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Deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his breeches on;
One shoe off, the other shoe on,
Deedle, deedle, dumpling, my son John.
A cow and a calf,
An ox and a half, Forty good shillings and three;
Is that not enough tocher
For a shoemaker's daughter, A bonny lass with a black e'e?
The man in the moon
Came tumbling down,
And asked his way to Norwich.
He went by the south,
And burnt his mouth With supping cold pease-porridge.
There was an old woman
Lived under a hill,
She put a mouse in a bag,
And sent it to mill;
The miller did swear
By the point of his knife, He never took toll
Of a mouse in his life.
Little Jack Homer sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie: He put in his thumb, and he took out a plum,
And said, "What a good boy am I!"
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.
From the bottom to the top,
Sweep all up,
From the bottom to the top.
Climb by rope,
Or climb by ladder,
Fll climb farther.
Shake a leg, wag a leg, when will you gang? At midsummer, mother, when the days are lang.