LXXXIII.

CROSS patch,

Draw the latch,

Sit by the fire and spin;

Take a cup,

And drink it up,

Then call your neighbours in.

LXXXIV.

WHEN I was a little boy my mammy kept me in, But now I am a great boy I'm fit to serve the

king;

I can hand a musket, and I can smoke a pipe, And I can kiss a pretty girl at twelve o'clock at night.

CRY, baby, cry,

LXXXV.

Put your finger in your eye,
And tell your mother it wasn't I.

LXXXVI.

[Instead of " muscles" in the last line, other copies have columbines, and some cowslips.]

MISTRESS MARY, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells,
And muscles all a row.

LXXXVII.

A DILLER, a dollar,

A ten o'clock scholar,

What makes you come so soon

?

You used to come at ten o'clock,

But now you come at noon.

LXXXVIII.

TELL tale, tit!

Your tongue shall be slit,
And all the dogs in the town
Shall have a little bit.

LXXXIX.

[The joke of the following consists in saying it so quick that it cannot be told whether it is English or gibberish. For the version now printed, which is more complete than the one given by Chambers, I am indebted to Professor de Morgan, who has heard it in Dorsetshire. It is remarkable that the last two lines are quoted in MS. Sloan. 4, of the fifteenth century, as printed in the Reliq. Antiq.,' vol i, p. 324.]

In fir tar is,

In oak none is.

In mud eel is,

In clay none is.

Goat eat ivy,
Mare eat oats.

XC.

[An older version of the following, from a MS. dated 1570, is printed in Davies's Key to Hutton's Mathematics," 1840, p. 18.]

MULTIPLICATION is vexation,
Division is as bad;

The Rule of Three doth puzzle me,
And Practice drives me mad.

XCI.

[The following memorial lines are by no means modern. They occur, with slight variations, in an old play, called The Returne from Parnassus,' 4to, Lond. 1606; and another version may be seen in Winter's 'Cambridge Almanac' for 1635. See the Rara Mathematica,' p. 119.]

THIRTY days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year, that's the time
When February's days are twenty-nine.

M

SIXTH CLASS-SONGS.

XCII.

[This is the version generally given in nursery collections, but is somewhat different in the Pills to Purge Melancholy,' 1719, vol. iv, p. 148.]

ONE misty moisty morning

When cloudy was the weather,

There I met an old man

Clothed all in leather;

Clothed all in leather,

With cap under his chin,

How do you do, and how do you do,

And how do you do again!

XCIII.

THERE was a man in our toone, in our toone, in our toone,

There was a man in our toone, and his name was Billy Pod;

And he played upon an old razor, an old razor, an old razor,

And he played upon an old razor, with my fiddle fiddle fe fum fo.

And his hat it was made of the good roast beef, the good roast beef, the good roast beef, And his hat it was made of the good roast beef, and his name was Billy Pod;

And he played upon an old razor, &c.

And his coat it was made of the good fat tripe, the good fat tripe, the good fat tripe, And his coat it was made of the good fat tripe, and his name was Billy Pod;

And he played upon an old razor, &c.

And his breeks were made of the bawbie baps, the bawbie baps, the bawbie baps,

And his breeks were made of the bawbie baps, and his name was Billy Pod;

And he played upon an old razor, &c.