Old mother Widdle Waddle jump'd out of bed, And out of the casement she popp'd her head, Crying, "The house is on fire, the grey goose is dead, And the fox is come to the town, oh!

When the wind is in the East,
'Tis neither good for man nor beast;
When the wind is in the North,
The skilful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind is in the South,

It blows the bait in the fishes' mouth;
When the wind is in the West,

Then 't is at the very best.

Cry, baby, cry,

Put your finger in your eye,

And tell your mother it wasn't I.

I had a little hen, the prettiest ever seen,

She wash'd me the dishes and kept the house clean ;
She went to the mill to fetch me some flour,

She brought it home in less than an hour;
She baked me my bread, she brewed me my ale,
She sat by the fire, and told many a fine tale.