396.

AT Brill on the Hill,

The wind blows shrill,

The cook no meat can dress;
At Stow in the Wold

The wind blows cold,-

I know no more than this.

397.

A MAN went a hunting at Reigate,
And wished to leap over a high gate;
Says the owner, "Go round,

With your gun and your hound,

For you never shall leap over my gate."

398.

THE little priest of Felton,
The little priest of Felton,

He kill'd a mouse within his house,
And ne'er a one to help him.

399.

[The following verses are said by Aubrey to have been in his time sung by the girls of Oxfordshire in a sport called Leap Candle, which is now obsolete. See Thoms's "Anecdotes and Traditions," p. 96.]

THE tailor of Bicester,

He has but one eye;

He cannot cut a pair of green galagaskins, If he were to try.

R

400.

KING'S SUTTON is a pretty town,
And lies all in a valley;
There is a pretty ring of bells,
Besides a bowling alley:
Wine and liquor in good store,
Pretty maidens plenty;

Can a man desire more?

There ain't such a town in twenty.

401.

DICK and Tom, Will and John
Brought me from Nottingham.

THE girl in the lane, that couldn't speak plain, Cried "gobble, gobble, gobble:"

The man on the hill, that couldn't stand still, Went hobble hobble, hobble.

403.

Goosy goosy gander,

Who stands yonder?

404.

GOOSEY goosey gander,
Where shall I wander?
Up stairs, down stairs,

And in my lady's chamber;
There I met an old man

That would not say his prayers;
I took him by the left leg,
And threw him down stairs.

405.

BABY and I

Were baked in a pie,

The gravy was wonderful hot:
We had nothing to pay

To the baker that day,

And so we crept out of the pot.

406.

WHAT are little boys made of, made of,
What are little boys made of?

Snaps and snails, and puppy-dog's tails;

And that's what little boys are made of, made of. What are little girls made of, made of, made of, What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice, and all that 's nice;

And that's what little girls are made of, made of.

407.

go!

BLOW, wind, blow! and go, mill,
That the miller may grind his corn;
That the baker may take it,

And into rolls make it,

And send us some hot in the morn.

408.

WHEN Jacky's a very good boy,
He shall have cakes and a custard;
But when he does nothing but cry,
He shall have nothing but mustard.

409.

THE Quaker's wife got up to bake,
Her children all about her,

She gave them every one a cake,
And the miller wants his moulter.

410.

WHO Comes here?

A grenadier.
What do you want?
A pot of beer.

Where's your money?

I've forgot.

Get you gone,

You drunken sot!