The Complete Collection of Pictures and Songs by Randolph Caldecott

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Title: The Complete Collection of Pictures and Songs

Author: Randolph Caldecott

Illustrator: Randolph Caldecott

Release Date: March 5, 2020 [EBook #61562]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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The

Complete Collection

of

PICTURES & SONGS

BY

RANDOLPH CALDECOTT

R. CALDECOTT’S
COLLECTION OF

PICTURES & SONGS

The

Complete Collection

OF

PICTURES & SONGS

BY

RANDOLPH CALDECOTT

ENGRAVED AND PRINTED BY EDMUND EVANS

WITH A PREFACE

BY

AUSTIN DOBSON

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS

Broadway, Ludgate Hill

GLASGOW, AND NEW YORK

1887

This Edition is Limited to 800 Copies.

No. 272

CONTENTS

PAGE

Cover to R. Caldecott’s Collection of Pictures and Songs—Frontispiece
4

Cover to R. Caldecott’s Picture Book—No. 1
11

The House that Jack Built
13

The Diverting History of John Gilpin
47

The Mad Dog
81

The Babes in the Wood
115

Cover to R. Caldecott’s Picture Book—No. 2
149

The Three Jovial Huntsmen
151

Sing a Song for Sixpence
185

The Queen of Hearts
219

The Farmer’s Boy
253

Cover to R. Caldecott’s Second Collection of Pictures and Songs
287

Cover to the Hey Diddle Diddle Picture Book
289

The Milkmaid
291

Hey Diddle Diddle
317

Baby Bunting
331

A Frog he Would a-Wooing Go
343

The Fox jumps over the Parson’s Gate
369

Cover to the Panjandrum Picture Book
395

Come Lasses and Lads
397

Ride a Cock-Horse to Banbury Cross
423

A Farmer went trotting upon his Grey Mare
437

An Elegy on the Glory of her Sex—Mrs. Mary Blaize
449

The Great Panjandrum Himself
477–500

T

PREFACE.

HE first two of the children’s books here reproduced were published in 1878; the last two in 1885, only a few weeks before Mr.
Caldecott’s premature death. He had not intended to make any further additions to their number, and the series is

consequently complete. Into what new domain his still-creative genius would have wandered,—for he was well on the hither side of the
period fixed by tradition for the decline of human invention, and in spite of ill-health, was gifted with a rare buoyancy and elasticity of
temperament,—it is idle to conjecture. But his gradual development from the tentative sketches of his early days into the purely
individual manner of his latest work, had been unmistakeable enough to justify the belief that even higher triumphs might have been
reserved to his ripened powers. Would he not have gained fresh laurels as a designer in some unfamiliar field?—as a modeller of bas-
relief touched with his own distinctive quality?—as a delicate and dexterous water-colour artist? None can answer these questions now.
But at least he has left us a definite legacy of accomplished work, for which we can scarcely be too grateful, since it is unique in kind,
and certain to be enduring in charm.

Of this legacy, the two volumes of “Old Christmas” and “Bracebridge Hall,” and the present collection of picture-books are surely the

most memorable. In decorating the gentle and kindly pages of Goldsmith’s American disciple, Mr. Caldecott seems for the first time to
have discovered a fitting outlet of his cherished memories of the country-side where he was bred, and of the picturesque old town where
he was born;—for those loving studies of animal life which had delighted him as a boy;—for that feeling for the old-world in costume
and accessory which was a native impulse in his talent. No books of this century have been so genially, so loyally, so sympathetically
illustrated. And yet these Irving volumes, however excellent, were but the stepping stones to the artist’s more signal successes in nursery
literature. “John Gilpin” and “The Mad Dog” are illustrated books; but they are illustrated books “with a difference.” Mr. Caldecott found
in them his theme, it is true: but it was a theme upon which his pencil played the most engaging variations. Who, for example, ever
before conceived of Madam Blaize as a pawnbroker, because—

“She freely lent to all the poor,—

Who left a pledge behind”?

Who, again, had penetrated the hidden secret of that corroding jealousy which led the dog to bite the prim and impeccable personage
who afterwards so fatally disagreed with him? And where else had the world been shewn the authentic academic presence,—the very
“form and pressure,”—of “The Great Panjandrum Himself,” “with the little round button at top;” or imagined the hurly-burly of those
headlong, horn-blowing, cheek-bursting and hopelessly futile “Jovial Huntsmen”? Nor were these all, or even a tithe of the sportive
surprises, the undreamed disclosures, of these captivating pages. Around and about them the artist has woven the most humourous
ingenuities, the most freakish and frolicsome fancies; he has set them in the most inviting framework of town and country; he has
enlisted in his service the most blithe and winsome figures of women and children, the most irresistible dogs and horses and birds. The
open-air life of England, with all its freshness and breeziness, its pastoral seduction and its picturesque environment, is everywhere
present in his work. He has the art, too, of being elegant without being effeminate, and of being tender without being mawkish. It was
said of a great English novelist that his laugh clears the air; it may be said of these light-hearted pictures that their mirth clears not only
the air but the imagination. No taint clings to them of morbid affectation or sickly sentiment: they are the genuine pictorial utterances of
a manly, happy nature, delighting in beauty, delighting in innocent pleasure, and dowered as few English artists have been with the gifts
of refinement and grace.

A. D.

( 11 )

R. Caldecott’s PICTURE BOOK

The BABES in the WOOD
The HOUSE that JACK built

The MAD DOG
John GILPIN

( 13 )

The House that Jack built.

ONE OF R Caldecott’s Picture books

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS

10

( 15 )

The House that Jack Built.

( 16 )

( 17 )

This is the House that

Jack built.

( 18 )

JACK

( 19 )

( 20 )

( 21 )

This is the Malt,
That lay in the House that

Jack built.

This is the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House

that Jack built.

( 22 )

( 23 )

( 24 )

( 25 )

This is the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,

That lay in the House that Jack built.

( 26 )

( 27 )

( 28 )

( 29 )

This is the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House that

Jack built.

( 30 )

( 31 )

( 32 )

This is the Cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House that

Jack built.

( 33 )

( 34 )

( 35 )

( 36 )

This is the Maiden all forlorn,
That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House

that Jack built.

This is the Man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the Maiden all forlorn,
That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House

that Jack built.

( 37 )

( 38 )

( 39 )

( 40 )

This is the Priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the Man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the Maiden all forlorn,
That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House

that Jack built.

This is the Cock that crowed in the morn,
That waked the Priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the Man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the Maiden all forlorn,
That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House

that Jack built.

( 41 )

( 42 )

( 43 )

( 44 )

This is the Farmer who sowed the corn,
That fed the Cock that crowed in the morn,
That waked the Priest all shaven and shorn,
That married the Man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the Maiden all forlorn,
That milked the Cow with the crumpled horn,
That tossed the Dog,
That worried the Cat,
That killed the Rat,
That ate the Malt,
That lay in the House

that Jack built.

( 45 )

( 47 )

The Diverting History of JOHN GILPIN
ONE OF R. Caldecott’s Picture Books

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS

( 49 )

The Diverting History

of John Gilpin.

( 50 )

( 51 )

THE DIVERTING HISTORY

OF

JOHN GILPIN:

Showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again.

WRITTEN BY Wm. COWPER

WITH DRAWINGS BY R. CALDECOTT

John Gilpin was a citizen

Of credit and renown,

A train-band captain eke was he,

Of famous London town.

John Gilpin’s spouse said to her dear,

“Though wedded we have been

These twice ten tedious years, yet we

No holiday have seen.

“To-morrow is our wedding-day,

And we will then repair

Unto the ‘Bell’ at Edmonton,

All in a chaise and pair.

“My sister, and my sister’s child,

Myself, and children three,

Will fill the chaise; so you must ride

On horseback after we.”

( 52 )

The Linendraper bold

He soon replied, “I do admire

Of womankind but one,

And you are she, my dearest dear,

Therefore it shall be done.

“I am a linendraper bold,

As all the world doth know,

And my good friend the calender

Will lend his horse to go.”

( 53 )

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, “That’s well said;

And for that wine is dear,

We will be furnished with our own,

Which is both bright and clear.”

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;

O’erjoyed was he to find,

That though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind.

( 54 )

( 55 )

The morning came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allowed

To drive up to the door, lest all

Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stayed,

Where they all did get in;

Six precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,

Were never folks so glad!

The stones did rattle underneath,

As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse’s side

Seized fast the flowing mane,

And up he got, in haste to ride,

But soon came down again;

For saddletree scarce reached had he,

His journey to begin,

When, turning round his head, he saw

Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,

Although it grieved him sore,

Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,

Would trouble him much more.

The 3 customers

( 56 )

’Twas long before the customers

Were suited to their mind,

When Betty screaming came downstairs,

“The wine is left behind!”

“Good lack!” quoth he, “yet bring it me,

My leathern belt likewise,

In which I bear my trusty sword

When I do exercise.”

Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)

Had two stone bottles found,

To hold the liquor that she loved,

And keep it safe and sound.

Each bottle had a curling ear,

Through which the belt he drew,

And hung a bottle on each side,

To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he might be

Equipped from top to toe,

His long red cloak, well brushed and neat,

He manfully did throw.

( 57 )

Now see him mounted once again

Upon his nimble steed,

Full slowly pacing o’er the stones,

With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road

Beneath his well-shod feet,

The snorting beast began to trot,

Which galled him in his seat.

( 58 )

“So, fair and softly!” John he cried,

But John he cried in vain;

That trot became a gallop soon,

In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must

Who cannot sit upright,

He grasped the mane with both his hands,

And eke with all his might.

His horse, who never in that sort

Had handled been before,

What thing upon his back had got,

Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;

Away went hat and wig;

He little dreamt, when he set out,

Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly

Like streamer long and gay,

Till, loop and button failing both,

At last it flew away.

( 59 )

Then might all people well discern

The bottles he had slung;

A bottle swinging at each side,

As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed,

Up flew the windows all;

And every soul cried out, “Well done!”

As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin—who but he?

His fame soon spread around;

“He carries weight! he rides a race!

’Tis for a thousand pound!”

And still as fast as he drew near,

’Twas wonderful to view

How in a trice the turnpike-men

Their gates wide open threw.

( 60 )

( 62 )

And now, as he went bowing down

His reeking head full low,

The bottles twain behind his back

Were shattered at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road,

Most piteous to be seen,

Which made the horse’s flanks to smoke,

As they had basted been.

( 63 )

But still he seemed to carry weight,

With leathern girdle braced;

For all might see the bottle-necks

Still dangling at his waist.