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We're three brethren out of Spain,
Come to court your daughter Jane.
My daughter Jane she is too young,
She has no skill in a flattering tongue.
Be she young or be she old,
It's for her gold she must be sold,
So fare you well, my lady gay,
We shall return another day.

Mistress Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow ? With silver bells and cockle shells,

And maidens all in a row.

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When I was a little boy, my mother kept me in,
Now I am a great boy, and fit to serve the king;
I can handle a musket, I can smoke a pipe,
I can kiss a pretty girl at ten o'clock at night.

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The sweetest notes he always sung,

Which much delighted Mary,
And often where the cage was hung,

She stood to hear Canary.

This is the way the ladies ride,

Prim, prim, prim;
This is the way the gentlemen ride,

Trim, trim, trim.
Presently come the country-folks,

Hobbledy gee, hobbledy gee.

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I had a little husband no bigger than my thumb,
I put him in a pint pot, and there I bid him drum;
I bought a little handkerchief to wipe his little nose,
And a pair of little garters to tie his little hose.

As I was going to St. Ives,

I met seven wives,
Every wife had seven sacks,
Every sack had seven cats,
Every cat had seven kits.

Kits, cats, sacks and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives ?

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