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Dingdong-bell, the cat's in the well, Who put her in? little Johnny Green. Who pulled her out? great Johnny Stout. What a naughty boy was that,

To drown poor pussy cat;

Who never did him any harm,

And killed the mice in his father's barn.

Lazy Tom with jacket blue,

Stole his father's gouty shoe.

The worst of harm that dad can wish him, Is his gouty shoe may fit him.

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But sit on a cushion and sew up a seam, And you shall have strawberries, sugar and cream.

I won't be my father's Jack,
I won't be my father's Jill,

I will be the fiddler's wife,

And have music when I will.

T'other little tune, t'other little tune,
Prythee, love, play me t'other little tune.

LONDON BRIDGE.

London bridge is broken down,
Dance over my Lady Lee,
London bridge is broken down,
With a gay ladye.

How shall we build it up again?
Dance over my Lady Lee,
How shall we build it up again?
With a gay ladye.

We'll build it up with gravel and stone,
Dance over my Lady Lee,

We'll build it up with gravel and stone,
With a gay ladye.

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Gravel and stone will be washed away,
Dance over my Lady Lee,

Gravel and stone will be washed away,
With a gay ladye.

We'll build it up with iron and steel,
Dance over my Lady Lee,
We'll build it up with iron and steel,
With a gay ladye.

E

Iron and steel will bend and break,
Dance over my Lady Lee,

Iron and steel will bend and break,
With a gay ladye.

We'll build it up with silver and gold,
Dance over my Lady Lee,

We'll build it up with silver and gold,
With a gay ladye.

Silver and gold will be stolen away,
Dance over my Lady Lee,
Silver and gold will be stolen away, ·
With a gay ladye.

We'll set a man to watch it then,
Dance over my Lady Lee,
We'll set a man to watch it then,
With a gay ladye.

Suppose the man should fall asleep,
Dance over my Lady Lee,
Suppose the man should fall asleep,
With a gay ladye.

We'll put a pipe into his mouth,
Dance over my Lady Lee,

We'll put a pipe into his mouth,
With a gay ladye.

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Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig, and away he run;

The pig was eat,

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.

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