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One misty, moisty morning,

When cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in zather.
He began to compliment, and I began to grin,

How do you do, and how do you do?
And how do you do again ?

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There was an old woman tost up in a blanket,
Seventy times as high as the moon,
What she did there, I cannot tell you,
But in her hand she carried a broom.
Old woman, old woman, old woman, said I,
O whither, O whither, O whither so high ?
To sweep the cobwebs from the sky,
And I shall be back again by and by.

Shoe the horse, and shoe the mare,
But let the little colt go bare.

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The north wind doth blow,

And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then ?

Poor thing!
He'll sit in the barn

And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,

Poor thing!

Cold and raw the north winds blow

Bleak in the morning early,
All the hills are covered with snow,

And winter's now come fairly.

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Here we go up, up, up,

And here we go down, down, downy,

Here we go backward and forward,

And here we go round, round, roundy.
Where was a jewel and pretty,

Where was a sugar and spicey ?
Hush a bye babe in the cradle,

And we'll go abroad in a tricey.
Did his papa torment it?

And vex his own baby will he ?
Give me a hand and I'll beat him,

With your red coral and whistle.
Here we go up, up, up,

And here we go down, down, downy,
And here we go backward and forward,

And here we go round, round, roundy.

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