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- The Only True Mother Goose Melodies - 5/10 -


I met the finest ram, sir, that ever fed on hay, On hay, on hay, on hay, I met the finest ram, sir, that ever fed on hay.

This ram was fat behind, sir; this ram was fat before; This ram was ten yards round, sir; indeed he was not more. No more, no more, no more; This ram was ten yards round, sir; indeed he was no more.

The horns grew on his head, sir, they were so wondrous high, As I've been plainly told, sir, they reached up to the sky. The sky, the sky, the sky, As I've been plainly told, sir, they reached up to the sky.

The tail grew on his back, sir, was six yards and an ell, And it was sent to Derby to toll the market bell, The bell, the bell, the bell, And it was sent to Derby to toll the market bell.

Hogs in the garden, catch 'em, Towser; Cows in the corn-field, run boys, run, Cats in the cream-pot, run girls, run girls; Fire on the mountains, run boys, run.

The Cuckoo is a bonny bird, She sings as she flies, She brings us good tidings, And tells us no lies.

She sucks little bird's eggs To make her voice clear, And never cries Cuckoo! Till Spring of the year.

Lavender blue, and Rosemary green, When I am king, you shall be queen, Call up my maids at four of the clock, Some to the wheel, and some to the rock, Some to make hay, and some to shell corn, And you and I shall keep the bed warm.

The lion and the Unicorn Were fighting for the crown-- The lion beat the unicorn All about the town. Some gave them white bread, And some gave them brown, Some gave them plum-cake, And sent them out of town.

Little Johnny Pringle had a little Pig. It was very little, so was not very big. As it was playing beneath the shed, In half a minute poor Piggy was dead. So Johnny Pringle he sat down and cried, And Betty Pringle she laid down and died. There is the history of one, two and three, Johnny Pringle, Betty Pringle, and Piggy Wiggie.

You owe me five shillings, Say the bells of St. Helen's.

When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich, Say the bells of Shoreditch.

When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know, Says the great Bell of Bow.

Two sticks in an apple, Ring the bells of Whitechapel.

Halfpence and farthings, Say the bells of St. Martin's.

Kettles and pans, Say the bells of St. Giles.

Old shoes and slippers, Say the bells of St. Peter's.

Pokers and tongs, Say the bells of St. John's.

Once in my life I married a wife, And where do you think I found her?

On Gretna Green, in velvet sheen, And I took up a stick to pound her.

She jumped over a barberry-bush, And I jumped over a timber,

I showed her a gay gold ring, And she showed me her finger.

Ride a cock horse to Charing-Cross, To see a young woman Jump on a white horse, With rings on her fingers And bells on her toes, And she shall have music Wherever she goes.

Johnny shall have a new bonnet, And Johnny shall go to the fair, And Johnny shall have a new ribbon To tie up his bonny brown hair.

And why may not I love Johnny, And why may not Johnny love me? And why may not I love Johnny, As well as another body?

And here's a leg for a stocking, And here's a foot for a shoe, And he has a kiss for daddy, And two for his mammy also.

And why may not I love Johnny? And why, &c. &c.

Who comes here? A Grenadier. What do you want? A pot of beer. Where's your money? I forgot. Get you gone, you drunken sot.

Smiling girls, rosy boys, Come and buy my little toys, Monkeys made of gingerbread And sugar horses tinted red.

There was an old woman, she liv'd in a shoe, She had so many children she didn't know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread, She whipt them all soundly and put them to bed.

Heigh ding a ding, what shall I sing? How many holes in a skimmer? Four and twenty. I'm half starving! Mother, pray give me some dinner.

Hey rub-a-dub, ho rub-a-dub, three maids in a tub, And who do you think was there? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker, And all of them gone to the fair.

TO BE SUNG IN A HIGH WIND.

Arthur O'Bower has broken his band, And he comes roaring up the land, King of Scots with all his power Never can turn Sir Arthur O'Bower.

Hush-a-bye, baby, upon the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, Down tumble cradle and baby and all.

Daffy-down-dilly is new come to town, With a petticoat green, and a bright yellow gown, And her white blossoms are peeping around.

There was an old woman, and what do you think? She liv'd upon nothing--but victuals and drink: Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet, And yet this old lady scarce ever was quiet.

The rose is red, the violet is blue, The gillyflower sweet--and so are you. These are the words you have me say For a pair of new gloves on Easter-day.

Great A, little a, bouncing B, The Cat's in the cupboard, and she can't see.


The Only True Mother Goose Melodies - 5/10

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