CLXXXII.

Dame, get up and bake your pies, Bake your pies, bake your pies; Dame, get up and bake your pies, On Christmas-day in the morning.

Dame, what makes your maidens lie, Maidens lie, maidens lie; Dame, what makes your maidens lie, On Christmas-day in the morning?

Dame, what makes your ducks to die, Ducks to die, ducks to die; Dame, what makes your ducks to die, On Christmas-day in the morning?

Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, Cannot fly, cannot fly; Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, On Christmas-day in the morning.

[Illustration]

SEVENTH CLASS--RIDDLES.

CLXXXIII.

[Ann.]

There was a girl in our towne, Silk an' satin was her gowne, Silk an' satin, gold an' velvet, Guess her name, three times I've tell'd it.

[A thorn.]

I went to the wood and got it, I sat me down and looked at it; The more I looked at it the less I liked it, And I brought it home because I couldn't help it.

[Sunshine.]

Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more, On the king's kitchen-door; All the king's horses, And all the king's men, Couldn't drive Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more, Off the king's kitchen-door!