DLXXXIV.

I had a little pony, His name was Dapple-gray, I lent him to a lady, To ride a mile away; She whipped him, she slashed him, She rode him through the mire; I would not lend my pony now For all the lady's hire.

Bah, bah, black sheep, Have you any wool? Yes, marry, have I, Three bags full: One for my master, And one for my dame, But none for the little boy Who cries in the lane.