CLXXVII.
[Another version from MS. Sloane, 1489, fol. 17, written in the time of Charles I.]
Hic hoc, the carrion crow, For I have shot something too low: I have quite missed my mark, And shot the poor sow to the heart; Wife, bring treacle in a spoon, Or else the poor sow"s heart will down.
CLXXVIII.
[Song of a little boy while pa.s.sing his hour of solitude in a corn-field.]
Awa" birds, away!
Take a little, and leave a little, And do not come again; For if you do, I will shoot you through, And there is an end of you.
CLXXIX.
If I"d as much money as I could spend, I never would cry old chairs to mend; Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend; I never would cry old chairs to mend.
If I"d as much money as I could tell, I never would cry old clothes to sell; Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell; I never would cry old clothes to sell.
CLx.x.x.
Whistle, daughter, whistle, whistle daughter dear; I cannot whistle, mammy, I cannot whistle clear.
Whistle, daughter, whistle, whistle for a pound; I cannot whistle, mammy, I cannot make a sound.
CLx.x.xI.
I"ll sing you a song, Though not very long, Yet I think it as pretty as any, Put your hand in your purse, You"ll never be worse, And give the poor singer a penny.
CLx.x.xII.
Dame, get up and bake your pies, Bake your pies, bake your pies; Dame, get up and bake your pies, On Christmas-day in the morning.
Dame, what makes your maidens lie, Maidens lie, maidens lie; Dame, what makes your maidens lie, On Christmas-day in the morning?
Dame, what makes your ducks to die, Ducks to die, ducks to die; Dame, what makes your ducks to die, On Christmas-day in the morning?
Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, Cannot fly, cannot fly; Their wings are cut and they cannot fly, On Christmas-day in the morning.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
SEVENTH CLa.s.s--RIDDLES.
CLx.x.xIII.
[Ann.]
There was a girl in our towne, Silk an" satin was her gowne, Silk an" satin, gold an" velvet, Guess her name, three times I"ve tell"d it.
CLx.x.xIV.
[A thorn.]
I went to the wood and got it, I sat me down and looked at it; The more I looked at it the less I liked it, And I brought it home because I couldn"t help it.
CLx.x.xV.
[Sunshine.]
Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more, On the king"s kitchen-door; All the king"s horses, And all the king"s men, Couldn"t drive Hick-a-more, Hack-a-more, Off the king"s kitchen-door!
CLx.x.xVI.
[A pen.]
When I was taken from the fair body, They then cut off my head, And thus my shape was altered; It"s I that make peace between king and king, And many a true lover glad: All this I do and ten times more, And more I could do still, But nothing can I do, Without my guider"s will.
CLx.x.xVII.
[Snuff.]
As I look"d out o" my chamber window I heard something fall; I sent my maid to pick it up, But she couldn"t pick it all.
CLx.x.xVIII.
[A tobacco-pipe.]
I went into my grandmother"s garden, And there I found a farthing.
I went into my next door neighbour"s, There I bought a pipkin and a popkin-- A slipkin and a slopkin, A nailboard, a sailboard, And all for a farthing.
CLx.x.xIX.
[Gloves.]
As I was going o"er London Bridge, I met a cart full of fingers and thumbs!