CCCCLXX.

I doubt, I doubt my fire is out, My little wife isn't at home; I'll saddle my dog, and I'll bridle my cat, And I'll go fetch my little wife home.

[Illustration]

CCCCLXXI.

Young Roger came tapping at Dolly's window, Thumpaty, thumpaty, thump! He asked for admittance, she answered him "No!" Frumpaty, frumpaty, frump! "No, no, Roger, no! as you came you may go!" Stumpaty, stumpaty, stump!

CCCCLXXII.

Thomas and Annis met in the dark. "Good morning," said Thomas. "Good morning," said Annis. And so they began to talk.

"I'll give you," says Thomas, "Give me," said Annis; "I prithee, love, tell me what?" "Some nuts," said Thomas. "Some nuts," said Annis; "Nuts are good to crack."

"I love you," said Thomas. "Love me!" said Annis; "I prithee love tell me where?" "In my heart," said Thomas. "In your heart!" said Annis; "How came you to love me there?"

"I'll marry you," said Thomas. "Marry me!" said Annis; "I prithee, love, tell me when?" "Next Sunday," said Thomas. "Next Sunday," said Annis; "I wish next Sunday were come."

CCCCLXXIII.

Saw ye aught of my love a coming from ye market! A peck of meal upon her back, A babby in her basket; Saw ye aught of my love a coming from the market?

CCCCLXXIV.

[This nursery song may probably commemorate a part of Tom Thumb's history, extant in a Little Danish work, treating of 'Swain Tomling, a man no bigger than a thumb, who would be married to a woman three ells and three quarters long.' See Mr. Thoms' Preface to 'Tom & Lincoln,' p. xi.]

I had a little husband, No bigger than my thumb; I put him in a pint pot, And there I bid him drum.

I bought a little horse, That galloped up and down; I bridled him, and saddled him, And sent him out of town.

I gave him some garters, To garter up his hose, And a little handkerchief, To wipe his pretty nose.

CCCCLXXV.

Can you make me a cambric shirt, Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme; Without any seam or needlework? And you shall be a true lover of mine.

Can you wash it in yonder well, Parsley, &c. Where never sprung water, nor rain ever fell? And you, &c.

Can you dry it on yonder thorn, Parsley, &c. Which never bore blossom since Adam was born? And you, &c.

Now you have ask'd me questions three, Parsley, &c. I hope you'll answer as many for me, And you, &c.

Can you find me an acre of land, Parsley, &c. Between the salt water and the sea sand? And you, &c.

Can you plough it with a ram's horn, Parsley, &c. And sow it all over with one pepper-corn? And you, &c.

Can you reap it with a sickle of leather, Parsley, &c. And bind it up with a peacock's feather? And you, &c.

When you have done and finish'd your work, Parsley, &c. Then come to me for your cambric shirt, And you, &c.

CCCCLXXVI.

Where have you been to-day, Billy, my son? Where have you been to-day, my only man! I've been a-wooing, mother; make my bed soon, For I'm sick at heart, and fain would lay down.

What have you ate to-day, Billy, my son? What have you ate to-day, my only man? I've ate an eel-pie, mother; make my bed soon, For I'm sick at heart, and shall die before noon!

CCCCLXXVII.

I married my wife by the light of the moon, A tidy housewife, a tidy one; She never gets up until it is noon, And I hope she'll prove a tidy one.

And when she gets up, she is slovenly laced, A tidy, &c. She takes up the poker to roll out the paste, And I hope, &c.

She churns her butter in a boot, A tidy, &c. And instead of a churnstaff she puts in her foot, And I hope, &c.

She lays her cheese on the scullery shelf, A tidy, &c. And she never turns it till it turns itself. And I hope, &c.

CCCCLXXVIII.

There was a little maid, and she was afraid, That her sweetheart would come unto her; So she went to bed, and cover'd up her head And fasten'd the door with a skewer.

CCCCLXXIX.

"Madam, I am come to court you, If your favour I can gain." "Ah, Ah!" said she, "you are a bold fellow, If I e'er see your face again!"

"Madam, I have rings and diamonds, Madam, I have houses and land, Madam, I have a world of treasure, All shall be at your command."

"I care not for rings and diamonds, I care not for houses and lands, I care not for a world of treasure, So that I have but a handsome man."

"Madam, you think much of beauty, Beauty hasteneth to decay, For the fairest of flowers that grow in summer Will decay and fade away."

CCCCLXXX.

Up street, and down street, Each window's made of glass; If you go to Tommy Tickler's house, You'll find a pretty lass.

CCCCLXXXI.

Oh! mother, I shall be married to Mr. Punchinello. To Mr. Punch, To Mr. Joe, To Mr. Nell, To Mr. Lo. Mr. Punch, Mr. Joe, Mr. Nell, Mr. Lo, To Mr. Punchinello.

CCCCLXXXII.

Little John Jiggy Jag, He rode a penny nag, And went to Wigan to woo; When he came to a beck, He fell and broke his neck,-- Johnny, how dost thou now?

I made him a hat, Of my coat-lap, And stockings of pearly blue. A hat and a feather, To keep out cold weather; So, Johnny, how dost thou now?

CCCCLXXXIII. [Cumberland courtship.]

Bonny lass, canny lass, willta be mine? Thou'se neither wesh dishes, nor sarrah (_serve_) the swine, Thou sall sit on a cushion, and sew up a seam, And thou sall eat strawberries, sugar, and cream!

CCCCLXXXIV.

Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,[*] They were two bonny lasses: They built their house upon the lea, And covered it with rashes.

Bessy kept the garden gate, And Mary kept the pantry: Bessy always had to wait, While Mary lived in plenty.

[Footnote *: The common tradition respecting these celebrated beauties is as follows:--"In the year 1666, when the plague raged at Perth, these ladies retired into solitude, to avoid infection; built on a small streamlet, tributary to the Almond, in a sequestered corner called _Burn-brae_, a bower, and lived in it together, till a young man, whom they both tenderly loved, in his visits communicated to them the fatal contagion, of which they soon after died."]

CCCCLXXXV.

Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down, and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after.

CCCCLXXXVI.

Little Tom Dandy Was my first suitor, He had a spoon and dish, And a little pewter.

CCCCLXXXVII.

There was a little pretty lad, And he lived by himself, And all the meat he got He put upon a shelf.

The rats and the mice Did lead him such a life, That he went to Ireland To get himself a wife.

The lanes they were so broad, And the fields they were so narrow, He couldn't get his wife home Without a wheelbarrow.

The wheelbarrow broke, My wife she got a kick, The deuce take the wheelbarrow, That spared my wife's neck.

CCCCLXXXVIII.

Rowley Powley, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry; When the girls begin to cry, Rowley Powley runs away.

CCCCLXXXIX.

Margaret wrote a letter, Seal'd it with her finger, Threw it in the dam For the dusty miller. Dusty was his coat, Dusty was the siller, Dusty was the kiss I'd from the dusty miller. If I had my pockets Full of gold and siller, I would give it all To my dusty miller.

_Chorus._ O the little, little, Rusty, dusty, miller.

Love your own, kiss your own. Love your own mother, hinny, For if she was dead and gone, You'd ne'er get such another, hinny.