CCXXXII.

[A fire-brand with sparks on it.]

As I was going o'er London Bridge, And peep'd through a nick, I saw four and twenty ladies Riding on a stick!

CCXXXIII.

[An Icicle.]

Lives in winter, Dies in summer, And grows with its root upwards!

When I went up sandy hill, I met a sandy boy; I cut his throat, I sucked his blood, And left his skin a hanging-o.