a cat?

What – a cat?

Yes a cat!

Big and fat.

Well, except for a cat –

I’m not afraid of anything.

I’m a brave, brave mouse.

I go marching through the house.

And I’m not afraid of anything.

For danger I’m prepared,

And I’m never, never scared.

No, I’m not afraid of anything.

What about a trap?

What – a trap?

Yes a trap!

That goes snap.

Well, except for a trap –

I’m not afraid of anything.

I’m a brave, brave mouse.

I go marching through the house.

And I’m not afraid of anything.

For danger I’m prepared,

And I’m never, never scared.

No, I’m not afraid of anything.

What about a owl?

What – a owl?

Yes a owl –

On the prowl.

Well, except for a owl –

I’m not afraid of anything.

An Owl and a Pussy-Cat.

The owl the pussy-cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea-green boat.

They took some honey and plenty of money

Wrapped up in five pound note.

The owl looked up at the stars above

And sang to a small guitar

“Oh, lovely pussy, oh, pussy, my love,

What a beautiful pussy you are, you are,

What a beautiful pussy you are.”

Pussy said to the owl: “You elegant fowl,

How charmingly sweet you sing!

Oh, let us be married

Too long have we tarried,

But what shall we do for a ring?”

They sailed away for a year and a day

To the land were the bong-tree grows,

And there in the wood a piggy-wig stood

With the ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose

With the ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear pig are you willing to sell for one shilling

Your ring?” Said the piggy: “I will.”

So they took it away and were married next day

By the turkey who lived on the hill.

They dined on mince and slices of quince

Which they ate with a runcible spoon.

And hand in hand on the edge of the sand

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon, the moon.

They danced by the light of the moon.

Daffodils.

by Wiliam Wordsworth

I wander’d lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

Continuous as the stars that shine

and twinkle on the Milky Way

They stretch’d in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they

Outdid the sparking waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company.

I gazed – and gazed – but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude

And then my heart with pleasure fills

And dances with the daffodils.

Hamlet.

by Wiliam Shakespeare:

(monologue)

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep;

No more; and, by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, ‘tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There’s the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of despised love? The law’s delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover’d country from whose bourn

No traveler returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action. Soft you now.

The feir Ophelia. Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remembered.

When the English Tongue we speak.

When the English tongue we speak

Why is “break” not rhymed with “weak”?

When we want to make a verse,

We can’t rhyme a “horse” with “worse”.

“Beard” is different from “heard”,

“Lord” is not pronounced like “word”;

“Cow” is cow, but “show” is show;

“Do” is never rhymed with “go”.

Think of “rose” and “nose” and “lose”,

And of “goose” and tet of “choose”.

“Cough” and “through” don’t rhyme with “plough”

Not do “rough” with “dough” with “bough”.

Don’t rhyme “flood” or “food” with “good”,

You’d be laughed at if tou should.

We have “year’ and “hear” and “pear”,

“Come” and “home”, and “are” and “care”,

“Five” and “give”, and “boot” and “foot”,

“Post” and “cost”, and “shut” and “put”.

And since “lay” is rhymed with “say”,

Why not “laid” with “said” I pray?

Wherefore “done” and “gone” and “stone”?

Is there any reason known?

And in short it seems to me

Sounds and letters disagree.