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To bed, to bed, says Sleepy-Head,
Let's stay awhile, says Slow;
Put on the pot, says Greedy-Sot,
We'll sup before we go.

Dingty diddledy, my mammy's maid,
She stole oranges, I am afraid :

Some in her pocket, some in her sleeve,
She stole oranges, I do believe.

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And Tom was beat,

And Tom ran crying down the street.

Little king Boggen he built a fine hall, Pie-crust and pastry-crust, that was the wall; The windows were made of black-puddings and white, And slated with pancakes-you ne'er saw the like.

To bed, to bed, says Sleepy-Head,
Let's stay awhile, says Slow;
Put on the pot, says Greedy-Sot,
We'll sup before we go.

Dingty diddledy, my mammy's maid,
She stole oranges, I am afraid :

Some in her pocket, some in her sleeve,
She stole oranges, I do believe.

Ride away, ride away,

Johnny shall ride,

And he shall have pussy-cat

Tied to one side;

And he shall have little dog

Tied to the other,

And Johnny shall ride

To see his grandmother.

Hush-a-bye, baby, lie still with thy daddy,
Thy mammy is gone to the mill,
To get some meal to bake a cake;
So pray, my dear baby, lie still.

Little lad, little lad,

Where were you born?

Far off in Lancashire, under a thorn,

Where they sup butter-milk

With a ram's horn;

And a pumpkin scoop'd,

With a yellow rim,

Is the bonny bowl they breakfast in.

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Will you

drive them out of the house?

We have mice too in plenty,

That feast in the pantry,

But let them stay and nibble away,
What harm in a little brown mouse?

Shake a leg, wag a leg, when will you gang? At midsummer, mother, when the days are lang.

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