CCCCXCV.

The cuckoo's a fine bird, He sings as he flies; He brings us good tidings, He tells us no lies.

He sucks little birds' eggs, To make his voice clear; And when he sings "cuckoo!" The summer is near.

CCCCXCVI. [A provincial version of the same.]

The cuckoo's a vine bird, A zengs as a vlies; A brengs us good tidins, And tells us no lies; A zucks th' smael birds' eggs, To make his voice clear; And the mwore a cries "cuckoo!" The zummer draws near.

CCCCXCVII.

I had a little dog, and his name was Blue Bell, I gave him some work, and he did it very well; I sent him up stairs to pick up a pin, He stepped in the coal-scuttle up to the chin; I sent him to the garden to pick some sage, He tumbled down and fell in a rage; I sent him to the cellar to draw a pot of beer, He came up again and said there was none there.

CCCCXCVIII.

The cat sat asleep by the side of the fire, The mistress snored loud as a pig: Jack took up his fiddle, by Jenny's desire, And struck up a bit of a jig.

CCCCXCIX.

I had a little hobby-horse, and it was well shod, It carried me to the mill-door, trod, trod, trod; When I got there I gave a great shout, Down came the hobby-horse, and I cried out. Fie upon the miller, he was a great beast, He would not come to my house, I made a little feast, I had but little, but I would give him some, For playing of his bag-pipes and beating his drum.

Pit, Pat, well-a-day, Little Robin flew away; Where can little Robin be? Gone into the cherry tree.

Little Poll Parrot Sat in his garret, Eating toast and tea; A little brown mouse, Jumped into the house, And stole it all away.