DLXX.

Pretty John Watts, We are troubled with rats, Will you drive them out of the house? We have mice, too, in plenty, That feast in the pantry; But let them stay, And nibble away; What harm in a little brown mouse?

Jack Sprat Had a cat, It had but one ear; It went to buy butter, When butter was dear.

On Christmas eve I turn'd the spit, I burnt my fingers, I feel it yet; The cock sparrow flew over the table; The pot began to play with the ladle.

See, saw, Margery Daw, The old hen flew over the malt house, She counted her chickens one by one, Still she missed the little white one, And this is it, this is it, this is it.

Hurly, burly, trumpet trase, The cow was in the market place, Some goes far, and some goes near, But where shall this poor henchman steer?