LXVII.

My lady Wind, my lady Wind, Went round about the house to find A chink to get her foot in: She tried the key-hole in the door, She tried the crevice in the floor, And drove the chimney soot in.

And then one night when it was dark, She blew up such a tiny spark, That all the house was pothered: From it she raised up such a flame, As flamed away to Belting Lane, And White Cross folks were smothered.

And thus when once, my little dears, A whisper reaches itching ears, The same will come, you'll find: Take my advice, restrain the tongue, Remember what old nurse has sung Of busy lady Wind!

Old Abram Brown is dead and gone, You'll never see him more; He used to wear a long brown coat, That button'd down before.